Chloe didn’t know how much longer she could remain silent. Her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered.

“I also had the opportunity, since I knew your full name and the city you live in, to look you up on the Internet.”

She gulped. This was exactly the kind of cyberstalking Emma would do. So much for a slow-build Regency courtship. He had TMI while she had—nothing.

“That’s the advantage of the era we live in, that with just a few clicks we can learn so much.”

That was exactly what she couldn’t stand. A day after you’ve met someone, via Twitter or Facebook, you know what they ate for dinner last night. Where was the mystery? The romance? The courtship?

He paused again and stood back from the tracing, within her line of sight. He studied the shadow on the wall, not her, so her eyes were free to wander down from his broad shoulders in his tightly tailored cutaway coat, past his cravat, down the last two undone buttons on his waistcoat, to his suggestive white breeches tucked into boots with the tops folded over.

“Yes, I think I will continue past your slender neck and trace your bust, even though I am risking Mrs. Crescent’s disapproval.”

Chloe did her best to breathe slowly.

“Well, as it turns out, we have much in common, Miss Parker, perhaps most markedly in our charitable ventures and choice of entertainment. Architectural preservation events, the opera, theater, gallery openings, museum galas, gourmet restaurants, I see us together, you on my arm, perhaps even as my wife, in my London town house. Or my lodgings in Bath. Or here in Derbyshire, or all of the above.”

Chloe did everything she could to keep her mouth from going ga-ga. She couldn’t even imagine that kind of life.

“There.” He stood back, hands on his hips, and stared at his work. “Not as good as the original, but—”

He could be a little too charming. “Really, Mr. Wrightman!”

He took the piece of paper down, picked up the scissors, pulled a Chippendale chair up across from her, and sat down, just looking at her. “But true, all of it true.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Might I have a lock of your hair?” He held the scissors in his palm.

Was he for real?

“Go ahead,” she said.

She offered some split ends to him, and, most seductively, he smoothed her hair, and slowly snipped about two inches off.

It was amazing how intimate an act it was, especially as he had to pocket it before Mrs. Crescent came over, rubbing her belly.

“A very good likeness, Mr. Wrightman, though I do find it a bit shocking just how low you’ve chosen to go. I daresay this needs trimming.”

He rolled up the paper. “Not to worry, Mrs. Crescent. I shall trim it and lampblack it at home.” He bowed. “I must let you both rest for the big day tomorrow. Until then!”

Chloe curtsied, and he left.

“Did he take a lock of your hair?” Mrs. Crescent asked.

Chloe didn’t think she should say yes.

“You don’t need to answer, I can see in your face that he has. Very clever of him to come under the pretense of a silhouette, with shears. It’s a good sign, a very good sign!”


Sunday, the day of the mock foxhunt arrived, and everyone was excited except Chloe, whose sidesaddle riding wasn’t exactly show quality yet.

Instead, she focused on the footman at the stable, with his blond hair tied back in a short ponytail and his taut calves that practically popped out of his tights. He took her tiny hand in his strong, white gloved one and helped her mount the horse for the hunt. She locked her legs into the stirrups and gripped the reins. Just a week ago, the prospect of an attractive footman would’ve enchanted her, but now more than ever, she wanted to win the fifteen Accomplishment Points and gain some more time with Sebastian.

Afraid she hadn’t practiced enough, she mounted Chestnut with a show of bravado because horses, like dogs, sensed fear, and she had to be strong. She hardly recognized her shadow, cast on the fine gravel in front of the stable. It exuded confidence, from the tip of her riding hat with a ribbon underneath to her tight jacket, long riding habit skirts and crop tucked under her arm. The sun glistened on the Kelly-green hills, the hounds barked and horses milled about in the field, and—the stable stench snapped her back to reality. Where was Sebastian?

Her hands quivered as the footman carefully strapped the sidesaddle belt across her lap. Her skirt seemed the size of a circus tent and she tucked in the heavy folds.

Grace trotted up on horseback. “Your skirt does look more unwieldy than mine,” she said.

The cameras weren’t on them. “Thank you for that brilliant observation,” Chloe said.

“Perhaps the seamstress made a mistake on yours. You’d best not flash any leg while riding. That would be an infringement of the rules.”

“And flashing a breast isn’t?”

