Free A Lady of Persuasion by Tessa Dare Page B

Eventually, the phaeton lurched into motion again.
    Oh, he must think her inexcusably rude. Here he had suggested two different amusements, and she had refused them both. And with intemperate scoldings, no less. Bel made up her mind then and there to greet his next suggestion with polite enthusiasm, what ever it might be.
    “There’s Berkeley Square just up ahead. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
    Bel clapped her hands together and forced a bright tone. “Yes, thank you. That would be delightful.” Her breakfast had been cut short, after all. A spot of tea would be most welcome.
    He maneuvered the carriage into the green in the center of the square, drawing the team to a halt beneath the shade of a large tree. Alighting from the phaeton, he tossed the reins and a coin to an eager boy, then beckoned a waiter from the establishment across the street. The two men conferred briefly, and then the waiter returned to the tea shop.
    Wearing a renewed smile, Toby strolled around to Bel’s side of the carriage. “There we are.
    Give it a moment, he’ll have a lovely treat out for you.”
    “Shouldn’t we go inside?”
    “Oh, no.” He tossed his hat on the phaeton seat. “It’s not the done thing. The ladies all take their refreshment out here, in the square, where they can see and be seen.”
    Bel folded her hands. She knew it would be impossible to become a lady of influence without attracting public notice; and one did not attract public notice without a certain amount of spectacle—whether that spectacle involved sipping tea in a flashy carriage or selecting an infamous rake for a husband. So long as she reminded herself it was all for a purpose, she could justify the indulgence.
    Or so she thought.
    The waiter appeared, bearing a tray with a glass dish. In the dish sat something that looked like a child’s ball—perfectly round, pale yellow in color, and sparkling in the morning sun.
    “How lovely,” she said, accepting the proffered dish and a small silver spoon. She looked to Toby. “What is it?”
    “Why, it’s an ice, of course. Gunter’s is famous for them. That’s a sample of their newest flavor: lemon and lavender.”
    “An ice,” she said wonderingly. The chill of the glass dish nipped at her gloved fingers. “I’ve never had one. Nothing freezes in the West Indies, you know. Until we arrived in London, I’d never seen ice of any sort, much less one flavored with lemon and lavender.” She prodded the treat with her spoon, breaking through a thin, granular crust to discover a softer, creamy texture beneath.
    “You’d best eat it quickly. Or it won’t be an ice much longer, but only a syrup.”
    Bel looked up. “Is that how it’s sweetened, then? With sugar?”
    “Why, yes. It’s sweet and cold, and …” He gave her a teasing grin. “And you could discover that for yourself, if you’d only have a taste.”
    Her spoon hovered over the pale yellow ball. Beads of dew formed on the ice’s surface and rolled down to pool in the shallow glass bowl. Bel’s mouth watered, but she pushed the dish back at him. “I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
    “You can’t?”

    She shook her head, feeling indescribably ill-mannered for refusing yet another of his gestures.
    But of all the things for him to suggest, why did he have to suggest this?
    “Why not?” He looked her up and down. “Please don’t tell me you’re concerned for your figure.”
    Her face burned, and she dropped her eyes. To be sure, he would have noticed her ample figure. She’d learned some years ago that her body drew men’s notice, whether she wished it or not. And she did not. Bel was extremely self-conscious about the voluptuous curves she’d inherited from her mother—over-large breasts, wide hips.
    Though she had no wish to see those curves increase, they weren’t the reason she declined the ice. “I don’t eat sugar,” she explained. “Not unless it is imported by my brothers’ company.”
    “Why