Page 85 of The Wallflower Takes All

For the first few minutes, Poppy said little. Freddie settled between them and sighed contentedly, clearly convinced the entire excursion had been arranged for his benefit.

London moved around them beneath a pale sky, carts, carriages, riders, pedestrians, errand boys darting across streets with no regard for longevity. Gabriel guided the horse westward, alert to traffic and acutely aware of the young lady seated beside him.

He had driven women before.

Not many. His acquaintances did not include young ladies who expected frivolous attentions, and his work allowed little time for social diversions. Still, he had conveyed his neighbor, his cousins, and once the daughter of a barrister who had spoken for twenty minutes on the subject of watercolors.

None of those occasions had made him so conscious of the space occupied by a woman’s sleeve.

Freddie’s head bobbed as he watched the passing world.

Poppy laid one hand lightly against the puppy’s back. “You are taking a great risk.”

Gabriel lifted his brows. “With the dog?”

“With your reputation.”

Gabriel glanced at her. “I was not aware Freddie’s conduct reflected upon me.”

Her smile made his heart pound. “He is in your curricle. Society will assume you approve of him.”

Gabriel turned the curricle through the park gate.

It was not yet the fashionable hour, though a respectable number of carriages already moved along the broad avenue. Riders passed on Rotten Row. The trees had thickened into summer green, and the Serpentine flashed silver between them when the road curved.

Poppy drew in a breath. Not the careful breath she took when steadying herself against disaster. A fuller one. Her shoulders eased, and Gabriel felt far more satisfaction than any sensible man ought to have taken from it.

“Better?” he asked.

She looked at him. “Is that a professional inquiry?”

“No.”

“A legal one?”

“No.”

“Then I scarcely know how to answer.”

“You might attempt the truth.”

“Bold advice, Mr. Ashby, considering what the truth accomplished this morning.”

The words were spoken quietly, but they were clear. He had known the subject would return. He had not known he would feel relief when it did.

“You are angry with me,” he said.

Poppy looked ahead. “I am trying not to be.”

“I would rather you did not try.”

That brought her gaze back to him. “You would prefer I be angry?”

“I would prefer you say what you mean.”

“That is easy for you. You have made an entire religion of saying what you mean.”

Gabriel adjusted the reins as a phaeton passed them. “Not a religion.”