Free The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness by Tamara Lejeune

was very strong. Bolting down the last of his gooseberry tart, he hastily retreated to the other side of the street, shielded, he hoped, from her view by a passing carriage. To his relief, she did not seem to see him, but continued on her way with quick steps. Max did the same.
    Halfway down Bond Street, he found Freddie Broome looking into a shop window. “I’m afraid you have jam on your face,” Freddie greeted him.
    “Gooseberry tart,” Max corrected him. Taking out his handkerchief, he quickly removed the evidence.
    “How is Mrs. Drabble?” Freddie asked cordially. “With you it is a gooseberry tart. With me it is a baked egg. There is something very comforting about a baked egg.”
    “There is indeed,” Max agreed very gravely.
    “I suppose there is something very comforting about a gooseberry tart, too,” Freddie said civilly. “ Chacun à son goût, as the Frogs say.”
    “Precisely,” said Max. “Now what’s all this I hear about you selling my grays?”
    “I think you’ll find they are mine,” Freddie replied. “You lost the bet, remember?”
    “I’ll buy ’em back!” said Max.
    “And so you may,” Freddie replied, “at Tattersall’s! They’re in the Monday sale.”
    “You should have offered them to me first.”
    “Didn’t know you were in town,” Freddie replied, “and I’m in a hurry. I’m off to St. Petersburg on Tuesday.”
    “You can go to the devil for all I care!” said Max. “Take them out of sale. They’re mine! I’ll give you five hundred guineas for them on the spot!”
    “Now, you know I can’t do that,” Freddie said mildly. “I would if I could, Max. But you know I can’t. Besides, didn’t you just buy Bassington’s chestnuts?”
    “Not a patch on my grays!” said Max.
    Freddie suddenly gave a low whistle. “I say! That’s a damned fine-looking girl!”
    Max immediately turned to catch a glimpse of the damned fine-looking girl. All the color drained out of his face. He cursed under his breath.
    “Max!” she shrieked, waving exuberantly. “Oh, Max! Yoo-hoo! Over here!”
    She must have seen him, after all, as he was crossing Oxford Street. She must have doubled back in pursuit of him.
    “Miss W——, I presume?” Freddie drawled, raising his quizzing glass.
    Max did not bother to answer. Turning quickly, he ran, leaving Freddie staring after him in astonishment. Willing in that moment, to do anything to escape Pru, Max darted into traffic, jumped onto the running board of a passing carriage. Opening the door, he flung himself inside, rolling on the floor.
    One of the passengers, a severe-looking middle-aged female, instantly began beating him with an umbrella. “Forgive me!” Max pleaded, raising one arm to fend off the blows. “There’s someone after me. I’ll be gone in a moment. I mean no harm! I just had to get away!”
    “I quite understand,” said the other passenger, a handsome, self-assured young woman with auburn hair and pale blue eyes. Her pale blue hooded cloak exactly matched her eyes. “When a girl is that pretty the only thing to do is run away! Porson, you may stop beating Mr. Purefoy now.”
    Max looked at her gratefully. “Thank you, Miss ... er ... ?”
    Her neatly plucked brows rose slightly. “Lady Isabella,” she said, with a slight emphasis on the “Lady.” “She is remarkably determined, whoever she is,” she went on quite calmly, looking out the window. “Perhaps she has a genuine claim on you, Mr. Purefoy?”
    Max shuddered. “Certainly not! I throw myself on your mercy, Lady Isabella.”
    She smiled. “You are quite safe now, Mr. Purefoy. The beautiful girl is gone. You may take a seat. Porson! Give Mr. Purefoy your seat.”
    Lady Isabella’s maid quickly moved to join her mistress, leaving the opposite seat for Max. “Thank you,” he said. “You know my name. Have we met?”
    If Lady Isabella was hurt that he did not remember her, she gave no sign. “My brother and I were fortunate enough to be