LITMIR.BIZ

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he paused for breath.

      ‘I dare say, it’s capital to discover a young lady who appreciates horseflesh,’ he said at last, giving her hand a hearty squeeze.

      Before she could think of an appropriate response that wouldn’t set him off again, the group of soldiers they’d seen in the Pump Room the day she met him rounded a corner.

      ‘Lord Halden, well met!’ Lieutenant Lord Chalmondy cried. ‘And Miss Lattimar. How lovely you look.’

      After giving Pru an inspection that lingered on her bosom so long she felt her face colouring, he murmured to his companions, ‘What a hot little charmer she is, eh, boys?’

      A flash of anger deepened the heat. Evidently Lord Chalmondy thought that, in the open air of the park, surrounded by his companions, he could get away with a crude remark he would never have chanced having overheard within the proper confines of the Pump Room.

      Either not hearing or not realising how insulting the comment was, Lord Halden said, ‘With this pack of half-wits about you, no wonder you were looking for some clever company.’

      Lord Chalmondy laughed. ‘There is that. But there’s also some capital sport going on this afternoon.’ He lowered his voice, although not so low that he wasn’t perfectly aware she could still hear him. ‘A cockfight down at the Mare’s Tail and then a sparring match between the local champion and a man from Liverpool. Supposedly he used to work the looms in some factory. A regular bruiser! Should be a prime dust-up.’

      ‘No gentleman with red blood still running in his veins would want to miss it,’ Lieutenant Broadmere said.

      ‘Sounds like just the thing for you soldiers to while away a dull afternoon,’ Lord Halden said.

      ‘Zounds, man, we’re on our way now. Why not come with us?’ Lord Chalmondy gave Pru another leering glance. ‘You’ll have all evening to charm the ladies. Or do you feel you may need a glass of Pump Room water to make it through the day?’

      Lord Halden hesitated, obviously drawn by the prospect of sport—and unwilling to be thought less virile than his former university mates. ‘Very well,’ he conceded after a moment. ‘Just let me escort this lady back to her aunt.’

      There was a snigger and Pru was certain she heard one of them mutter ‘lady?’ in a contemptuous undertone.

      Giving her another appraising glance that said exactly what he thought about her character, Lord Chalmondy said, ‘Good heavens, it’s mid-morning in a public park. I think Miss Lattimar is clever enough to find her way back without your help. Aren’t you, Miss Lattimar?’

      Resisting the strong urge to slap the mocking smile off his face, Pru hesitated. No gentleman, having received permission to take a young lady for a stroll, would go off to do something else until he’d returned her safely to her chaperon. Lord Chalmondy was making it quite clear that, though her fortune might have rendered her acceptable to Lord Halden’s cousin, this duke’s son did not consider her deserving of being treated as a gently born maiden should be.

      He was obviously fully aware of her reputation, and would treat her—at least where there was no one from society to reprove him—as one of the Scandal Sisters.

      Furious, but determined not to let it show, she said, ‘Clever enough to need no further encouragement to quit the company of gentlemen such as yourself.’

      ‘Excellent,’ Lord Chalmondy replied, appearing not at all disturbed by her thinly veiled rebuke. ‘You see, Lord Halden, the lady has released you.’

      ‘You are sure you don’t mind, Miss Lattimar? I’ll see you somewhere later, then. You’ll tender my farewells to your aunt and Lady Isabelle, yes?’

      At her curt nod, he dropped her arm, left her there on the pathway and set off with the soldiers.

      Fuming...and humiliated, for a few long minutes, Prudence simply stood, watching them lope down the path and out of the park, their loud laughter and jesting trailing after them. Lord Halden never gave her a backward glance.

      Still angry, worried her debut in Bath might turn out to be as disastrous as a foray in London would have proved, with dragging steps, Prudence turned around and set off to find her aunt.

      Meanwhile, Johnnie Trethwell was limping through his second circuit of the paths at Sidney Gardens. He’d been happy to drop his aunt off to visit one of her cronies rather than have her accompany him, which allowed him to walk at a faster pace. Pushing himself and his knee to the limits of its endurance was the only way he was going to regain its full strength—no matter how much he was going to regret that determination come evening, when it would likely pain him in earnest.

      He’d just turned the corner of the outer pathway when he spied Miss Lattimar, walking alone a dozen yards in front of him.

      Johnnie halted, stifling his immediate impulse to go to her. He’d felt only too keenly the anxiety on her face in the Pump Room when Markingham had pulled him into the group of soldiers conversing with her and her evident escort, Lord Halden. Not that he’d been insulted by her obvious reluctance to have the Duke’s son know they were acquainted. Though his attentions had been keenly sought the world over by bored matrons with more lust than morals—an arrangement that suited him perfectly well—he was only too aware that keeping company with a man of his reputation would do nothing to help her efforts to entice a proper suitor. Not burdened as she was with her questionable reputation.

      He remembered the bleak resignation in her eyes when she stated she had no choice but to adhere to every rule of propriety. For a lady whose extraordinary beauty would normally have given her licence to be as capricious as she chose, that was the saddest comment yet.

      He should remain silent and let her go her own way.

      But the pathway ahead of her was deserted. There was no one about to see or disapprove. With that treacherous fact to encourage him, he couldn’t quite defeat the desire to talk with her.

      Still debating, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. Then, as he got nearer, he noticed how dawdling her steps were, how her head drooped and her arms trailed loosely at her sides, her reticule dangling by twisted cords, unnoticed. She looked the picture of—dejection?

      Concerned in spite of himself, over his bad leg’s protest, Johnnie pushed harder, until he was within hailing distance. ‘Miss Lattimar!’ he called. ‘What’s this, walking alone? Has a press gang rounded up every man in Bath, or have they all gone blind?’

      Under his keenly observing eye, she first stiffened, then straightened, then slowly turned towards him. Hurt and mortification in her expression, she opened her lips to speak, must have thought better of it and forced a smile instead. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I thought I’d have a stroll while Aunt Gussie rested on a bench.’

      He was fairly certain, according to his vaguely remembered standards of conduct for single young females, that walking alone in a respectable garden in a genteel city like Bath with her chaperon nearby wouldn’t be considered precisely fast. But he did clearly recall his more adventurous sister being roundly scolded for leaving her maid behind on such a foray, her governess emphasising that ‘a well-bred young lady never walks anywhere unaccompanied. Never!’

      Her troubled expression revealed the same distress he’d read on her face in the Pump Room. As he stood, watching her, something flashed between them, some wordless connection, spurring in him the urge to move closer. He had the absurd wish that he could take her in his arms and somehow ease her burden.

      ‘Is something wrong? How can I help?’

      Her eyes widened with alarm before, shaking her head, she said, ‘How did you know I was upset? I’ve worked so hard on the ability to appear serene, regardless of the circumstances!’

      That response was so unexpected—and delightful—he had to laugh. ‘Well, I did come upon you from behind, when your guard was down.’

      ‘Then you couldn’t have seen

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