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Frederick Darrington shifted on the carriage’s plush burgundy velvet squabs and let out a groan of discomfort. Stretching his legs out, he propped his heels on the opposite seat and withdrew his pocket watch to consult the time.

Twenty minutes past three o’clock.

He should arrive at his sister’s house in another half hour or so. Saints be praised . He’d done quite enough sitting for one day. His carriage was well-sprung and comfortably furnished, but still, his arse was going numb, and his legs were practically itching to move.

Returning his pocket watch to his coat, he turned once again to the window and gazed out at the passing countryside with its rolling green hills and towering oaks, the hazy azure sky festooned with wispy, white clouds.

The vista was an idyllic one, but after a four-hour carriage ride, even Hampshire’s beauty began to lose its appeal. As did his own company.

Of course, he only had himself to blame for this little trip, as his older brother, Robert, the Viscount Darrington, had made abundantly clear when he’d suggested last week—rather forcefully—that Frederick should get out of London for a while until things began to settle down.

Things being the scandal.

Frederick let his head fall back against the squabs and blew out a sigh.

He truly was a first-rate idiot sometimes.

But when Lady Serena Garrison had approached him last month with an invitation to visit her bed, he’d accepted with enthusiasm.

Serena was a beautiful woman, auburn-haired, lushly curved. ..and married.

That she was unhappy in her marriage to a rich baron thirty years her senior had helped to ease his misgivings, but it did not lessen the sin and certainly hadn’t made a damned bit of difference to her husband.

Lord Garrison was a man in his sixties, but he was by no means frail or feeble, and when he’d learned of his wife’s affair with Frederick, he was not pleased.

Indeed, he was downright livid . So livid that there were whispers of promised revenge and pistols at dawn, until Frederick’s brother intervened and saved his skin. Again.

Robert met with Garrison and petitioned him for mercy, and with the staunch assurances that Frederick would leave London for a time—and, of course, never speak to Lady Garrison again—the baron had eventually agreed.

Frederick heaved another sigh and rubbed a hand across his increasingly tight chest. He’d bedded another man’s wife, something he’d never done before, and although he was far from perfect, he did have a conscience, and it was decidedly guilty.

Even so, he might have ignored it...if only his family hadn’t found out.

He’d disappointed them, his mother most of all, and while he might be five-and-twenty, he still could not abide his mother’s disappointment.

He should be inured to it by now, given all the practice he’d had.

He’d been disappointing his mother, his sisters, and his perfect older brother for years now.

Still, it stung. Not that he’d allowed Robert to see that, of course.

He’d spent far too much time and effort cultivating this facade of cavalier rascal to abandon it now, which was why he’d agreed to come to Hampshire, and done so with a smile.

Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to seeing Penelope again. She had always been his favorite sibling, ever since they were children, and even though he was the youngest and she was seven years his senior, she had never treated him like the pesky little brother he must surely have been.

Truthfully, she deserved a better brother than he’d been these last few years.

He was a selfish man, wrapped up in his own life, writing to her rarely, though she wrote to him faithfully every month, even over the course of the last year in the wake of her husband’s sudden death after he was thrown from a horse and broke his neck.

Guilt washed over him, and he rubbed his chest again.

Penelope was a capital girl, and she deserved a lot better from him.

The reason behind this visit was…not ideal, but he meant to make good use of it and spend these next few weeks in Hampshire with his favorite sibling and the four nieces and nephews he barely knew.

He was looking forward to it. He hoped they were.

The carriage began to slow then, and Frederick turned toward the window, his brows dipping in confusion. They couldn’t have reached his sister’s house already, could they? He leaned his head out the window as the carriage slowed to a crawl, and his gaze caught on the reason for the disruption.

A dark-haired young woman in a plain gray gown stood at the edge of the road, tugging on a length of rope loosely looped around the neck of a small but stubborn Jersey cow.

Without a second thought, Frederick rapped his knuckles on the carriage roof and hopped out onto the dirt lane before the wheels had fully stopped.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out. “May I be of assistance?”

The woman did not answer him but continued to tug on the rope as she murmured words of encouragement to the cow, whose name was, apparently, Blythe.

Judging by the unperturbed expression on the animal’s face, the name was an apt one.

Frederick tried again. “Miss?”

“What?”

The reply was snappish, but he supposed a little irritability was to be expected given the situation.

“May I be of assistance?” he repeated, keeping his tone friendly. “At the risk of sounding immodest, I do have a way with animals.”

It was this remark that finally drew her gaze to his, and Frederick gave her his most charming smile, even as her loveliness struck him momentarily stupid.

Her hair was tucked back in a messy chignon, the tresses thick and black as a raven’s wing, a stark contrast to her milk-white skin and striking blue-green eyes.

Eyes that narrowed on his smile as if it were a snake in the grass.

Assessing him now, she straightened to her full height, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders, and as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, she left an endearing smudge of dirt in its place.

“Well, then,” she said, offering him the length of rope. “By all means...”

Frederick stepped forward, ignoring the unmistakable skepticism in the young woman’s eyes as he took the rope from her outstretched hand and turned to Blythe the cow.

“Good afternoon, Blythe,” he crooned, slowly extending his free hand to stroke her neck, the short brown hair soft beneath his fingers. “My, you are a gorgeous girl, aren’t you? With those big brown eyes and that beautiful, shiny coat. If I’m not careful, I’m liable to fall in love with you.”

