A Lady Risks All. Bronwyn Scott
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Greer looked up and smiled when he saw her, the cork coming out with a soft pop. He poured her a glass and handed it to her. ‘It’s still chilled.’
The wine, with its light, fruity tang, was deliciously cold sliding down her dry throat. At the moment, Mercedes couldn’t recall anything tasting better. It wasn’t until Greer had poured his own glass and had gestured for her to sit down that she realised they were completely alone—the servants off at a discreet distance, her father peculiarly absent. ‘Where’s my father?’
‘He decided to ride on ahead. Apparently there’s a spring fair in the village an hour or so up the road.’ Greer began fixing a plate from the bread, cold meats and cheese spread out on the blanket. ‘He wants to make sure we have rooms at the inn.’
Likely, he wanted more than that. He wanted to see the billiards situation, what kind of people were in town, which inn had a table, who was the big player in the area. He’d have the lay of the land and a new ‘best friend’ by the time they arrived.
Mercedes glanced overhead at the sky. It was noon. They’d be in the village by two o’clock at the latest. There would still be plenty of time to stroll around the fair and enjoy the treat. They could have all gone together. An hour wouldn’t have cost her father anything. But he’d wanted to go alone. There was a reason for that. She’d have to be cautious and not acknowledge him unless he wanted her to. Perhaps he wanted them to appear to be strangers. He and Kendall had done that sort of the thing in the old days.
‘Mercedes, your plate.’ Greer had finished assembling the food and, to her surprise, the plate he’d been concocting had been for her. Of course it was. It was what a gentleman did and Greer did those things as effortlessly as he uncorked wine. She wondered how he would respond to the kinds of confidence games her father liked to play? The kind of games where the limits of honesty were grey areas?
‘Thank you.’ She settled the plate on her lap and watched him put together his own plate, long, tapered fingers selecting meats and cheese with purpose.
‘I was thinking you might like to ride this afternoon since the weather turned out to be nice,’ Greer offered. ‘I noticed both you and your father brought horses.’
It would be perfect. The afternoon was far too fair to be cooped up in the carriage. It was the ideal conversational offering as well.
They spent lunch talking about riding and horses, something she didn’t know half as well as she knew billiards. She liked listening to Greer talk about his stallion, Rufus, and other horses he’d owned. He had a face that came alive when he spoke, and an easy manner that was fully engaged now. She’d caught glimpses of it before; when they’d played billiards and this morning in the carriage, but always somewhat tempered by the side of him that never forgot he was an officer and a viscount’s son.
This afternoon, sitting under the oak, he was quite simply himself. And she had been quite simply herself, not Allen Lockhart’s daughter, not always planning the next calculated move. It was nice to forget and she did forget right up until the flags of the fair came into view and it was time to remember what they were there for.
‘Should we find your father?’ Greer asked, looking for a place to leave the horses until the carriage and servants caught up to them.
Mercedes smiled and dismounted. ‘I think we’ll let him find us. Meanwhile, you and I shall enjoy the fair.’
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