Antonia’s first instinct was to refuse, but the thought of hobbling conspicuously across the Park was not appealing and her ankle was now throbbing.
‘Thank you, Hewitt. Is there room for my maid?’
‘No!’ Hewitt looked appalled at the thought of having a maidservant in his new carriage.
‘Very well. Julia, I am afraid you will have to walk back to Half Moon Street.’
‘Hewitt, do take care,’ Antonia gasped two minutes later as Hewitt took a curve so close the carriage rocked. She suspected that he had chosen both horse and curricle for their showy looks rather than quality, and was not entirely certain he could control either.
‘If you are nervous I will slow down, one would not wish to frighten a lady.’ He reined back and leered at Antonia, who placed her parasol firmly on the seat between them.
Antonia averted her gaze from his face and began to talk of the magnificence of the shrubberies and the greenness of the grass despite the warm weather.
Her determined horticultural commentary was rudely interrupted by Hewitt. ‘That’s a damn fine bit of horseflesh.’
Antonia turned, but she had no need to follow her cousin’s pointing whip. The magnificent black stallion emerging at a controlled walk from one of the side paths was turning all heads in the vicinity. But after one glance, Antonia’s attention was riveted not on the horse but on the rider.
Marcus was controlling the spirited animal with one hand, the other at his hat brim acknowledging greetings from many of the passers-by.
‘Drive on, Hewitt,’ she demanded sharply, but her cousin had reined back almost to a standstill and was not listening. ‘Stop gawping, Hewitt, it is only a horse.’
What was Marcus doing here? It was only three days since that disastrous dinner party at Brightshill, now here he was riding through Hyde Park, as cool as a cucumber. One thing was clear, he had not followed her, for how could he know where she had gone after all the precautions she had taken to cover her steps?
Antonia’s heart was thudding in her chest so loudly she felt sure it would be audible to her cousin sitting alongside her. She could not take her eyes off Marcus, sitting erect in the saddle. His boots were burnished to the black sheen of the animal beneath him, his riding clothes were immaculate. His hair was caught by the slight breeze as he raised his hat and her fingers clenched against the desire to run her fingers through it.
‘It is Allington, is it not?’ Hewitt demanded. ‘I wonder if he would tell me where he got that animal?’
‘Please, Hewitt, take me home, my ankle is painful and I am sure it is swelling.’
‘What? Oh, sorry, Coz.’ Hewitt, recalled by her sharp voice, started and let his hands drop. The bay, feeling the lack of control, broke into a trot and the curricle lurched. Antonia, thrown off balance, gripped Hewitt’s arm with both hands and was still in that position when Marcus saw them.
He urged the stallion forward with the pressure of his knees and came alongside the curricle as Hewitt once more gained control.
Hewitt just managed to doff his hat without dropping either it or the reins. ‘Your Grace.’
‘You have the advantage of me, sir, no doubt Miss Dane will introduce us. Your servant, ma’am.’ He replaced his tall hat and raised one eyebrow. ‘I had not looked to find you here, Miss Dane.’
‘And indeed, why should you?’ Antonia retorted. She put her chin high and left her hand resting on her cousin’s arm. ‘Allow me to make known to you my cousin, Mr Granger. Hewett, the Duke of Allington.’
The gentlemen exchanged stiff half-bows. Hewitt patted Antonia’s hand proprietorially.
Marcus’s face showed nothing but the bland amiability of a gentleman introduced to a new, boring, acquaintance but Antonia, knowing him so well, was aware of a watchfulness in his eyes. Some devil in her made her lay her free hand on top of Hewitt’s. ‘You will forgive us, Your Grace, but we have been out for some time and I am fatigued. Hewitt dear, take me home now.’
Marcus’s lip curved in an unpleasantly satirical smile. He did not believe a word of that, and Antonia knew it. ‘ln that case, ma’am, I would not detain you.’ To her chagrin Marcus tipped his hat once more and cantered off without asking for her direction. Not that I would have given it to him anyway.
Antonia was glad to descend from the carriage at her great-aunt’s house. The footman helped her down with care and she waved Hewitt goodbye as she limped up the steps on James’s arm. To her relief, her cousin showed no desire to accompany her into the house; she had been concerned that she had overdone things in the Park and that he would try and follow up her unexpected warmth. But no, she reassured herself, Hewitt was too stupid to notice.
The following morning her ankle was still stiff. Lady Granger, having failed to persuade her to allow her physician to examine it, had insisted that she spend the morning resting with it supported on a footstool. The old lady had driven out to visit an ailing acquaintance, promising to return in time for luncheon.
Antonia obediently settled down to read the latest volume of Lord Byron’s work. Many ladies would have considered it far too shocking for an unmarried girl to read, but Lady Granger had thoroughly enjoyed it and had no qualms in passing it to her niece.
Despite the disconcerting tendency of Marcus’s face to appear in her imagination every time she read a description of the hero, Antonia was engrossed in Manfred when Hodge threw the door open and announced, ‘Mr Granger, Miss Antonia.’
She groaned inwardly, wishing she had given instructions to Hodge that she was not at home. But then he would have denied all visitors…
Hewitt bustled across the room. ‘Dear Cousin. How is your afflicted, er...’ He boggled at naming part of a lady’s anatomy and finished lamely. ‘Injury?’
‘Much better, thank you, Cousin,’ Antonia said coolly. Why was he here? ‘Please, sit down and allow me to ring for some refreshment.’