Phoebe broke from the trance. “Yes, these two novels.”
He took the books she held and read out loud, “William Godwin, A Tale of the Sixteenth Century.” He looked at the other volume. “The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. I'm not acquainted with this fellow.”
“He has only just published.” Phoebe took the books. “I heard he is quite good.”
“They will make fine reading during the trip to Ashlund.” Kiernan cupped her elbow and directed her toward the front of the shop. When they reached the counter, he plucked the books from her grasp. “Tate,” he addressed the man behind the counter, “please add these to my bill.”
“Sir.” She reached for the books, but Kiernan handed them to Tate, who began wrapping them in paper. “Ashlund, I don't need you to pay for my purchases.”
“Of course you don’t,” he replied. “But it's my pleasure to do so.” He smiled the same soft smile she had witnessed two nights ago at the Halsey soirée, and memory of his lips on hers caused her knees to weaken.
Tate offered the books to Kiernan, who seemed not to notice.
Phoebe reached for the books, but Kiernan captured her hand in his and took the books with his free hand. “Thank you, Tate.” Kiernan tucked the books under his arm, then maneuvered her past other shoppers and out the door.
“Have you a carriage?” he asked.
“I took a cab. It's chilly, but the day is so lovely, I planned on walking at least partway home.”
“A wonderful idea,” he said. “I'll accompany you.”
He grasped her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. They started down the street, and the slight movement of his arm as they walked caused the muscle beneath her fingers to flex. She couldn't halt her gaze from snapping onto the hand covering hers. His long, tanned fingers enveloped her hand and she became aware of the warmth of his flesh.
“Have you decided upon a date for going to Ashlund?” he asked. "By carriage, it's four or five days. Really, you needn’t bother your uncle for a coach. We can travel in mine.”
This caught her attention. “I can't say when I'll go. It's likely, I will decide the day before I leave.”
“I require no more than an hour’s notice.” He directed her to the right of the walkway when another couple approached.
“Don't rely on me for notice,” she said.
He smiled genially. “I'll ask your uncle to inform me. I understand you'll be busy with the details of the journey.”
"My lord," she said in frustration, "I don't plan on traveling with you."
“Don't worry about imposing on me, Phoebe. I'm looking forward to spending time with you. You'll forgive me if I ride horseback most of the way, but we'll stop for refreshment at your pleasure and, of course, we'll have the evenings.”
Phoebe started. Was that a sultry note in his voice?
"Phoebe?"
She realized he was staring and could only think to say, “I don't plan on riding in your carriage—any carriage, for that matter—all the way to Scotland.”
He grinned. “Of course, I should have guessed. It's obvious you wouldn't enjoy the confines of a carriage for long.” He halted at the end of the lane and waited for a cab to pass before leading her across the street. “I have an Andalusian,” he went on like an excited school boy. “You must ride him.” Her astonishment must have shown on her face, for he added, "He's a gelding. You can handle him with ease. You will love him. He's a bay. The shading on his coat is magnificent and his presentation is spectacular.”
“Where did you get such a horse?” she asked.
“My father’s doing. A trader recommended the beast, and he had the horse imported from Spain. Do you know the breed?”
“I do, though I've never ridden one.” And she couldn’t deny a thrill at the prospect of riding such a fine animal.
Kiernan applied gentle pressure to her hand. “Now, you shall.”
He hailed a passing Hansom cab. The driver pulled up and Phoebe found herself handed up into the seat with Kiernan sliding in beside her.
“I'm not finished with my shopping,” she said.
His brow lifted in surprise, but she had the distinct impression he wasn't surprised. When he said, “It's growing late. You'll need rest before attending the Blakely soirée this evening,” she knew she was right.
“I'm not going.”
“Surely you don't want to miss the party?
She regarded him. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Your aunt, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I'll call for you this evening at ten," he said. "Perhaps your aunt would care to join us. It's beneficial that we're seen in public together and she's a perfect chaperone.”
“Beneficial for whom?” Phoebe asked.
“You did say a year's engagement,” he replied. "And I said I would court you in that year."
He'd said "…pursue you, court you and, lastly, seduce you” to be exact, and she had yet to decide on a firm course of action to avoid his suit while she investigated the information in Stafford's journal.