would never do! She mustn’t be caught woolgathering while driving! She had a duty—to the horses, to him, to the other people in the park.
The horses trotted on, completely comfortable with their surroundings and seemingly oblivious to the change in leadership. She was tempted to whip them up, send them pounding down the path, but that was never wise in Hyde Park. They might meet another carriage around the next turn or come across a pedestrian. She had to be careful.
“What a splendid pair,” she told him instead. “And how well matched. Their gaits are as one.”
She didn’t dare glance Vaughn’s way, determined to drive well, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Our Master of Horse will be pleased to hear that you approve. They were each rejected at Tattersall’s for being too unruly to pull a carriage or serve as a gentleman’s mount. I thought differently, and he proved my point.”
“They’re darlings,” Imogene assured him. “Anyone who thought otherwise clearly lacked vision. What are their names?” She nearly closed her eyes again, this time in mortification. Did gentlemen name their carriage horses? She’d never been introduced to a team.
But he didn’t seem to find fault with her question. “Aeos on the left and Aethon on the right.”
“From the legend of Apollo’s chariot pulling the sun,” Imogene realized. And how like a poet to choose such names.
“You know your Greek mythology.”
Imogene smiled. “Father insisted on it. He said there was no reason I couldn’t be as well educated as any gentleman.”
“And better than most,” he agreed. “The Ring is coming up on your left. We’ll need to swing around it. Give Aethon his head.”
She could see the group of trees coming up and the fence that circled the remains of the old riding circle. She eased up the pressure on the left set of reins, but Aethon kept pace with his teammate. She frowned.
“May I?” Vaughn asked.
She thought he meant to take back the reins, and her spirits sank. But he leaned closer and cupped her wrists, gloved fingers glazing the bare skin between her sleeves and her gloves. A tremor shook her again, but it had nothing to do with concerns about her driving skills.
“Like this,” he said, voice purring beside her bonnet. She felt the strength as he drew back her hands. Together they guided the pair, through pressure and tension, around the trees and out onto the shaded path. The air felt cool as he pulled away, and Imogene drew in a breath, surprised to find she had been holding hers.
“Nicely done, Lady Imogene,” he said. “The next thing you know, you’ll be driving the mail.”
She highly doubted that, though a part of her preened. She’d heard that some gentlemen dressed like coachmen and even bribed the mail coach drivers to let them take a hand at the great coaches. “Have you driven a mail coach?” she asked.
His gaze was once more out over the horses. “When I wish to drive hard, I don’t need to borrow a coach. And I don’t need the approval of others to assure myself of my skills.”
That must be nice. She’d put in a great deal of effort over the years to win her father’s approval. Now it seemed as if he’d forgotten her entirely. “But you must belong to a club,” she said. “What about White’s? Surely you’re a member there.”
He stretched one leg with a grin. “They dislike fellows who rarely lose.”
“One of the other gentlemen’s clubs, then.”
“Same faces, same rules. As you said, a dead bore.”
Imogene glanced his way. His polished boot was high on the footrest, his gaze out across the trees and pathways, a smile playing about his lips.
“Do you belong nowhere, sir?” she teased.
The smile disappeared. “To nothing and no one, Lady Imogene. Count on it.”
He was trying entirely too hard. Had she goaded him into it by calling his earlier conversation boring? Surely he cared about something; his poems were evidence of that. He saw things—in nature, in people—that others missed. He must belong to someone.
Perhaps he could belong to her?
The thought came unbidden, but she couldn’t dismiss it. She imagined a great many ladies had thrown their lures at him, yet apparently he was immune. It seemed he had a devotion to his cousin, Lady Everard, if the rumors were true, but he was here with Imogene now. Was she the woman to make Vaughn Everard settle down at last? He was clearly arrogant enough to think it impossible. She was just arrogant enough to try!
They were nearing the stone cottage of the Keeper’s Lodge, hidden away behind a picket fence and high hedges. Soon they’d be surrounded by other carriages and more people. She puffed out a sigh. She didn’t want the rest of the world. She knew she’d have to give him up soon enough, but right now she wanted to spend more time with him, unwrapping each layer like a birthday present swathed in tissue. She was certain that what lay beneath was nothing short of perfection.
But as they rounded the curve, she could see other carriages approaching, and she wasn’t quite ready to maneuver Aeos and Aethon among more horses.
“I think perhaps you should drive now,” she said, reluctantly offering him the reins.
“If you insist,” he said, his smile returning and warming her.
She thought he would whip them up, set the horses at a good clip again, but he kept the team at a walk, as if just as loath to rejoin society. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to spot the other couple as Imogene and Vaughn crossed a little-used path meandering over the lawns.
The man was tall and lean, his hair, now white with advancing age, peeking out of his high-crowned beaver. Imogene recognized the tailored navy coat, the tasteful gold buttons. She wasn’t close enough to see, but she knew that each one was stamped with a D for Devary. The woman beside him was buxom, and her crimson gown was cut to emphasize the fact, displaying a large beauty mark below her neck. Her bonnet, however, was veiled, the black lace tucked under her chin, and Imogene couldn’t make out her features. As she watched, her father took the woman’s gloved hand and pressed a note into it.
Imogene must have made some noise because Vaughn slowed the horses to a stop at the edge of the path.
“That was your father,” he said, and she thought she heard accusation in his voice.
“Yes, it was,” she replied. “He was supposed to be in Whitehall this afternoon, but I must have misunderstood.” A very great deal, she added silently, unwilling to believe the evidence of her eyes.
“I can see the matter concerns you. Allow me to reunite you with your father so you can discuss it with him.”
“No, please, that isn’t necessary,” Imogene said, but he flicked the reins and began to turn the team on the path. She could feel her face heating. What could she say to her father? And how would he feel to find her driving in a secluded part of the park with the man he refused to acknowledge?
“I’m afraid,” Vaughn said, eyes once more that merciless black, “that I must insist. We’ve
