Free The Purloined Heart (The Tyburn Trilogy) by Maggie MacKeever Page A

smaller than the rear, the sides left open to the elements; and Maddie Tate hadn’t managed to convince him she didn’t dislike sitting so far above the ground. “Don’t worry. I shan’t dump you out.”
    “I am glad to hear it.” She unclamped her fingers from the carriage seat. “You will consider me the merest country mouse, but I have never ridden in a phaeton before. My son’s tutor told us that your carriage is named after the son of the Greek sun-god Helios, who tried to drive his father’s chariot and was destroyed by Zeus with a thunderbolt to prevent him setting the earth on fire. You understand why I might suffer a qualm.”
    “Several qualms, I should imagine. In the country, were you accustomed to driving yourself?”
    “Oh, yes. I drove a gig, and a wagonette. And several times, although Mr. Tate did not know it, I drove his curricle.”
    “Very daring!” Angel approved.
    “It seemed so at the time. But you are mocking me, I think.”
    “Never!” said Angel, although he had been. “Shall we be serious, then, and discuss —  I have it —  Mr. Wilberforce’s Society for the Suppression of Vice?”
    Maddie still gripped her bonnet. “Is it your intention to remind me that I am driving around the park with a gentleman of doubtful morals? I’ve been warned that you are irresistible to most women —  well, to all but the highest sticklers, Tony says.”
    “Doubtful morals?” echoed Angel. “I’m offended. There shouldn’t be any doubt that I have no morals at all.”
    She turned to study him. “You’re flirting with me again. Why?”
    Angel might have pointed out that he flirted with everyone. But the lady had asked a serious question, and so he would answer her. “I flirt with you because I enjoy your reactions. You don’t know how to flirt and therefore your reactions are sincere. Now I am being sincere, and I marvel at myself. Tell me about your country home. You would prefer to be there?”
    Maddie returned her attention to the street. “I would prefer to be anywhere other than I am.”
    “Driving around the park with a man of doubtful morals?”
    She shook her head but did not reply.
    Her silence deprived him of the pleasure of listening to her voice, which if it hadn’t curled his toes today, had definitely made them twitch, and so Angel made an effort to draw her out. Soon Mrs. Tate was telling him of Meadowmount, and the leaking roof which had resulted in her husband’s demise. Angel’s own spouse would never be so agreeable as to tumble off a roof, but he savored the idea.
    Her sons weren’t happy in London, confided Maddie. While she felt her boys had the rest of their lives to be hemmed in with rules and regulations, and at their current age should be permitted to enjoy themselves, this point of view was not popular in her father’s house. Sir Owen didn’t care for any of his dependents to enjoy themselves.
    Sir Owen’s daughter looked guilty. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You bring out the worst in me.”
    Maddie Tate was an unusual young woman. Angel was enjoying this exchange. “I would enjoy bringing out the worst in you, my goddess. But that isn’t my current aim. I fear I must —  much as I dislike it! —  speak seriously with you for a moment. Regarding the masquerade.”
    Color blossomed in her cheeks. “I behaved in the most outrageous manner. I hope you haven’t mentioned —  I beg that you won’t mention —  if Sir Owen found out —  Oh, pray tell no one you saw me there!”
     “I won’t betray you,” Angel promised, and hoped the same might be said for Lords Saxe and Castlereagh. “Will you tell me what you were running from? If you kissed the pharaoh the way you kissed me, I can’t blame the man for pursuing you.”
    Maddie glanced sideways at him. “It was a nice kiss, was it not?”
     “I’ll have you know,” retorted Angel, “that I am accustomed to my kisses being considered rather more than