“Not to worry, my lady!” said the groom, taking off his coat and holding it over Selina’s head. She waved him off.
“A little rain never hurt anyone.” Though it was certainly the final damp straw of a very trying afternoon. “I’ll be under cover soon enough. Keep yourself warm!”
She took a step back as the shining black wheels of a town coach rolled past. To her surprise, the enormous carriage ground to a halt at her side. The Caversham livery gleamed golden on its door.
Malcolm opened the coach door himself, glanced at the rain, and leaned out just far enough that his hat did not get wet. “Is something the matter, my lady? One of your horses is unhitched.”
“He’s thrown a shoe.” Selina sheltered her face with a hand, wishing with all her might that Malcolm would leave off his crowing and go to dissolve himself in brandy at the club. “Matters are in hand, Your Grace.”
Malcolm glanced warily at the rain and produced a large grey umbrella from under his seat. He opened it carefully, without exposing his hands to the weather, and managed to extricate himself from the carriage without a drop of rain touching him. He stood beside Selina, the umbrella sheltering them both.
“I must offer you a lift home.”
“I won’t put you to the trouble.” Selina could not keep the twist of bitterness from her voice. “You have taken such effort to woo the Twynham voters. I know you don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Nonsense. I am not the candidate. My manners are not the ones under scrutiny.” He turned back to shout at the hunched grey man inside the carriage. “Roddy? Roddy, you must get yourself a hackney. I am taking the Balfour ladies home.” He beckoned to a footman. “Hail a hackney for Sir Roderick, there’s a good man.”
He turned back to Selina. She realised that she had taken two steps too many into the shelter of the umbrella. His face was dangerously close to hers.
She could see every strong-jawed, finely carved reason the young ladies had christened him His Gorgeous Grace. The shadow of masculine hair beginning to roughen a chin that must have been shaved only that morning. The flecks of green deep within the startling blue of his eyes, like the refracted light at the heart of a crystal.
Malcolm caught her by the elbow as she took a step back. “You’ll get wet,” he said quietly.
Selina glanced up at the tented black oilcloth. “My father always told me never to trust a man who carried an umbrella.”
“Fortunately, we live in more enlightened times. They aren’t only for Frenchmen and dandies these days.” He gave the polished handle an ironic shake, sending droplets of rain sparkling to the ground around them. “They are also useful for those too wealthy to care what other men think of them.”
Sir Roderick descended, grumbling, from the carriage behind him. Within moments, Malcolm had handed Selina and Ursula inside, and they were dry and warm and making swift progress through the winding streets.
Aunt Ursula propped her feet up on the seat opposite, tipped back her head against the cushioned backrest, and was snoring uproariously within moments. Selina tried not to meet Malcolm’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to contain her laughter if she did.
“I thought I’d be in for a lecture,” he said. Selina risked a glance and found him watching her with another of his teasing smiles. “I’d wager you have a gift for rhetoric every bit as potent as your Mr Forrester. And here I am, a captive audience, and as deserving of a tongue-lashing as I’ve ever been. And yet you are silent.”
“I’d tell you exactly what I thought of you if I didn’t suspect you’d enjoy it,” said Selina stiffly. “Or find some way to turn it against me.” She patted the back of her hair, where the curls had caught the rain and were beginning to unfurl themselves. “You thought of the perfect way to usurp my rally, and you want me to congratulate you by way of getting angry. I don’t see why I should give you the satisfaction.”
He leaned closer. “If you’ve made one thing clear, Selina, it is that I’ll get no satisfaction from you whatsoever.”
Selina glanced at Aunt Ursula, who let rip another rumbling snore. Her shoulders tensed. “I think silence was the better option.”
He sat back, a thoughtful finger stroking his chin. “You despise me, don’t you.”
“I don’t think of you enough to despise you.”
“Why?” A genuine note of hurt coarsened his voice. At least, she thought it was genuine. She was certain that Malcolm could feign any emotion he chose – particularly when in pursuit of a conquest – but when she met his eyes, she saw no hint of guile.
Only interest, and an endless azure blue.
“What have I done to make you dislike me?” he pressed. “It can’t be the politics. You’ve given me enough set downs over the years that I know it’s not a new aversion.”
Selina took a slow breath. “Why do you want to know?”
He glanced down, jaw tightening, then gave a careless shrug. “If I’ve been in the habit of making accidental enemies throughout the ton, I ought to know about it. It doesn’t do a man any good to be disliked.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I confess I’ve always thought of myself as rather charming.”
“Yes. I know.” Selina shook her head. A cold drip of rain fell from her sodden hair and traced its way down her neck. She gave a little shiver. “That’s part of the problem. The rest of it is… Oh, it isn’t anything you’ve done.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
“It’s who you are.”
“Ah.”
Selina didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t another of his devil’s grins.
“Let me guess,” said Malcolm, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You think me vain, arrogant, frivolous and undeserving of my station in
