A Tale of Two Lovers by Maya Rodale Page B

not to find her adorable. Her courage and effort at her disguise was admirable.
    “I hope I am not interrupting anything serious,” Brandon said, stopping by their table. Julianna nodded her head in acknowledgment.
    “Not at all,” Roxbury said. And then, quite loudly, he added, “I’d like to introduce my cousin Julian, newly arrived from Shropshire.”
    Roxbury grinned as Brandon and Julianna awkwardly shook hands, and obviously recognized each other—she was the good friend of his wife after all. She was also wearing his clothing.
    “I had a jacket just like that one, in my Eton days,” Brandon said pointedly.
    Julianna only smiled faintly.
    “Pardon him. He’s not quite all there upstairs,” Roxbury said loudly, and damn, did she scowl at him for that! He only smiled in return, thinking he’d never enjoyed himself more at White’s—and what did that say?
    It was why he did not reveal her disguise, because he wanted her company. She was a shrew, but she was a pretty one, and he was aching for a woman and hungering for company. Even if it came in the tempting, troubling, entertaining, and vexing form of Lady Somerset.
    It was a troubling thought, quickly pushed aside.
    “I wasn’t aware you had a cousin, Roxbury,” Brandon said, playing along.
    “Neither was I. But you do know how poor relations have a way of coming out of the woodwork,” he explained. Loudly.
    Quite a few men in the vicinity nodded and grumbled their agreement.
    “Come along, Julian,” Roxbury said, clapping her on the back. “You’ve had your taste of London. Time for you to return to Shropshire.”

Chapter 15
     
    O nce outside on St James’s Street, the little minx attempted to walk away in the opposite direction than he—alone, and without saying goodbye. Roxbury grabbed a fistful of her coat, tugged her back, and chided her as if she was his slightly daft country cousin.
    “This way, Julian.”
    “I’m not Julian,” she grumbled.
    Roxbury feigned shock.
    “Oh, I am terribly sorry. Did you want me to announce you as Lady Somerset, otherwise known as the Lady of Distinction from The London Weekly ?”
    She pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed. She was seething because he was right and she knew it. Roxbury paused to savor the moment.
    “You are welcome,” he said graciously.
    “Thank you,” she mumbled so quietly that if he had not been watching her lips move—her luscious, pink, undeniably female lips—he would have missed it.
    Roxbury opened the door to his carriage and indicated she should join, but the maddening, stubborn, impossible woman stood her ground. She folded her arms across her chest.
    It was immediately clear what this was about: she wanted to gallivant across London dressed as an idiotic country cousin all in some quest for “news” or “gossip” or “adventure” not at all realizing that people got killed for that sort of thing, especially when the person in question was a woman, a lady. Especially when the woman was drunk. He and his chaperoned ride put a stop to that.
    “You do look remarkably mannish,” he said, and he took pleasure in the way her eyes widened in shock and her lips pursed in vexation. “But it’s getting dark, and we both know the streets of London are not safe for anyone. You haven’t a prayer of defending yourself.”
    To his surprise, she did not immediately leap into the carriage and thank him for considering her well-being.
    “Much as it would please me if you never wrote another word, I’m not going to have your death on my conscience,” he said. “Are you coming or not?”
    “I’m merely shocked at your chivalrous behavior,” she replied, but they both knew she had wanted to go off alone in search of a dozen different kinds of trouble. “But yes, I’m coming.”
    He wasn’t going to assist her into the carriage because it was at odds with her disguise. But out of habit she held out her hand, and out of habit he clasped it. Against all common sense,