A Summer to Remember by Mary Balogh

beneath the stars?” he asked her, his voice lowered for her ears only.
    She had been gazing about at the trees and lamps, but she looked directly at him when he spoke. “I suppose,” she said gravely, “one’s answer to that must depend upon one’s partner.”
    He chuckled. “I tremble to ask,” he said. “Can there be anything more romantic than
this
waltz beneath the stars?”
    “There can be few activities more
pleasant
than this, my lord,” she said. A setdown if ever he had heard one.
    “I could think of a few.” He deliberately dropped his gaze to her mouth and tightened his hand at her waist. And what the devil was he about, trying to annoy her when he should be wooing her?
    “Why do you persist in flirting with me?” she asked him. “Have I not made it abundantly clear to you that I will not succumb to flattery? Does my reluctance amuse you?”
    Her
primness
amused him—surprisingly. It should be annoying, he supposed, but it was not. He found her grave dignity almost endearing.
    He twirled her without answering, drawing her closer when he saw another couple perilously close. But she was having none of it. She set the correct distance between them once more and looked into his eyes with steady reproach.
    “There was a large bumpkin about to mow you down,” he explained. “That one. Oops.” The large young man he indicated had just collided with another couple. Kit chuckled. “I will take you strolling when the waltz is over. And before you say the very firm no you are drawing breath for, I plan to make all proper by suggesting that the others accompany us.”
    She closed her mouth and looked warily at him.
    “It would be a shame,” he said, “to come to Vauxhall and not see as much of it as possible, would it not? The paths are wooded and rural and unutterably romantic.”
    “I did not come here for romance,” she said.
    “There are other alternatives.” He smiled wickedly at her and twirled her again, and her neck arched back as she gazed up at the wheeling colors of the lamps. “Why
did
you come?”
    When she did not immediately answer, he sighed soulfully. The music, he sensed, was about to end.
    “Come strolling with me,” he said. “With the others for propriety, of course.” If he could not escape their chaperonage once they were away from the environs of the pavilion, then he would have lost his touch indeed.
    The music drew to a close, and they stood facing each other while all about them couples made their way back to the boxes.
    “You hesitate because I swam in the Serpentine wearing only my pantaloons?” he asked her.
    “You make a joke of everything,” she said. “I wonder if anything is serious to you.”
    “Some things,” he assured her.
Ah yes, some things.
“Walk with me.”
    “Very well,” she said at last. “Provided everyone else agrees to accompany us, my lord. But I will not tolerate either flirtation or dalliance.”
    “I promise neither to flirt with you nor to dally with you,” he said, smiling, his right hand over his heart.
    She looked unconvinced.
    “Very well,” she said again.

6

    L auren had always loved beauty. The park at Newbury Abbey was beautiful, especially on a sunny summer’s day when the wind off the ocean was not too blustery. It was the inner lawns and flower gardens that she loved best, though, those parts of the park that had been tamed and cultivated. Those parts that were civilized. She had never really liked the wilder valley and beach, which were all a part of the park. They were untamed and disordered. Sometimes they frightened her in a way she could never quite explain. They reminded her, perhaps, of how little control humankind has over its own destiny. Of how close we always are to chaos.
    She was terrified of chaos.
    Vauxhall Gardens was a sheer delight. Nature had been tamed here and made lovely. The forest was lit by lamplight and traversed by wide, well-illumined paths with sculptures and grottos to add interest