Free Courtship and Curses by Marissa Doyle Page B

short distance ahead of them reined in his horse and turned. Why, of all people, did they have to meet Lord Woodbridge today?
    Parthenope, however, had already trotted up to him, so there was no avoiding him. She made herself look at him and nod slightly—drat it, why did he have to be so good-looking in that dark blue coat, his hair tousled as he removed his hat? Cutting him dead would not be a polite thing to do in front of his cousin, much as she would like to.
    “But … you’re riding!” she heard him say as she drew in beside Parthenope. “I’d assumed—”
    “That Lady Sophie could not ride, my lord?” she finished for him. “Lady Sophie can most certainly ride. She’s ridden her entire life, and being lame hasn’t altered that.”
    He flushed, and she saw his eyes turn toward Parthenope with an expression part pleading and part angry. Hmm. They hadn’t arranged this meeting, had they? But why? Parthenope knew quite well what a bad impression her cousin had made. She glanced over at her new friend and saw that Parthenope looked exasperated as well as amused. Yes, very suspicious.
    “Of course we’re riding, dear Cousin Clunch,” she said. “How else could we show off our habits? Aren’t we dashing? I think we cut quite a figure here this afternoon.”
    Lord Woodbridge seemed to have somewhat regained his composure. “You quite outshine anyone else here,” he said, and Sophie realized that he was looking directly at her.
    “Let’s ride,” she said, and encouraged her horse forward. No need for anyone to see the telltale warmth surely flushing her cheeks.
    To her discomfort, he managed somehow to maneuver himself into riding between her and Parthenope. She sat stiff and tall in her sidesaddle and did not move her gaze from between her horse’s ears.
    “I think we should do this every day, don’t you, Sophie?” Parthenope said. “It’s hard being shut up inside so much, here in London. I say, Perry—who is that young man there? On the bench on the far side of that tree, reading—in the green coat. See him?”
    Peregrine looked in the direction she’d indicated. “Who? Oh, that’s Leland—James Leland, I mean. Very pleasant fellow, when he pulls his nose out of a book long enough to talk to you. He gets his share of ribbing for it at Boodle’s, but never takes the least offense. From Hampshire, if I recall—old family. He’ll come into a viscountcy eventually. Why do you ask?”
    “Oh…” Parthenope paused to flick a fly off her horse’s neck. “Just wondering. Anyway, Perry, it’s lovely to see you here. Do you ride often?”
    “As often as I can,” he replied promptly.
    “Perfect! You can be our escort, then—”
    “Escort?” Sophie could hear the frown in his voice. “You can’t mean you’re here alone without even a groom—? Parthenope, this is London, not—”
    “Oh, pooh. Sophie’s aunt and her friends are here too. We’re not total madcaps,” Parthenope said. “At least, I don’t think we’re madcaps, though it might be fun to—”
    “Madcaps? Where? I adore madcaps. Bring ’em on!” a cheerful male voice called from behind them. “Oh, good day, Woodbridge. I thought it might be you selfishly claiming the attention of two such fair ladies.”
    Sophie suppressed an exclamation. She knew that voice, had heard it only a day or two ago, from behind a statue at the Whistons’ ball, discussing her fortune and whether it would be worth making a try for it … and her.
    “Underwood,” Lord Woodbridge acknowledged shortly. He didn’t seem particularly pleased.
    The man pulled up next to her and swept his curly-brimmed beaver hat off his fair hair. He was handsome in a narrow-faced, foxlike way, and she guessed that he smiled a great deal—at least with his mouth. His green eyes, on the other hand, were cold and very alert as they swept over her.
    “There. I’ve caught you, haven’t I? Don’t be greedy, now, old man. Won’t you present me and let me