Free Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride by Mary Balogh

Jennifer soon realized, not in order to drive or ride or walk, but in order to bow and waveand smile and converse and gossip. It was amazing, considering the fact that she had been officially out for less than twenty-four hours, how many people she now knew and how many of them stopped to exchange pleasantries with her and Lord Kersey.
    He was a great favorite with the ladies, of course. It became quickly apparent to Jennifer that those who stopped did so more to gaze at and talk with him than to converse with her. But the realization amused rather than annoyed her. She felt a wonderful possessive warmth, knowing that he was hers, knowing that all these women must be green with envy because he had chosen her as his bride.
    And if the ladies stopped for his benefit, several gentlemen stopped for hers. It was flattering to know that she had attracted notice even though it must be common knowledge that she was betrothed. Unlike Samantha, she had not wondered incessantly for the last several months and even years if she would be attractive to gentlemen. She had been concerned only with being attractive for Lord Kersey. She had assumed that no other man would afford her a second glance knowing that she was not part of the great marriage mart.
    The Earl of Thornhill was riding in the park, looking less satanic than he had last evening in a blue riding coat and buff pantaloons and Hessians. But he had a powerful presence. Even amid the crush of fashionable persons she saw him when he was quite a distance away. And hoped that he would not come close so that she would not have to treat him with the chill courtesy AuntAgatha had directed. She wished she knew what had given him an unsavory reputation. Though it was unladylike to want to know any such thing.
    Her attention was distracted by Lord Graham, Samantha’s first partner of the evening before, and another gentleman, who stopped to pay their respects. When they rode on, Jennifer found that the earl was close by and looking directly at her—as he seemed always to be doing. She inclined her head to him, hoping that he would ride on past.
    He stopped and touched his hat. “Miss Winwood, Kersey,” he said. “Fine day.”
    “Thornhill,” the viscount said stiffly and made to move on with his curricle. But the earl had laid a careless arm along the frame below the seat on which Jennifer sat.
    “I trust you are rested after your success last evening,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, ignoring the viscount.
    “Yes, I thank you.” How did one maintain the proper chill when such dark eyes gazed into one’s own and when they were the type of eyes it was almost impossible to look away from? “Thank you for the nosegay,” she said, without having intended to mention it. “It must have been difficult to find roses at this time of year. They are lovely.”
    “Are they?” He did something with his eyes so that they smiled though the rest of his face did not. It was quite disconcerting, Jennifer found.
    “Yes,” she said lamely, and wondered if she was blushing. She hoped not, but her cheeks felt hot.
    He withdrew his arm from the curricle and sat upright in the saddle again. Jennifer wondered idly if it was just that his horse was larger than anyone else’s or if it was his superior height that made it seem that he towered over everyone else in the park.
    “But not more lovely than their recipient,” he said, his voice making it sound as if they were quite alone together, and he touched his hat again and inclined his head, without looking at all at Lord Kersey.
    It had all happened in a few seconds. Several other people had spent longer beside their curricle. And yet she felt ruffled, disturbed, conspicuous. She felt that everyone must be looking at her and wondering why the Earl of Thornhill should be showing a particular interest in her when she was betrothed to Viscount Kersey. She was being foolish, she knew. She twirled her parasol and looked about her.