‘Really, there is no need. Your poor horse is already becoming agitated in this crowd. Take him home; I will not be far behind.’
It took her a moment to realise that one of his gloved hands was outstretched. Surely His Royal Highness, the Duke of Pomposity, was not suggesting that she should ride on the horse with him? Just the two of them? On one saddle? In the middle of Piccadilly? Her disbelief must have been evident in her expression.
‘Come on,’ he said impatiently. ‘This is hardly the moment for you to become all missish. You are the one who decided it was perfectly acceptable to be out here alone. In the dark. Unchaperoned. If I stick to the back alleys, nobody will see us and we will be home in half the time. Besides, I can hardly leave you to fend for yourself, and I have no desire to walk when I have a perfectly good horse.’
Words truly failed her. She would never have expected him to show such kindness to a lowly being like her. For a moment she considered how improper it would be for her to sit on the same horse as a man, then quickly decided that she did not care. Amelia was too cold to refuse him. If he was prepared to risk the impropriety, so was she.
She grabbed his hand and found herself hoisted from the ground in one smooth motion, as if her weight was of no consequence, before she was deposited across the saddle and, by default, his lap. At a loss as to what else to do and feeling quite precarious, Amelia was forced to slide one hand about his waist just to balance herself while he guided the horse around the many pedestrians. Within minutes, they had left Piccadilly and entered a dark alleyway, away from the jammed main thoroughfare.
Wordlessly, he adjusted his position on the saddle to give her more room, then arranged his arms so that they still held the reins but formed a safe cage around her. Another thoughtful gesture for her comfort, she noticed begrudgingly. He felt so warm and so solid it was difficult not to want to snuggle against him. Instead, Amelia tried to make polite conversation, in the hope that it might somehow serve to warm her or make her feel less awkward.
‘Thank you. It is very kind. I was not looking forward to walking the last mile home. It has got cold quickly, hasn’t it?’
‘It’s winter and it’s dark. What else did you expect?’ He sounded peeved again. Or perhaps that was just his natural tone of voice. Either way, there was no answer to his clipped question, so she huddled into her shawl and decided to remain mute.
After several uncomfortable minutes he spoke again. ‘You are still shivering.’
‘It will stop.’
‘What possessed you to come out without a proper winter coat? My aunt will kill me if I let you freeze to death.’ One of his hands let go of the reins and reached around to undo the buttons on his greatcoat. Then, to her complete shock and mortification, he pulled her backwards so that she was closer to his big, solid body and wrapped the ends of his coat around her protectively. Amelia was instantly, and gratefully, surrounded in his warmth. Instinctively, she turned her chilled body towards his chest and burrowed nearer to the heat, then regretted it instantly when he stiffened.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered as she pulled away. ‘I forgot myself. I am just so very cold.’
She heard his breath come out in a ragged sigh. ‘It’s all right. Warm yourself. Nobody can see.’
He pulled her back under the heavy folds of his coat again and held her close with one arm. Beneath her fingers she felt the muscles on his flat abdomen tense briefly before he forced them to relax, although she was certain she heard his heart quicken. Or perhaps that was just her own heart she could hear? Her pulse had certainly stepped up since he had pulled her closer. But he made no further attempt at conversation.
Silently, he wound his way skilfully through the quiet streets, clearly intent on ignoring Amelia completely. It was difficult not to enjoy the feeling of being held so close to him. Not only did the position ward off the biting cold, but he felt good under her palms. This was not the body of a pampered aristocrat. It was firm and strong. There was muscle beneath the fine clothes that she had not expected to be there. He also smelled deliciously of something male and spicy; the subtle aroma seemed to come directly from beneath his fitted waistcoat and shirt, teasing her nose and making her forget all of the reasons why she disliked him.
‘Why were you in Piccadilly?’
His curt voice rumbled against her ear and broke the sensory spell that had apparently bewitched her. She knew where she stood when he was being pompous; it made him easier to deal with, so the lie came smoothly.
‘It has been such a long time since I have been back in London, I went on a long walk to see what has changed. I lost track of time.’
He was silent for a moment, then she felt his chest rise and fall on a deep sigh. ‘Whilst you are a guest in my house, Miss Mansfield, I must insist that you do not go out alone again. You have my express permission to take a footman with you whenever or wherever you go. These streets can be dangerous for a woman alone.’
The delivery might have been a bit brusque, but the sentiment was sweet. ‘Thank you. I shall do that going forward.’ No, she wouldn’t. A footman would tell him where she had been.
Another awkward silence prevailed.
‘How was your speech?’
‘Irritatingly postponed for another week. Apparently, Parliament needed to have a tantrum today, so all important business has had to be delayed. Again.’
His tone, for once, sounded conversational. If he could be friendly, Amelia supposed she could too—in the spirit of their enforced truce.
‘A tantrum? That is an interesting turn of phrase.’
He sighed again and the last remnants of his tension seemed to disappear. ‘From time to time, or, to be more precise, at least once a week at the moment, the members of both houses feel the need to noisily vent all of their frustrations with the world. When they do, it descends into chaos because so many throw their hat into the ring to shout their opinions loudly.’
‘You sound as if you disapprove.’
‘I heartily disapprove. It is a waste of everyone’s time. Such exchanges never achieve anything. However, it is exactly that sort of nonsense that the newspapers report, so many members play to the gallery in order to get the publicity. That defeats the object of Parliament, in my opinion. It should be a place for educated debate, compromise and purpose—not a circus. It makes it impossible to get anything meaningful done.’
‘What got their dander up today?’
‘The King’s spending habits, or, more specifically, the cost of his extravagant folly in Brighton.’
The papers were filled with outrageous claims about Prinny’s Pavilion, detailing the vast cost entailed in building each part and questioning the need for it in the first place. Yet here was one of his cabinet calling it a folly. ‘Do you disapprove of that too?’
‘The country is drowning in war debts and international trade has virtually collapsed, therefore I can find no justifiable reason why His Royal Highness needs another building for his pleasure.’
His words shocked her. Had he really just criticised the monarch?
‘I can see that I have rendered you speechless, Miss Mansfield.’ He sounded quite pleased with himself at the feat. She peeked up at him from the cocoon of his coat and saw that he was almost smiling.
‘I must confess I am surprised. You are part of his government.’
‘I am part of Lord Liverpool’s government and, as such, our first and foremost duty is to serve the nation—not the monarch. We had a civil war about it a few hundred years ago now, you might recall. I believe we executed the King as a result.’
That was definitely sarcasm, something else about him that surprised her, but a language that Amelia was happily fluent