Malcolm placed the dog on the seat and saw that it was comfortable before stepping inside himself. He turned with a foot on the step and took hold of the umbrella.
Selina resisted giving it back to him for a moment. “You don’t like the rain, do you?”
He slid his hand down the handle of the umbrella until it cupped hers. “It’ll take more than a game of piquet to make me answer that.”
“Lady Selina!”
Her own carriage had rolled up behind her, and the footman was holding open the door. Malcolm bowed to Aunt Ursula, who had wrapped herself so securely in furs and blankets that she resembled an overstuffed cushion.
“Good night, Lady Ursula.” He took the umbrella from Selina and upturned it to shake off the water. “Good night,” he repeated, quietly, flashing her the briefest of smiles before retreating into his carriage. The dog made a noise between a whimper and a happy yip.
Selina hurried into the carriage before the rain soaked through her bonnet. She did not say much on the journey home and was grateful that Aunt Ursula was too tired to press her.
As she gazed out at the dark streets of London, her mind kept returning to the expression on Malcolm’s face when he realised she was holding the umbrella. The mix of shock and unexpected pleasure. The way his lips had soundlessly parted, as though he had something to say that was too private to be spoken in company.
She could not say why she struggled so to shake his face from her thoughts. She could not give a name to the feeling, timid yet warm, that sprung up inside her when she thought of it.
She had lost a game of piquet that evening, but she did not feel the sting of defeat. The memory of Malcolm’s face at their parting made her feel that she had won. Though she could not imagine what her prize would be.
7
Malcolm had expected to see Selina walking the streets of Twynham, accompanied by her chosen candidate, Mr Forrester, a rosy-cheeked woman who presumably was Mrs Forrester, and a maid who looked as though she had not expected quite so much walking from her day’s duties.
What he did not expect, as he and Sir Roderick approached their party from the other end of Twynham’s High Street, was the smile that broke out on Selina’s face when she saw him.
He stopped, a rush of heat rising in his chest, as Selina hurried towards him with beaming delight. He had seen that smile when she looked at her sisters, had noticed how it transformed the severity of her face into something luminous and lovely, full of welcome and invitingly soft surfaces.
Not that she was not an attractive woman without it. Even a blind man would have been forced to admit her beauty. But Malcolm might look at a thousand lovely faces without feeling a fraction of the pleasure, the yearning, that he felt when Selina smiled.
He had never imagined she would grace him with that glow of delight. As it happened, he was right.
She was smiling at the dog he held in his arms.
“Oh, what a precious creature!” she cried, stroking the dog’s ears before she had even spared a good day for Malcolm. “How is his hurt leg?”
“Healing nicely, thank you.” Malcolm shifted the dog’s weight as it lapped enthusiastically at Selina’s hand. “I have named him Percival.”
He suspected she was trying not to laugh. “A rather fine name for a retired coach dog.”
“He is as brave as any Knight of the Round Table. Barely a whimper was heard as we bandaged up his leg.”
She scratched Percival’s ears. He gazed at her adoringly.
Malcolm was beginning to feel that he and the dog had more in common than first appeared. He cleared his throat. “You know Sir Roderick, of course.”
“I do.” Selina nodded politely. Mr and Mrs Forrester approached, and all the necessary introductions were made.
“How clever of His Grace to bring the puppy along to campaign with him,” said Selina, linking her arm through Mrs Forrester’s. “Little Percival has a charm he cannot hope to match.”
Malcolm could only admire the way Selina put Mrs Forrester at ease. The lady had been struck dumb with nerves on being introduced to a duke. Now, at Selina’s gentle nudging, she managed a little laugh.
“The dog has grown attached to me,” said Malcolm. “I couldn’t leave him at home. My staff can’t persuade him to eat unless I’m close by.”
Selina was not the sort of person who smirked, but her lips moved in a way that came close. “I see. It is the dog who has become attached to you. Not the other way around.”
“What brings you to Twynham this morning, my lady?” asked Sir Roderick, with a roughness that made Malcolm wince. He knew his old friend’s opinion of female interference in politics was not high. Especially when it threatened his own ambitions.
“Now, now, Roddy. They’ve as much right to be here as we do.”
Mr Forrester looked his opponent directly in the eye. Unlike his little wife, he was not at all cowed by titles. “We are canvassing the people of Twynham. Lady Selina has been of great assistance.”
“Oh, I imagine she has.” Sir Roderick smacked his lips together. “Who wouldn’t trade a vote for a kiss from her ladyship, after all?”
“That’s enough,” Malcolm snapped. He flashed the Forresters and Selina a smile and seized Sir Roderick by the arm, pulling him aside. This was made more difficult than expected by Percival’s desperate efforts to leap from his arms and get back to Selina.
“What the devil’s the matter, Caversham?” demanded Sir Roderick, shaking him off with a frown. “If the gel can’t take a few punches, she has no business entering the ring.”
“You wouldn’t impugn a gentleman’s honour simply because he stood against you,” said Malcolm, rearranging his grip on the restless dog. “I will ask you to show