“That was an accident, Miss Parker.”

“I’ll say. I can only hope there won’t be any accidents today.” Chestnut started sniffing Grace’s horse’s behind. Chloe tugged at the reins, urging him to turn, and he would obey for a minute then turn his head again to sniff.

“I’ve spoken to Mr. Henry Wrightman about fixing your tiara. I would delight in undertaking a little project like that with him.”

Chloe flinched. Now she was after Henry, too? “I’d prefer the jeweler it came from, Tiffany’s, to do the fixing.”

Grace seemed insulted. “I had very little to do with your tiara breaking, whilst you had everything to do with all of our Accomplishment Points getting wiped out. We worked weeks to acquire those points and making ink isn’t exactly my forte.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Grace kicked her horse and it trotted off—she was an expert rider. Chloe patted her horse’s neck.

The master of the hunt, a red-faced man with a brass hunting horn tucked under his arm, headed over to Chloe. He took off his top hat and bowed toward her and the cameras.

“Our hunt awaits you, Miss Parker. Need I remind you that should you choose not to ride, you must go from whence you came?”

Chloe tapped the riding crop in the palm of her hand. The image of her whipping him with the riding crop flashed through her mind. “I do thank you for that gentle reminder,” she said.

“Mr. Wrightman is quite keen on riding, and whatever woman he chooses should love to ride as well.”

“Sir, I fully intend to ride. But might I ride western style?” she asked, trying to sound as 1812-ish as possible.

“I’m afraid not. Only a lady of title may choose to ride astride.”

The footman led Chestnut toward the field where the rest of the riding party waited. The horse took steady, solid steps. Still, even this hunky footman couldn’t hold a cheap tallow candle to Sebastian, who appeared on the field like the sun bursting from behind a cloud. There was something about a man on horseback—especially such a cultured, Oxford-educated man who also happened to be, well, a total hottie, as Emma would say.

She pictured herself and Sebastian in a white carriage festooned with pink peonies, pulled by white horses, riding off into the sunset together, he reciting poetry and—

Just then the hounds howled and Grace’s gray horse sidestepped away from Henry’s and toward Sebastian’s. The tail on her horse whisked back and forth, brushing Sebastian’s as if in shameless flirtation, as if even her horse were moving in on the guy.

Henry trotted over on his horse, and glad as she was to see him, he blocked her view of Sebastian.

“Will you manage, Miss Parker?” he asked.

What struck her was that he’d picked up on her fear.

“You have the gentlest horse in the stables.”

“Let’s hope he’s not too gentle, I’ll need some speed.” She moved Chestnut backward to keep an eye on Sebastian, but Henry guided his horse closer, eclipsing Sebastian again.

“Just because he’s gentle doesn’t mean he’s not powerful and fast,” Henry said.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “We’ll have to see, then, what he’s made of.”

“I think you’ll be quite pleased with his performance.” Henry smiled.

Chloe wasn’t quite sure they were sparring about Chestnut anymore, but she knew Grace was monopolizing Sebastian. Gillian, Kate, and Julia waited at the starting gate, doing the smart thing and resting their horses.

Chloe brought Chestnut forward again and stopped in full view of Sebastian. She waved good-bye to the footman, who, embarrassed, nodded awkwardly. She wasn’t supposed to wave to the servants, and Henry chuckled.

“Just take it easy during the hunt, Miss Parker.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to win? That ultimately you’d prefer your brother to end up with, let’s say, Lady Grace, so you could spend all your holidays and birthdays with her?”

“How kind of you to think of me and my long-term happiness, Miss Parker. It’s almost as if you’re winning my brother over just to save me from a lifetime of misery. I’m much obliged.”

“I’m always thinking of others.”

“People who say they’re always thinking of others are usually thinking of themselves.”

Chloe sighed. As if she willed Sebastian to do it, he turned his horse away from Grace’s and cantered toward her, tipping his hat. She went all aflutter, and certain swaths of her skirt unfolded.

“Have fun on the trail,” she said to Henry. She brought her horse to a walk and left Henry in the dust. She patted Chestnut and gave a nod to Mrs. Crescent and Fifi under a tree on the sidelines.

“Ready for the hunt?” Chloe asked Sebastian. His designer stubble glistened in the morning sun.