would suggest, is more dangerous than the original threat.’
‘Oh …’ Bree mentally passed in review a number of highly improper expressions she had learned in the inn yard. ‘Drat,’ she concluded regretfully. It really did not do justice to her feelings.
‘Drat indeed,’ Max agreed.
‘Will they get bored and find something else if Piers gives them the run of the place for a couple of days?’
‘I doubt it—not unless you let them drive. That’s the big attraction, you see—driving a stage in cold blood, not as the result of a drunken spree. They are good drivers, all of them, they have a serious interest and an inn yard is a public space, when all’s said and done.’
‘Well, they are not getting anywhere near my passengers,’ Bree declared robustly.
‘You let me drive,’ Max said softly.
‘I knew of your reputation. In any case, I had no choice.’
‘And were you satisfied?’
Bree swallowed. ‘I was entirely satisfied with your driving.’
They sat silently looking at each other while the tick of the clock on the mantel seemed to fill the room and Bree felt her own heartbeat stuttering out of time with it.
‘Ahem.’ Rosa leaned forward. ‘May I pass you a custard tartlet, my lord?’
‘Thank you, but no.’ The shutters were back. No, not even that—his expression was so unreadable that she had no idea whether there even were any shutters or whether there were simply no strong feelings for him to hide.
‘I have had an idea,’ she said suddenly. Goodness knows where it came from, other than from her desperate desire to distract the Whips and her equally urgent wish to be anywhere but here exchanging stilted conversation with Max Dysart. ‘Do the Nonesuch Whips have club days when they all drive to a specific destination, as the Four Horse Club does?’
‘Yes, but we are not so hidebound as to insist on the same destination on every occasion, nor do we confine ourselves to trotting in single file the entire way as is the FHC rule. We seek out interesting inns and eating houses and make them the goal for the day. Why do you ask, Miss Mallory?’
‘Because it occurs to me that on some days we do have a spare coach and that we might be prepared to allow that to be driven, without paying passengers, of course, on such an expedition. Would that slake your friends’ thirst?’
‘The very answer, Miss Mallory, I congratulate you. You and Miss Thorpe must be my guests in my drag.’
‘I must insist on my own groom with the stage and Piers on the box as well,’ she cautioned.
‘That seems eminently reasonable to me,’ Max agreed.
‘And no racing.’
‘I promise.’
‘You can offer that on their behalf?’ Bree realised she must have looked as dubious as she sounded when she saw the quirk of amusement at the corner of Max’s mouth. Thank goodness, some sign of humanity at last!
‘I will ensure that everyone who wishes to drive must give me their word to that effect before we start. Does that satisfy you?’
‘Yes. Yes, my lord, it does. Thank you.’
‘The Club will, of course, pay whatever a return journey for the trip would be, assuming a full waybill of passengers.’
Bree opened her mouth to agree that that would be very acceptable and closed it again. Now she had Rosa she did not have to fear curious strangers at the Mermaid any longer, not if they had an acceptable outlet for their desire to drive the stagecoaches. Piers had blossomed in the company of the Whips: he had enjoyed it and it was far better that he had his introduction into society with men who spent their time driving rather than frequenting gaming halls and brothels.
‘No,’ she said slowly, considering it. ‘No, we will not charge, unless any damage is done. If it is successful, then we may repeat it. I see no harm, and perhaps it may give the Challenge Coach Company a certain cachet.’
And it also propelled her into the unsettling company of the Earl of Penrith. And that of a number of other pleasant and attractive gentlemen, she added mentally. Max’s words about finding a husband echoed with Georgy’s teasing matchmaking. Not a gentleman of title, not with her pedigree. But there might be a nice younger son. She tried to feel enthusiastic about that possibility and found the thought strangely flat.
‘That is very generous.’ Max removed his pocket book and consulted it. ‘The next meeting will be on Saturday the tenth.’
‘I will check with the yard and see, then let you know. Where is the destination?’
‘It depends on the weather, although there was discussion of taking a picnic to Greenwich Park, if it is fine.’
A whole day of frivolity. Bree tried to recall when she had last taken an entire day to devote simply to pleasure, and could not. And an entire day in Max’s company. And that of Lord Lansdowne, Mr Latymer, Piers, Rosa and all the other Whips, of course.
‘That sounds delightful,’ Rosa observed sedately, jerking Bree back to the present.
‘Delightful,’ she echoed dutifully.
Lord Penrith put down his cup and saucer and got to his feet. ‘I will wait to hear from you then. Thank you for the tea.’ He bowed slightly. ‘Ladies.’
Rosa jumped up and tugged the bell for Peters and then Max was gone, leaving Bree staring rather blankly after him.
‘I thought he was going to invite me to drive in the park with him,’ she said.
‘Perhaps he forgot, thinking about your proposal with the stage,’ Rosa suggested, looking doubtful. ‘Is he always like that?’
‘No.’ Bree wrinkled her forehead. ‘But I’ve only met him twice before, of course. How did he strike you?’
‘At first, just as he meant to—a conventional, rather cold-blooded English gentleman making a social call. But he isn’t just that.’ Rosa was frowning now too. ‘There’s humour there and warmth in his eyes when he looks at you and you are not looking at him. And something else. Something dark.’
Bree shivered. ‘Rosa, you sound positively Gothic!’ Then she recalled his words during the ball. ‘I think he has something on his mind. A secret.’
‘Hmm.’ Rosa sat down and poured more tea. ‘Lord Penrith is very attractive—I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be Bluebeard.’
Max swung up into the driving seat and gathered the reins. So much for option two—we have a stilted conversation full of undertones that makes us both uncomfortable because of what happened at the ball. ‘Walk on.’ The pair moved off sedately and Gregg swung up behind.
Max tried to sort out how he felt and made the unnerving discovery that his general sense of unease and indecision was worse than before. He wanted Bree, but the thought of marriage was more fraught with discomfort the more he contemplated it. He had dragged the locked trunk out of the attic of his memory and forced himself to open it, look at the hurt and shame and anger and fear that he had pushed away so he could get on with his life again. Only now they were out and he was facing them, all the doubt was back.
Drusilla had left him within weeks of their marriage. It was his job to make a marriage, to keep his wife, and he had failed. Was it just that one woman, or was there something about him that was unsuited to matrimony? Dare he risk it again? Dare he risk it with this woman? He was not even sure what he felt for her other than liking, admiration and undoubted desire. Always assuming she did not laugh in his face at the mere thought of it. Bree Mallory did not strike him as a woman likely to be dazzled by a title.
He turned into Bedford Square and then into Tottenham Court Road, heading for the crowded thoroughfare