Chapter 8
Alice had expected the rather chilly temperatures of spring. But the moment the footman opened the door of their modest townhouse on their modest square, and she stepped out onto the pavement, her entire body felt like melting into the sun.
The heaven of it was sheer bliss.
The shockingly warm rays poured down upon her from a sapphire-blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and the shining ball of the sun glimmered overhead like the promise of perfection. That perfection was mirrored in the truly magnificent curricle waiting for her on the busy street.
But even more perfect was the man who held the reins of his russet-colored horses.
Deimos Briarwood sat mastering the curricle with strong arms, leather-gloved hands, and a jaunty posture. He beamed down at her.
“Your carriage awaits, Miss Mitchell,” he called, a grand note enriching his voice.
She beamed right back. How could she not when the cut of his burgundy coat hugged his magnificent shoulders, and his hat perched at a rakish angle over his striking face?
This was her companion! She’d made this happen. A wave of pride crashed through her. She’d chosen this and the opportunities it would bring.
The footman led her easily to the curricle and helped her up beside Deimos. The curricle rocked precariously for a moment, balancing on its two wheels.
As she settled, she let out a most pleased breath. This was the closest she’d ever been to Deimos besides when they were dancing. Their thighs touched, though there was the fabric of their clothes between them.
He was so large, a towering figure of male prowess, and the heat of his body was tempting. How she wished she could lean into him. But she had to maintain her excellent posture and keep her hands folded in her lap.
Still, what a revelation to be so near him! His scent of spice and juniper wafted in the air around her. It was positively delicious to her senses.
She clutched her reticule in her gloved hands, gave the footman a nod of thanks, and then readied herself to be taken on her first adventure.
He snapped up the reins, and they darted out into the busy street, easily navigating the other vehicles and people choking the road with their wares.
As they darted around the snarl, she felt a moment’s apprehension, for she’d never been in such a small, open-aired vehicle, which was meant sometimes for racing and navigating about the crowds that filled the London streets.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, as if he could read her very thoughts. There was no judgement in his deep, somewhat gravelly voice.
“I, afraid? Never,” she declared passionately, before she turned to look up at him and quipped, “Though I confess it does feel a bit precarious up here.”
She pursed her lips and eyed the narrow seat and the edge of the curricle. “What would happen if I were to fall off?”
In command of their route with what seemed inherent ease, he smiled at her slowly. “I’ll never let you fall off. Cling to me, if you will. Tuck your arm in my elbow.”
She gave him a teasing look. “Is that why you brought the curricle then? So that I’d have to tuck my arm in your elbow? Is that our first adventure together?”
“If you want it to be,” he growled softly.
Something about the tone of his voice and the promise of his words did something to her. They caused her belly to tighten, to warm.
And so, after only a moment’s hesitation, she did tuck her arm into his, under the guise of safety. His hard muscles caused her breath to hitch, and it did feel like a bit of rebellion.
“Now, where to?” she asked.
He gazed down at their arms intertwined and her skirt, which had fluttered over his thigh, and grinned wolfishly.
“Ah, it’s my secret,” he said.
“Ooh, are we going to some great writing room, or is it possible that we’re going to an artist’s studio, or a den of—?”
He laughed, a sound which thrilled her to her core.
“Have done, Miss Mitchell,” he cut in. “Have done. You must allow me to have my secrets.”
“Why ever should I?” she asked, feeling a sort of joy in his presence that she hadn’t felt in some time.
“Because you will like my secrets,” he drawled playfully, and he turned the curricle not towards the City of London as she had expected, but to the west, away from all the hub and bub.
She frowned, uncertain. Surely, any adventure she might wish to have was towards the City and the vital nature of London?
But she had asked Deimos to guide her, so questioning him now seemed rather foolish.
She sat up straight and allowed herself to be escorted out past the parks, out past the newest beautiful buildings being constructed to house the new money that London was now constantly full of.
London, after all, was the shipping center of the world. Money was pouring in, often gotten through nefarious gains, and the city was ever expanding and thriving because of it.
She gazed about, marveling at the city and the construction, but then the city gave way to fields and forests and the thick city air was replaced with the fresh air of the country.
