What Happens in London by Julia Quinn

dark hair was wind-blown, and his cheeks had a bit of color in them, and it should have made him look more approachable and friendly, but, Olivia thought with some disdain, he’d need to smile for that.
    Sir Harry Valentine did not do smiles. Certainly not in her direction.
    “Ladies,” he said, coming to a halt in front of them.
    “Sir Harry.” It was all Olivia could manage, given that she was loath to unclench her teeth.
    Mary kicked her.
    “May I introduce Miss Cadogan,” Olivia said.
    He tilted his head graciously. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    “Sir Harry,” Mary said, giving him a nod of greeting in return. “It is a pleasant morning, is it not?”
    “Very much so,” he replied. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Olivia?”
    “Indeed,” she said tightly. She turned toward Mary, hoping he would follow suit and direct his questions at her .
    But of course he did not. “I have not seen you in Hyde Park before, Lady Olivia,” he said.
    “I don’t normally venture forth this early.”
    “No,” he murmured, “I would imagine you have very important things to do at home at this time of the morning.”
    Mary gave her a curious look. It was a cryptic statement.
    “Things to do,” he went on, “people to watch…”
    “Is your cousin riding as well?” Olivia asked quickly.
    His brows rose mockingly. “Sebastian is rarely seen before noon,” he replied.
    “But you are an early riser?”
    “Always.”
    Another thing to detest about him. Olivia didn’t mind getting up early, but she hated people who were cheerful about it.
    Olivia made no further comment, purposefully trying to extend the moment into awkwardness. Perhaps he would take the hint and leave. Anybody with sense knew that conversation was impossible between two ladies on a bench and a gentleman on horseback. Her neck was already beginning to cramp from looking so far up.
    She reached up and rubbed the side of her neck, hoping he would take the hint. But then—because clearly everyone was against her, even herself—she had an extremely ill-timed burst of memory. About her imaginary boils. And the plague. Of the bubonic variety. And heaven help her, she laughed.
    Except she couldn’t laugh, not with Mary sitting right next her and Sir Harry looking down his arrogant nose, so she clamped her mouth shut. Except that sent the air through her nose, and she snorted. Most inelegantly. And that tickled.
    Which made her laugh for real.
    “Olivia?” Mary asked.
    “It’s nothing,” she said, waving her hand at Mary as she turned the other way, trying to cover her face. “Really.”
    Sir Harry said nothing, thank God. Although it was probably only because he thought her insane.
    But Mary—now she was a different story, and she never knew when to let go. “Are you sure, Olivia, because—”
    Olivia still looked down into her shoulder, because somehow she knew she’d laugh anew if she didn’t. “I just thought of something, that is all.”
    “But—”
    Amazingly, Mary stopped pestering her.
    Olivia would have been relieved, except that it seemed highly unlikely that Mary might suddenly develop tact and sense. And indeed, she was proved correct, because Mary hadn’t cut herself off out of any sympathy for Olivia. She’d cut herself off because—
    “Oh, look, Olivia! It’s your brother.”

Chapter Six
    H arry had been planning to head home. It was his custom to take an early-morning ride, even in town, and he’d been just about ready to exit the park when he spied Lady Olivia sitting on a bench. He found this sufficiently intriguing to stop and be introduced to her friend, but after a few moments of idle chatter, he decided he didn’t find either one of them sufficiently intriguing to keep him from his work.
    Especially since Lady Olivia Bevelstoke was the reason he’d fallen so far behind in the first place.
    She’d ceased spying upon him, that was true, but the damage was done. Every time he sat at his desk, he could