Free The Notorious Lord Havergal by Joan Smith Page A

her with an arm around her waist as she ascended. It was not a flirtatious gesture. No unnecessary pressure was applied, nor did the hand linger, but Lettie was aware of the latent strength in the arm that protected her. When she was safely ensconced, Havergal lifted his head and smiled. She felt a tug of attraction toward that winning smile.
    “It’s quite comfortable really,” she admitted.
    He vaulted up to the seat beside her and took the reins. “You sound surprised, Miss Beddoes. Did you think I would submit you to any danger?”
    “Not purposely,” she allowed.
    He gave the team the office to be off. Lettie’s neck jerked back at the unexpected speed of their takeoff. As the team continued at a fast, though steady, pace through the park toward the main road, she settled down to a rather nervous enjoyment of the sensation. Riding in an open curricle was a completely different sensation from rattling along at seven or eight miles an hour in her own lumbering carriage. The sun seemed brighter, the scenery greener, and the whole experience much more exciting. She felt like a goddess, sitting high on her throne, looking down on mere mortals below.
    They were fast approaching the main road, and Havergal wanted to steer her away from Ashford. He was by no means certain Crymont would have sent the girls home yet. They had come from London to Ashford yesterday. Certainly they had remained overnight, and if they left without touring the shops, it was more than he dared to count on.
    “I took Miss FitzSimmons to Kingsnorth,” he said. “Shall we go that way? The drive is pretty.”
    “You forget, Lord Havergal. You were to take me to Ashford to purchase new gloves.”
    Her reply left little room for maneuvering. His heart sank. “There was a very pretty shop at Kingsnorth.”
    “Not so good as Mercer’s, in Ashford. I have seen the gloves I want to buy. I shan’t keep you dawdling about the rows of buttons and pins for an hour, if that is what you fear,” she replied, still in good humor.
    He risked one more putting-off sally. “Why don’t we drive west, toward Tonbridge? I’ve never been that way.”
    “There is virtually nothing on that road till you reach Tonbridge,” she pointed out.
    “Let us go to Tonbridge.”
    “When we are driving all the way to Canterbury this afternoon? You are fond of driving, Lord Havergal. Much fonder than I. Ashford will be far enough. You turn right here,” she said as they reached the main road.
    He had no choice but to do as she asked. He did not give up entirely, however. It was still three miles to Ashford. He would discover some diversion along the way. At every byway he slowed down and inquired what lay down that road.
    “Only Norton’s farm,” she replied the first time. Another time it was “The local abattoir. I cannot believe you would want to go there.” When he inquired a third time, Lettie found it strange. “Do you have some particular aversion to being seen with me in Ashford, sir?” she asked quite briskly.
    Her interpretation of his reluctance threw him off balance. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said in confusion. “What aversion could I possibly have to being seen in your company?”
    “I don’t know either, unless it is this horrid bonnet, for my character is excellent, I promise you.” She carefully avoided any mention of her advanced years.
    “Better than mine, certainly,” he returned with a teasing smile. “It is your reputation I fear for, you see, being seen on the strut with that wastrel, Havergal. That is what my friends call me, Havergal. I wish you would do the same.” He lifted his blue eyes and examined her fleetingly. “And the bonnet, by the by, is charming.”
    After that bit of innocent flirtation, Lettie was much inclined to do as he suggested and dispense with the “Lord,” but as she had delivered Violet a lecture, she felt some demur was necessary. “We are hardly more than acquaintances,” she pointed