She counted to five before she spoke, drawing in a deep breath, then gesturing behind her. “As you can see, if you look, I am accompanied by a footman. If you weren’t dressed like a gentleman and if you were trying to physically accost me, I am confident Timothy would have already interceded on my behalf.” Victoria turned and nodded smartly behind her. “Wave to the impertinent gentleman, Timothy!”
The Brownes’ footman raised a hand.
Very well, if she was truly trying not to incite an argument this probably wasn’t the way to go about it. But truth be told, Victoria wasn’t used to having her actions questioned, at least not by any man. Louisa might order her about endlessly, but generally the rest of the population of the earth, or at least greater London, ignored her as if she didn’t exist.
Risking a look up at his face, she was disheartened to see he had set his jaw again and whatever color his eyes usually were, they were now very, very dark. She intended to count to ten this time, but as he opened his mouth to speak, she intuitively decided it might be wisest to speak first. Lord knows what kind of proposition she might receive this time.
“Arthur and I always take a walk in the evening. If he doesn’t have his daily constitutional, he’s wont to howl for the better part of the night, upsetting the rest of the household. If I have no engagement then we usually walk about midnight, but since my presence was required at the Wallingfords’ rout this evening, we are later than usual.”
Victoria wasn’t sure why she explained herself to this brazen stranger, but she did feel a trifle sorry for her earlier acerbic tone. Relief filled her as his features relaxed slightly. He certainly had a formidable appearance when he was irked but she definitely preferred the more natural set of his face.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was she thinking? Surely he thought her as jingle-brained as Louisa tried to make her out to be.
“His name is Arthur?” The stranger lowered himself to his haunches and proceeded to pet her cat. Within seconds a loud purr could be heard.
“Oh, yes, it is,” she confirmed, confounded by the man’s suddenly amiable mood. “He seems to have forgiven you for mistaking him for a canine.”
“Yes, a little chin scratching and all is forgotten. I pray you will forgive me as well for my rude behavior?” He continued to stroke Arthur and the movement of his long fingers captivated Victoria.
“I’m sure a chin-scratching would be delightful, but it isn’t necessary to obtain my forgiveness.”
Drat. That certainly made her sound vacant in the upper storey.
He rose to his full height and towered over her. Victoria refused to look up at him, but then thought she heard a soft chuckle. Surely not.
“Meow.”
Thank God for Arthur. What could be more ridiculous than mooning over a stranger in Grosvenor Square at half past two in the morning?
“We should be heading home. I do thank you for your concern.” She really wasn’t so thankful for his interference, but it was time to put a polite face on and make her escape.
“Where do you live?” He wasn’t finished interfering.
“Somerset Street.” She braced herself for what she instinctively knew would come next.
“You have no concern for your safety, do you? That’s almost half a mile from here.” The stern lines returned to his face and once again irritation rose within Victoria.
“We enjoy the exercise. I assure you; I am quite safe. If it will ease your mind I will have Timothy follow at a closer distance, but I truly must be going.”
She turned back the way she had come and gave a tug on Arthur’s lead, eager to return to her peaceful walk. Eager to be away from yet another exasperating man.
Within seconds he was by her side, matching his stride to hers. “I live on the east side of the square. I’ll accompany you that far and then I’ll entrust your safety to your footman. It would be wise to have him follow more closely,” he advised, as if she had not just proposed the same idea.
Her brain froze, as did her feet. If he lived in Grosvenor Square, then he had to be someone very important. Oh no.
“Who are you?” She realized her rudeness and fumbled for civility. “I mean, I beg your pardon...”
“I am Taviston.” He gave a quick bow.
Taviston, Taviston. While the name sounded vaguely familiar, she didn’t usually travel in grand circles, so it told her nothing except that he obviously held a title. Victoria tried to mask the mortification sweeping over her. He was a peer. And yet he had accosted her and been rude to begin with. Her annoyance began to return full force and the mortification died a quick death.
“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” he inquired.
She weighed her options. She could run and he would never know who she was. She could lie and give him a false name. Or she could throw caution to the wind and tell the truth.
She shrugged her shoulders, sank into a deep curtsy worthy of the king and said, “You have the pleasure of Miss Victoria Forster.” Turning, she continued walking east.
CHARLES DANFORTH, SEVENTH Duke of Taviston, once again took up walking beside the foolish woman. Her behavior astounded. Even worse, he couldn’t begin to explain his own. Whatever had possessed him to waylay her in the first place? He had scolded her, a stranger, as if she were a wayward child.