Free Shirley Kerr by Confessions of a Viscount

breathing. This close, he caught a hint of her rosewater perfume. If he were to nuzzle her neck, kiss her just there, beneath her ear, he’d be surrounded by her scent.
    Not wishing to draw undue attention from any passersby, he reluctantly leaned back. He couldn’t help glancing at the road behind them as he did so. He froze. The two men on horseback were still there, two carriages back. They should have passed by while Clarke and Dorian had been annoying him.
    “I don’t wish to alarm you,” he said, leaning close again. “But I think two men are following us. They seem far more interested in you than in me. Is there perhaps a jilted or unsuccessful suitor in your past, someone you’d like to tell me about?”
    “Blast.” Miss Parnell kept her eyes on the road ahead, her expression neutral. “Would one of them happen to look like he’s borrowed the clothes he’s wearing, and have curly black hair desperately in need of a wash?”
    Under the pretext of adjusting his sleeve, with his arm still resting on the back of the bench, Alistair took another look behind. “An apt description. Friend of yours?”
    “Only in that he’s the reason you and I bumped into each other that first day.”
    “He’s followed you before?” Still no cause for concern, Alistair reminded himself. Blakeney was exactly the sort of person to set someone watching his sister and not tell her about it, especially given his clandestine profession.
    “I turned down several streets and went in and out of three shops to make sure I wasn’t simply being unreasonably suspicious. I didn’t become concerned until the second fellow joined him.” Her gaze darted to Alistair, then back to the road. “I knew they wouldn’t come any closer if I was with another man.”
    He took his eyes off the road ahead to stare at her. “Are you saying I was the lesser of two evils?” He was uncertain if he should take umbrage at her assessment of him being safe.
    “When faced with the choice of devils or angels, I think it most wise to associate with heavenly hosts.”
    Alistair coughed. Was an angelic comparison worse than an unintentional insult, or better?
    “I consider myself fortunate that you had stopped to peer through that shop window. By the way, what was it you were looking at?”
    “An eyepiece for my telescope.” He glanced over his shoulder. Both men were still there, two carriage lengths back, deep in conversation, as though they cared not a whit about Miss Parnell. “They seem to be distracted. Turn here, now! Let’s see if we can get rid of them altogether.”
    “You’re willing to let me drive out on the open street?” She turned the horse, leaving the park.
    “Is there a reason I should not?” He itched to take back the reins, but forced his hands to remain on his lap. This exit was on the far side from where they hadentered the park, which meant they would have to negotiate even more of London’s clogged streets to get Miss Parnell back home.
    “Steven wanted me to know how to drive, but he’d never actually let me do so in traffic if he were with me.”
    Alistair hoped he sounded convincing. “I trust you to know your limits, and that you will give back the reins before taking any foolish risks with me, my carriage,” he spared her a smile, “or poor Maxwell.”
    Her quiet reply was lost in the clatter of a mail coach lumbering past in the opposite direction and the call of an orange vendor. It sounded suspiciously like “bleedin’ miracle,” but he couldn’t be sure.
    His heart only stopped two or three times, certain they were about to be killed, but each time Miss Parnell kept the horse and phaeton under control. He managed to keep his hands to himself as she made a few unnecessary turns, making sure they were not being followed, before driving unerringly to her town house. He was too tense to engage in idle conversation on the journey, and did not wish to risk distracting her, so his comments were limited to