Page 19 of One Night to Remember
Felicity craned her neck to try and see Langford’s reaction.
He grinned at the crowd and shouted back, “Stand back, for your safety. Baby’s stronger than ever!”
Laughter and renewed excitement rippled through the crowd.
Felicity gazed about in awe and disbelief. Giles Langford was so famous that even hischariotwas infamous.
She watched as he effortlessly charmed his admirers with relaxed banter and gracious style. He looked like a normal, friendly gentleman out for a casual ride, rather than a fearless whip about to decimate his competition in a high-energy race in front of hundreds of witnesses.
For a fervent moment, she didn’t wish she was dressed like a lad, but as a grown man, so that she too could feel the bracing wind in her hair as she raced alongside the others. It wouldn’t even matter if she lost, so long as she was part of the excitement and camaraderie and challenge. Her blood pulsed with excitement.
Now more than ever, she was determined to ensure her brother’s carriage—and its driver—had every possible advantage.
When Langford’s carriage passed right in front of her, she expected his attention to fall on one of the many noisy admirers flanking her.
Instead, he pulled his curricle to a halt and touched the brim of his hat.
“Lady Mechanic.” His slow, devastating smile caused a wave of coos and sighs among the women on either side of her.
“Mr. King,” she replied. Of course he would recognize her dressed in her dowdiest clothes. This was how she’d looked when they’d met. To him, a gown fit for a ball would seem like the disguise. Nonetheless, she was glad the floppy brim of her bonnet hid her face from the rest of the crowd.
He leaned forward, as if he had all the time in the world. “What lures you out of your carriage house?”
“You,” she answered honestly, and immediately wished she had not. Heat was rising up the back of her neck.
His smile widened and his cobalt blue gaze stayed focused on her.
“Your baby,” she heard herself babbling. “I mean your curricle. I’d never seen the one that you built yourself.”
“Youdoappreciate the finer things,” he teased. “If I’d known all it would take to impress you was to spend six months perfecting designs and toiling before the fire in order to—”
“Langford!” called one of the other drivers. “When that pistol goes off, we’re racing with or without you!”
“We’ll continue this later,” he stage-whispered, and trotted off to join the others.
Felicity stared after him, openmouthed.
He’d wanted to impress her? The daft man had been impressing her since the first moment she read of his exploits. She’d confirmed his expertise with her brother, who well knew how to recognize talent. Langford was a legend.
His racing wins had impressed her, his smithing ability had impressed her, his nonchalance when faced with a female mechanic had impressed her. His ability to draw large crowds impressed her, his happy-go-lucky interactions with his admirers impressed her, his hand-built carriage—
A pistol shot blasted through the air.
In a cloud of dust, eight carriages shot off down the lane, two by two.
Langford was at the rear but wouldn’t be for long. Already he was overtaking the seventh carriage, the sixth, the fifth. Turning around at the end of the straight dirt track would require even more precision.
“When he makes it back to the finish line, you won’t evenseethe others,” predicted a man to her right.
To her consternation, Felicity was no longer mentally cataloguing the size and width of the wheels or the length of the splinter bar and breeching dee, but staring after Giles Langford. The man looked like a god of chariots.
He had no prayer of blending with high society, nor any desire to try. He didn’t need to. He was precisely who and what he appeared to be.
And the more he made no attempt to put on airs or conform to expectations… the more he simply accepted her, as though it was perfectly normal to chat about carriages on the side of the road with a lady coach smith, the harder he became to resist.
Thank heavens he’d dashed off at the crack of the pistol. Who knew what behavior Felicity might have been reduced to if he’d kept flirting with her despite her tattered clothes and the legions of adoring women jostling for a better view.
It took little over ten minutes for the first carriages to reach the far end of the track. During that time, Langford managed to weave his way from the back to the very front. For the second half of the race, she had an unobstructed view of him riding well in front; a king leading a parade to the admiration of his subjects.
