“Will the boy be safe?”
“Of course. I designed it myself, even sat in it once o
r twice before I risked Sirius.”
A tiny line appeared between Genevieve’s brows as she surveyed Richard, the natty carriage and George. “Does your mother know you’re away all day, George?”
The boy responded with a carefree grin. “Yes, miss. Mr. Evans promised her a crown, and a shilling for me besides.”
“Aren’t you lucky?”
“Will your pique deprive George of his shilling?” Richard adopted a deliberately pathetic expression.
Her scowl indicated that it failed to convince. “Pique is such a petty description for what I’m feeling,” she said sweetly, but she firmed her grip on her satchel and approached the carriage.
“If only you had a gun handy,” he murmured, taking her arm to steady her as she climbed into the vehicle.
He was a cad to notice how the movement ruffled her skirts to reveal a nicely turned ankle.
“How do you know I haven’t?” She sat and stroked the scuffed leather satchel with menacing intent.
“What about the Harmsworth Jewel?”
Genevieve cast him one of those glances under her lashes that hinted at secrets. “It’s safe.”
“And so shall you be, my lady.” He smiled at her and crossed to his side of the carriage. He settled beside her. Surely it was fancy that her hip felt warm against his through several layers of clothing.
“Walk on,” he said to the horses. He directed the vehicle toward the village.
Genevieve turned in surprise. “This isn’t the way to Oxford. We should have gone left after the lane.”
The carriage rolled past the grim ruins of Derrick Abbey. The Cistercian foundation had been destroyed during the Reformation and while Genevieve had spent hours exploring the site, she’d never liked it.
“I’m taking the long way,” he said calmly.
“Hurrah!” George shouted over and over, waving madly to everyone.
Mr. Evans slowed the carriage and set the horses stepping high. Blast him. It became more and more difficult to dislike him.
On market day, the village was bustling and Genevieve caught smiles from the people who stopped to watch. Perhaps George wouldn’t meet the strictest standards as a chaperone, but she caught no hint of censure in the faces they bowled past.
George saved his loudest cheers for his widowed mother and three older sisters, gathered outside their cottage to see the man of the house in his glory. Mr. Evans raised his whip in greeting to the family, who could definitely use the money he paid for George’s company today. Genevieve noticed that all three girls blushed at the attention. Of course they did. Mr. Evans was a man who set women’s hearts aflutter. Even sensible women like Genevieve Barrett.
Except sitting beside a breathtakingly handsome man as he tooled a stylish vehicle past people she’d known most of her life, she didn’t feel like a sensible woman. She felt like a princess. And she realized just how dangerous Mr. Evans could be when he set his mind to something.
The parade lasted mere minutes, even at the leisurely pace Mr. Evans set. Little Derrick was designated ‘little’ for good reason. Once they reached the outskirts, he turned the carriage toward Oxford and set out at a cracking rate.
Genevieve had never ridden in a high-perch phaeton. She thought she’d be terrified, but Mr. Evans was such a fine whip, the carriage proceeded with impressive smoothness. For the first few minutes, she clutched her seat for fear of overturning. He didn’t comment on her nervousness, but he cast her a sardonic glance when she finally ceased gasping at every bump.
“Go on, say it,” he said drily without shifting his attention from the road.
“Say what?” Her grip tightened on her satchel.
“That it was nonsensical to give George his moment in the sun.”
She lifted her chin and regarded him directly. “What makes you think I disapprove?”
“Your frown.” He paused. “And let’s face it, you rarely approve of what I do.”