Blythe watched him carefully with said big brown eyes, baleful yet curious, and Frederick’s smile widened.

“Come on, then,” he continued. “Be a good girl and grant me the honor of escorting you home. Will you do that for me, love?”

Blythe emitted a long, deep low of acquiescence, and Frederick began to walk, his grip on the rope firm but forgiving as Blythe followed behind, her gait slow and relaxed.

The cow’s owner fell into step beside him, and he ventured a glance her way, grinning at the look of bemusement on her face. “You see?” he said. “Animals adore me.”

Full pink lips thinned into a severe line, and her only reply was a noncommittal hum, which told him nothing of her thoughts yet plucked at his curiosity and, irrationally, his pride. He’d never met a woman he could not charm.

Challenge accepted.

“Blythe is a beautiful animal,” he said over the sounds of clopping hooves and creaking carriage wheels. “Is she yours?”

“She is.”

“And do you often take her out for an afternoon walk?”

He slid her a teasing glance, hoping to elicit at least a glimmer of a smile, though whether her lips even worked that way still remained to be seen.

“Of course not,” she said stiffly, flicking him a look that seemed a far cry from charmed. “The barn gate was left open by mistake, and she wandered away.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat, casting about for another question to ask. “And do you two live nearby?” Christ above, Frederick, of course they live nearby. “That is, do you live on a nearby farm?”

Three beats of silence followed, as if in protest of his unwelcome curiosity, but finally she said, “No. I run the village inn with my grandmother.”

“An inn?” He could not keep the surprise from his voice. “That must keep your days rather interesting.”

“I suppose it must.”

She offered no more, and as he had grown weary of carrying the conversation by himself, he fell silent too, and the slow-moving motley crew continued its ambling trek up the lane.

Frederick kept his gaze on the empty stretch of road ahead, but his mind was on the quiet woman walking beside him. Who was she? What was her name?

And was she always this guarded or was he the cause of her reticence?

If he was, he had no idea why. She couldn’t possibly be cross with him—he had come to her rescue, after all, delaying his own journey in the process, and he expected nothing in return from her, except perhaps a word or two of thanks.

No, she couldn’t be unhappy with something he did, which meant she was unhappy over something else. Or perhaps she was simply an unhappy person.

Well, whatever the reason, it wasn’t his concern. She wasn’t his concern. She might be lovely to look at, but beauty only went so far. Frederick would take a plain, friendly woman with a ready smile over a grouchy goddess any day.

The remainder of the walk passed without incident or conversation, with the exception of an occasional word of encouragement for Blythe, and when The Weeping Whiskers Inn came into view, Frederick had to squelch a sigh of relief.

The inn was small and undeniably charming with its whitewashed brick and thatched roof; the windows trimmed a cheerful spring green in complement to the flowering bushes and potted ferns framing the oak door at the entrance.

Maples flanked either side of the inn, their changing leaves a gorgeous blend of oranges, reds and yellows that only added to the property’s charm.

“Thank you for your help, sir,” Blythe’s owner said briskly as she paused at the edge of the road and turned to face him. “Your kindness, though unsolicited, is appreciated, and I suppose you deserve a reward for it. May I offer you a mug of ale for your trouble?”

Frederick bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, both amused by the begrudging offer and surprised she’d even made it.

“Why do you dislike me?” The query leaped from his tongue with child-like impulsiveness, and though he hadn’t planned to ask it, he didn’t regret doing so. He wanted to know.

“I—what?” Her jaw had slackened, and she stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “That is an odd question, sir. I do not even know you.”

Frederick nodded. “I know. Yet you disliked me from the first moment we met. Rather unfair of you, don’t you think?”

She pressed her lips together, and her turquoise eyes took on a speculative glint, as if an internal debate waged within her: Should she give this stranger a polite reply or an honest one?

Tipping her chin up, she met his gaze. “Do not take it personally,” she said. “I dislike all handsome young men of means.”

Well. Right. Evidently she’d decided on honesty. The obvious question begging to be asked was why she disliked handsome young men of means, but Frederick could not resist teasing her instead.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

She arched both, her lips twisting. “Not as handsome as you find yourself, I think.”

He smiled. “But you do find me handsome.”

A beat of silence followed and then she shrugged. “Yes, I suppose I do. But I assure you, that is no compliment. In my experience, handsome men think they can get away with anything. And they usually do.”

Again, Frederick wondered what had made her so cynical, but she was a stranger to him, and her past was none of his business, so he ignored his curiosity. “Thank you for the offer of ale, but I really must be on my way.”

The relief in her eyes amused him, even as it inspired the perverse desire to tell her he’d changed his mind, that he would have that drink, if only to see what she would do.

Alas, he was running late, and he would never hear the end of it if Penelope learned he’d dilly-dallied over a mug of ale.

“Thank you again, sir,” she replied, slipping the length of rope from his hand. “Blythe and I both wish you a good journey.”

She turned toward the inn, and Frederick watched her go, her strides economical yet elegant as she slowly guided Blythe the rest of the way home.

With astonishing reluctance, he headed for his carriage, and as they set off, still she lingered on his mind, this woman he’d just met, and he couldn’t make sense of it.

She was ungracious, unfriendly, and wholly uncharmable.

So why the devil was he so intrigued by her? And why did he regret that he had not learned her name?