“I say, this is not the way to Heron House,” she said, trying to make sense of where they might be going. Heron House was on the river, but not too close to London.
It certainly made it possible for the Briarwood family members to go into the city whenever they pleased, and yet it did feel like an idyllic spot.
“I never said I was taking you to Heron House,” he pointed out, as he urged his horses on over the rough, muddy road. “Besides, that wouldn’t be much of an adventure for you. You’ve been there many times.”
“Too true,” she agreed, amazed at his ability to refrain from telling her their destination.
Instead of worrying, she turned her face to the ever-warming sun, basking in it like a cat, despite the way the curricle bounced up and down over the ruts.
A particularly bad jolt caused her to nearly fly into his lap, and a cry of alarm slipped past her lips.
He held the reins with one hand and steadied her with his other.
For a moment, she was pressed to him shoulder to hip, and any alarm at the rough ride was stolen away by the feel of his hard body against hers.
Once the road smoothed out again, he eased his hold, much to her regret.
After not much longer, sitting in companionable silence, he turned the curricle off onto another smaller road. In fact, it barely seemed a road at all, but a path into trees that had only recently regrown their verdant leaves.
“Where the blazes are we going?” she blurted. “How far into the countryside are we going? What’s in the countryside that will prove an adventure for me?”
He laughed. “I’m an adventure.”
“So you are,” she said, “but I did not know that your sort of adventure was going to be part and parcel of our arrangement.”
He pulled the curricle over to a field covered in flowers and surrounded by oak and willow trees that looked as if they had been there since the Tudors.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Yes, it is.” He steadied his horses and studied her. “Just like you.”
“Oh, don’t, Deimos.” She sighed. “You are above such silly things with me, aren’t you?
Comparing me to wildflowers. I’m sure that works with all the other ladies.
But not me. I fear the next thing I know, you’ll say something out of Shakespeare.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? ’ Et cetera, et cetera.”
“Well, this is a spring day, not a summer’s day,” he countered.
“I will not bore you with clichés, I promise. Though it feels like summer today. It’s far hotter than I thought it would be, and I’m quite relieved that we will not shiver through this meeting.
I came ready for damp and dew and brisk temperatures. ”
“It is a boon,” she said, drawing in a long breath, savoring the scent of grass and flowers and earth, but then she waggled her brows. “I may just have to remove my spencer.”
“That is temptation indeed.”
She laughed, happy to feel laughter and smiles returning to her. “If I remove my spencer?”
“Anything you remove, my dear, is temptation,” he teased with a wink.
Deimos helped her down from the curricle and tied his horses off on a sturdy tree branch, allowing them to partake in the young grass.
She took a few steps into the field that bore the abundance of the first waves of warm weather. She wondered if the field had transformed overnight, as the landscape so often did when the weather truly warmed up.
Deimos tucked a wicker basket over his arm, whipped out a blanket, strode forward, laid it down upon the field, and then he plucked the mysterious basket down too.
“Is this a picnic?” she asked, rather surprised but intrigued.
“Have you been on a picnic?”
“Not with a gentleman,” she said, tucking her hands behind her.
“Then this is an adventure for you.”
“I confess it is, but I’m not entirely certain this is what I had in mind.”
“I rather thought not,” he said. “But I promise there is a method unto all of this.”
“Right,” she said, willing to listen. “Explain it.”
“Have a seat,” he said, offering her his hand.
She nodded and slipped her fingers into his, loving the feel of their strength as he easily lowered her to the blanket surrounded by the beautiful spring flowers that bathed the field.
The crimson, yellow, and white petals bobbed in the soft, warm breeze, and suddenly she felt herself freer than she had in months.
There was no one for miles, of that she was certain, and the birdsong in the air lifted her heart.
She hadn’t realized that she’d felt so entirely closed-in by London and, of course, the chill and the rain that always came with spring.
There had been promises of warmth, even days where it felt like summer might be around the corner, but this was the first real day where she could take her spencer off and not feel cold, and so she did.
First, she tucked her skirts about her legs so she did not show her stockinged limbs. And with each moment, the heat only seemed to grow.