Page 43 of The Boxing Baroness

“I told you they were good. Our cook taught me that term—she’s from Leeds,” she added, still smiling.

He chewed and swallowed and hoped that she didn’t notice his flushed face. Or, if she did, that she attributed it to enjoyment of his meat pie.

The pies were better than good—they were sinfully hot and delicious on a freezing morning. They also brought back fond boyhood memories he’d not thought about in years.

They leaned against the side of a horseless wagon that was resting on its shafts and ate their meal in companionable silence.

Marianne finished first and looked up at him, her smile gone. “You are a duke. Surely you have other things to do—important things. How is it that you can spend entire days playing at work?”

“I do have lots of things to do,” he admitted. And the list was only getting longer thanks to her meddling, but he kept that to himself. “But there is nothing more important than my brother’s life.” He frowned down at her. “If you are hoping to drive me into quitting by running me ragged, then you are severely misguided. I will fulfill my obligations to you, just as I promised I would,” he said, amused by the mulish expression his words had created.

He ate the last mouthful of pie and cut a yearning glance across the street at the bakery; the line was three times as long.

“I wouldn’t bother,” she said, reading his mind far too easily for his comfort. “The pork ones go quickly. They’ll be out of everything except loaves of bread by the time you get up to the front again.” She stepped toward the street and raised her hand to hail a hackney. “Next time it will be your turn to buy breakfast.”

* * *

To her surprise, the duke was waiting for her when she arrived to pick up Reggie the following morning.

Today he was clean-shaven, dressed in his regular, impeccable clothing, and rode the same stunning stallion he’d been astride the first time they’d met.

Marianne gave the stable lad a coin and swung into the saddle before turning to Staunton.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, urging Reggie on his way.

“Why? Were you hoping I was wandering around on Dobbin, looking for you down by the river?” He fell in beside her.

She smirked.

“I thought you might be here, but I sent Guy to wait for you by your running path, just in case.”

That made her laugh.

“I’m pleased it amuses you to waste our time,” he said coolly.

Marianne didn’t deny it. “Well, you can leave now that you’ve delivered your message,” she told him. “Hyde Park is hardly dangerous. I do not require protection here. Nor do I need somebody to crack the whip and make me ride.” Nor did she want him there. As much as she wanted to drive him to quit and leave her alone, she enjoyed her solitary rides too much to wish to share them.

“I ride most mornings around this time, so it is no inconvenience to me.”

“Why aren’t you riding Dobbin today?”

He smiled—true, it was small—but the sight startled her so much that she almost fell off her horse. Had he smiled before? Not that she’d seen. A sneer once or twice, but no smile.

“Won’t people wonder who you’re riding with?” she asked, shoving away thoughts of his disturbing almost-smile.

“I rarely see anyone I know this early. If I do, I’ll tell them you’re the son of a friend.”

“Don’t you have to go to Parliament and speechify and make laws to control the rest of us?” she asked as they rode down the almost empty street toward the park entrance.

He ignored her.

“Don’t you have vast properties to manage? Servants to order about? Parties to grace with your presence? Women to charm?”

“I can still do all those other things and spare a few hours for you every day, Miss Simpson.”

“How fortunate for me.”

They rode in silence.