The Rake's Redemption. Regina Scott

grass, long legs eating up the yards.

      Oh, no, it would not be so easy to escape this time. How could Vaughn not suspect him when the man went to such lengths to avoid him?

      “My lord!” Vaughn called, urging the horses forward and narrowing the gap.

      The marquess didn’t pause.

      Lady Imogene glanced at Vaughn. Her pretty face was puckered, her brows down in a frown as if she couldn’t understand why he was so intent on pursuit. Something of his despair must have shown on his face, for she turned front once more, cupped her hands around her mouth and cried, “Father, wait!”

      The marquess halted and turned, and Vaughn thought he sagged in resignation. But as the carriage drew to a stop beside him, the man’s frame was as upright as ever and a pleasant smile lit his lean face.

      “Imogene and Mr. Everard. What a delightful surprise to see you out on such a lovely day.”

      Vaughn was very nearly struck dumb. How could the man stand there and speak of commonplaces? He had to know Vaughn had been hounding him from pillar to post. Vaughn glanced closer.

      The Marquess of Widmore had always been a striking man, with a slender body, elegant features and assessing gray eyes. Though his lips were thin, they were often curved in a smile, lighting his face. Now his tailored coat seemed too large for his frame, as if his energy had worn him thin, and Vaughn detected a tremor in one hand as the marquess stood gazing up at them.

      “Father,” Imogene greeted him, fingers worrying in her lap. “I’m surprised to see you here, as well. Mother and I were under the impression that you were in Whitehall.”