“I can’t believe you hit the Ambassador.” Lydia shook her head as they strolled away from the inn. “Will you be arrested?”
Dante laughed without mirth. “No. He’s lucky I only hit him. The man was behaving in an obnoxious way. And he was drunk.”
“But still.” She shook her head, trying not to find humor in what happened. The Ambassador had, indeed, become annoying. In fact, had there not been other people around she might have found him frightening. “He is the German Ambassador, though. I’m sure he can create some trouble for you.”
“Not as much trouble as we plan for him.” He smirked. “Now bringing him down has become personal for me.”
They took the short walk from the inn to the center of the village. “What about the others? They’re still having lunch. In fact, I’m hungry. But I don’t suppose we can go back to the inn.”
“No. But there are vendors here on the village green who are serving food. Oftentimes it’s far superior to a inn.” He took her by the hand and led her into the gathering of tables and sellers hawking their wares. A touch that seemed much more intimate than linking their arms.
Every time he touched her, tingles began in her middle. Although she’d been surprised to see Dante punch the Ambassador, and she still wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be trouble for it, the feeling of protectiveness she’d seen in Dante appealed to something very feminine in her. Something desirous as well. Once again she pondered the idea of an affair. Then she dismissed it out of hand. That would involve a great deal of sneaking around and being well known within the ton, she would soon be discovered and ruined.
Ruined for what? If she had no intention of marrying, should she care so very much about her reputation? Yes, the small annoying voice answered. It would destroy her father.
Shifting her attention from the warm strong hand that held hers to the area where he led her, it appeared that those selling food were gathered in one place, which made it easy to find whatever they wanted with delicious scents in the air. All they had to do was follow their noses.
Lydia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, meat pasties. I love those. Cook refused to make them, she said they were uncivilized.”
Dante huffed. “If I was paying someone to cook for me, they would cook exactly what I wanted or find themselves out on the pavement.”
Lydia watched his face as he spoke. Despite his rearing and connection to a very imposing peer, there was something fearsome in Dante’s demeanor. But then again pummeling the Ambassador in front of witnesses was certainly not a typical way for a house guest to behave. “Do you think Lord Battenberg will ask you to leave?”
Dante stopped in front of a stand where the aroma of meat pasties had her mouth watering. “If he does, which I doubt, you are leaving with me, and damn the investigation. I’m not leaving you here in the Ambassador’s nefarious clutches.”
Once again that feeling of being protected and cared for arose. Which was silly since Dante would probably act the same for any woman.
The young woman behind the table with a toddler clinging to her skirts handed them two steaming meat pasties. This time instead of finding the stone bench again, they strolled along, nibbling on their food. Lydia felt a bit odd at first. Never had she eaten outdoors while strolling along. ‘Twas just not done. Not in her world, anyway. But Dante’s world was much more interesting. And fun.
She licked her fingers—Father would be appalled—and smiled. Life was truly fascinating when one let go of the rules and regulations. She had to admit, however, being away from anyone who knew her granted her a certain amount of freedom. The ladies of the ton were always watching and judging.
“‘Tis time for liquid.” Dante flashed his famous suggestive smile. “Since we have flaunted propriety so far, perhaps a mug of ale as we stroll along would be just the thing.”
“Yes! I would love an ale. And you are correct, I have been flaunting propriety all day.” She surprised herself by twirling in a circle. “And I love it!”
Dante grabbed her arm and pulled her close to avoid crashing into an older couple strolling along. “Easy, love. You don’t want to call too much attention to yourself.”
“I agree. However, you have no idea how different your life is.” She gave some thought to the words she was about to say but said them anyway. “I…um, believe I prefer your life to mine; at least the life I’ve been living.” She looked up at him, mortified to feel the tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.
Dante pulled her closer to his body and despite being outside in public, kissed her on the top of her head. “You have the power to change anything you want about your life.”
She grimaced. “No, that is not true, and what if my wishes are not available?” Would he guess she meant him? She’d come to believe that her life could be so much more fulfilling if she had a purpose, like Dante did. He ran a club, he had freedom—which of course, came from him being a man. But there had to be something for her to add to her life that would take away the recent sense of uselessness that had troubled her.
The days, months, and unfortunately the years, had gone by quickly. She’d gone from a hopeful debutante to a jaded spinster. No man had captured her heart. Truth be known, no man had appealed to her enough to even get close enough to capture her heart.
Until now. Why did she start to believe in a happily ever after with a man who had stated loud and clear that he had no intention of ever marrying? Why develop a tendre for a man who was a known rake and rogue, who could never be satisfied with one wom
an?
Apparently sensing her mood, he patted her hand. “No worries today, sweeting. We’ve had our excitement for the day. While we await the consequences of my very satisfactory actions, I say we enjoy this day and not think of the future.”
Sweeting? That was the second time he referred to her in an intimate way. Of course, he most likely spoke that way to every woman he spent time with. She should not make something of nothing.
As he said. Enjoy the day and not think of the future.
Dante attempted unsuccessfully to forget the look on Lydia’s face when she spoke about the uselessness of her life and how she much preferred his. The tears threatening to slide down her beautiful cheeks had torn him up. Truth be known, he’d never given much thought to a woman’s life.
Outside of the bedroom, that is. He’d always made sure his bed partners were well satisfied once they left him and the few times he’d employed a mistress, he was diligent in making sure they were happy with the jewelry and other things he left them with upon his departure. Many a tear could be dried by an expensive bracelet or necklace.