Page 33 of The Rake's Daughter
He raised a brow. “You’re the same age?”
“I’m a few weeks younger.”
“I see.”
Izzy didn’t know what he saw. But what she could see was Lord Randall in the distance, having a glorious ride. “What a superb animal,” she exclaimed. “What I wouldn’t give to ride a horse like that.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, but said nothing.
Izzy’s frustration with her own horse was growing. She tried to increase the pace. The mare wheezed into a lethargic trot, then after a dozen paces, it slowed again. Izzy gritted her teeth and was about to try a harder kick when she caught a glimpse of Lord Salcott’s expression, a mix of rueful amusement and, surprisingly, fellow feeling.
“I expect you’ll need a firecracker to move that one,” he said.
It surprised a laugh out of her. “I was thinking a bomb.” She glanced at him, and his flinty gray eyes glinted with amusement.
“Don’t you dare laugh, you abominable man. You should be racked with guilt for saddling me with this appalling slug.” As if it understood her insult, the horse came to a complete stop. She glanced at Lord Salcott’s face and burst into peals of laughter.
“Could you have found any worse creature for me in the whole of London?” she said in mock despair when she’d recovered.
“My apologies. If I promise to get you and your sisterbetter mounts, will you come out with Randall and me again?”
She gave him a baleful look. “It depends on how much better.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll do my best.” The amusement was still lurking in his eyes. It was disturbingly attractive. And good heavens! Was he actuallysmiling? He was! She was sure of it. A vertical groove had appeared in his cheek that in anyone less masculine and forbidding would be called a dimple. Surely not. Perhaps his face was cracking with the effort of smiling.
She edged a little closer. Itwasa dimple.
Lord Salcott—Lord Grumpy—had a dimple.
His brows drew together. “What are you staring at?”
“You have a dimple.”
The smile vanished. “I do not.” He wiped his cheek as if he could brush away the evidence. He knew exactly where to wipe, too.
Izzy laughed. It was the first time she’d ever seen him being anything other than serious and bossy. He looked quite different. It suddenly occurred to her that he was quite a young man, not yet thirty. The realization was a little unsettling.
“I would love to ride Lord Randall’s Storm,” Izzy said after a minute.
Lord Salcott frowned. “He’s a handful.”
Izzy gave him a demure look. “So am I.”
He gave a choked-off laugh and said severely, “You, miss, are a minx.”
Izzy blinked. Were they flirting? Surely not.
They walked on. “I heard you call your friend Race earlier,” she said. “Is that because he likes to race?”
“He does, but that’s not why he’s called Race. He was christened Horatio, but at school it got shortened to Race.” He glanced at her and added, “He probably came up with the name himself. He was dashing even at a young age.”
“So you met at school?”
“Yes, I—oh, blast, excuse me.” A dog was barking at the heels of Clarissa’s horse, and he cantered away to deal with it. Not that he probably needed to: Clarissa’s horse was almost as placid as Izzy’s.
Izzy watched him go, bemused. She’d glimpsed a different side of him this morning and didn’t quite know what to make of it. Not only could Lord Salcott smile, he had a dimple.
And he’d almost flirted. With her, the girl he seemed dedicated to getting rid of. What did it all mean?
