marrying or finding a lover. But perhaps that was why men liked her. Men were like cats in that respect, she thought.
And then, four months ago, she had met Charles.
Was he the handsomest man she’d ever seen? Possibly not. But he was the most intense, the most determined and tenacious, the most single-minded. They’d met at a ball. She had felt the weight of his gaze alight upon her. It had felt like a physical thing touching her, like a kiss. She had turned her head and there he stood, a tall, broad Viking of a man with fair hair, icy blue eyes, a square chin and a firm masculine mouth compressed into a grim expression that had made her wonder if he disapproved of something about her.
Within minutes of their gazes meeting, he had secured an introduction from their hostess and was leading Imogen out to dance. She’d noticed the flutters of amused interest around the ballroom and wondered aloud about it.
“It’s because I’m making a fool of myself over you, Mrs. Standish,” Charles had said in his remote way.
She’d stopped and stared at him, arrested by the dissonance between the words he spoke and the way he spoke them. She thought she must have misunderstood him. “I beg your pardon?” she’d said.
“This is the first time I’ve danced at a ball in, oh, at least ten years. I’ve just destroyed my reputation as a gentleman who doesn’t dance.”
She laughed, astonished. “Why now?”
“Because I needed to be alone with you, if only for a few moments. If I must dance for that privilege, I will do so.”
Remembering that oddly romantic speech, she smiled. People had been amazed. The notoriously cold Earl of Atwood had fallen in love, and in the most public way, throwing his natural reserve to the wind without hesitation. He had pursued her with a single-minded tenacity that had taken her breath away.
How could she have resisted such a courtship?
A soft knock at the door announced her maid. Higgins bore Imogen’s morning chocolate on a tray and while she sipped it, they discussed what she should wear. Higgins reminded her that Lord Radleigh was due to take her driving in the park this afternoon. She smiled at the thought. Radleigh was a long-standing friend, a notable whip and a considerable wit besides—she was looking forward to the outing.
“My new carriage dress, I think,” she said eventually. “His lordship likes me in green.”
Later, she would enjoy telling Charles all about her outing with Radleigh. While he removed her new carriage dress, of course.
* * *
The Honorable Alexander Lambert swallowed against his roiling stomach and wondered what had possessed him to agree to this outing. He should be lying in bed nursing his aching head and delicate gut, not trotting slowly through Hyde Park, his youngest sister prattling at his side.
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