waiting.’ She again tried her friendly smile on him.
‘Very good, miss.’ He remained as stiff-backed as ever.
Morgana kept her smile in place, but it hid her disappointment. It would be so much easier if she knew she had Cripps’s loyalty as well as his excellent service. She did so want them all to rub well together. ‘I’ll wait in the drawing room.’
Expression as bland as ever, he preceded her across the hall and opened the drawing-room door.
She walked to the window with its view of the street. No sooner had she done so than her uncle’s carriage pulled up in front of the house. Suddenly nervous, she stepped back to view herself in the mirror above the mantel, fussing a bit with the neckline of her dress, but, remembering that her uncle had been suffering from gout, she hurried to the hall.
‘I will meet them at the carriage,’ she told Cripps, fancying he looked disapproving of a lady going out the door unescorted.
‘I am ready,’ she called, as Cripps closed the door behind her.
A tall gentleman stood next to the carriage in the process of assisting her uncle to disembark. Seeing her, her uncle paused. ‘Come then,’ he replied and disappeared back into his seat.
The tall gentleman turned towards her. Morgana stopped dead in her tracks. ‘Oh!’
Standing before her, next to her uncle’s carriage, dressed in elegant evening attire, was the gentleman from the park.
He, too, froze, but his look of surprise was replaced by a lazy smile that seemed to take for ever to settle on his face. Just as slowly he tipped his hat and came to her side.
‘Allow me to escort you, Miss Hart.’ His dark grey eyes kindled with amusement.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to reply, pulling her shawl snug around her shoulders and accepting his arm.
‘It is a fine night, is it not?’ His voice was as smooth and low as a viola. They were only a few steps from the carriage. ‘A fine night for a walk in the park.’
‘Oh, say nothing of that, sir. I beg you,’ Morgana countered in a fierce whisper.
‘My lips, dear Miss Hart—’ the lips he referred to turned up at the corners ‘—are sealed.’
Chapter Two
Sloane handed Miss Hart into the carriage, to the cheerful greetings of her aunt, uncle and cousin. He climbed in after her and sat between the two young ladies, catching a whiff of Miss Hart’s perfume, a faint scent but distinctly French and expensive.
She settled herself closer to the carriage window, which somehow caused his blood to race, more so than Lady Hannah’s nearly imperceptible move closer to him.
Lady Cowdlin spoke. ‘We must do the introductions, mustn’t we? Morgana, may I present Mr Cyprian Sloane to you? This is my niece, Miss Morgana Hart. Her father is Baron Hart, you know.’
Sloane did know of Baron Hart, though the covert circumstances by which he was acquainted did not bear mentioning. It would cause more questions than he cared to answer.
He turned to the young lady. ‘Miss Hart, is it?’
She did not miss his attempt at humour. ‘Mr Sloane.’ A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Lady Cowdlin went on, ‘Morgana is my dear sister’s child, God rest her soul.’
‘Ah.’ He hoped the sound was appropriately sympathetic.
The carriage lurched forward and they were on their way.
When Lady Cowdlin requested that her niece be included in the party, she’d not given the niece’s name. Neither had Lady Hannah, though she’d chattered on about her cousin that very afternoon when, during the fashionable hour, he’d driven her in his curricle through Hyde Park. Lady Hannah had explained this was her cousin’s second London Season. Hannah’s mother had sponsored her years before, but the cousin ‘didn’t take.’ Sloane had only half-listened to her account, attending more to how many of the beau monde saw fit to greet him. More each day. Two years ago none of them would have dared acknowledge him in public.
‘Mr Sloane has been so good as to invite us to the King’s Theatre, Morgana,’ Lady Hannah said in a somewhat smug tone and unnecessarily, for Sloane was certain her cousin must have been told their destination ahead of time.
‘Yes.’ Miss Hart turned to him again so that their faces were very close. ‘It was good of you to include me, Mr Sloane.’
‘My pleasure.’ He smiled.
The irony of his scrapping Hyde Park virago being none other than Lady Hannah’s cousin made him want to laugh out loud. He contained the impulse, but found he liked sharing the secret with Miss Hart. It felt… wickedly intimate.
When she’d emerged from her town house, he’d first only been aware of a swish of green silk, then he’d recognised her. But instead of the look of an efficient governess, she’d had a regal air, as if her intricate hairstyle were a crown upon her head.
When he had offered her his arm, the torch at the doorway illuminated her face, and he at last discovered the secret of her eyes. They were light brown—no, that was not descriptive nough—they were ginger-coloured, ginger flecked with chocolate. With the frame of her dark brows and lashes, the effect was remarkable. What’s more, her eyes shone with alertness and intelligence, as if they could not get their fill of all there was to see. For that very brief moment he’d felt caught in them, as if they also had the capacity to set a trap.
Miss Hart was a decided contrast to the classically beautiful Lady Hannah with her abundance of blonde curls, liquid blue eyes and blushing pink complexion. Lady Hannah, fashionably petite and curvaceous, was like a sweet confection, while her taller, slimmer cousin brought to mind something with more spice—ginger, perhaps.
‘Mr Sloane is seeking to buy a property in Mayfair,’ Hannah continued to her cousin. ‘Will that not be splendid?’
‘Very nice,’ Miss Hart agreed.
‘We shall be neighbours!’ Lady Hannah laughed, lightly placing her hand on his arm.
‘Mayfair is a big place,’ intoned Lord Cowdlin.
Sloane knew Cowdlin was not at all happy about any proximity between Sloane and his daughter.
Lady Cowdlin piped up, ‘Not so very big. He’d be hard pressed to be farther than a few streets from our fine residence.’ She gave a toadying smile. ‘Why, we may be certain to see him often as we are out and about.’
Lady Cowdlin undoubtedly favoured his suit, but then she was probably not privy to tales told about him in the gentlemen’s clubs and gaming hells. Still, Sloane was confident his money would wear down Cowdlin’s reservations, as would his efforts to behave in an impeccably respectable fashion.
Lady Hannah leaned into his side. ‘That will be so lovely,’ she purred.
Lady
