The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane by Kasey Michaels Page A

lamenting the
lack of a dinner engagement. As I could not bear to think my
friends at loose ends, I—foolishly forgetting I have no housekeeper
now that Miss Tamerlane has seen fit to dispose of the woman I had
employed—begged them to take their mutton with me tonight.”
    His grace, suddenly feeling better than he
had all day, turned for the door and encountered Tansy’s wickedly
dancing eyes.
    “Dunny,” she trilled, “have two places
removed from the table, if you would please. It seems I have
overestimated his grace’s circle of friends. He has only four
willing to play cat’s paw for him, it seems.” Tansy cocked her head
toward the door. “Your grace—the horses are waiting. Shall we
go?”
    The Duke stormed angrily through the doorway
and down the steps ahead of his cousin, determined to leave her
standing in his dust as he sprung his pair away from her. But by
the time he reached the phaeton his sense of humor took over.
Infuriating wretch, he thought. Meddling, bothersome, clever,
intelligent minx! Tansy saw his shoulders start to shake and then
heard the clear baritone melody of his laugh.
    He about-faced and held out his hand, saying,
“Cousin, you have bested me on all suits, but never let it be said
a Benedict was a poor loser. Allow me to help you up and, if you
don’t mind, as the horses are fresh I will hold the reins until we
are in the Park. Then I shall turn them over to you to see if you
handle them as prettily as you just handled me.”
    Looking back at the door and catching the
smile on Dunstan’s face, he pressed his luck even further. “Dunny,”
he called, “please tell Farnley to lay out my blue for this
evening. I wish to look my best at my cousin’s table.”
    “Yes, your grace,” Dunstan replied, forgiving
the once bounced and tickled baby with relief. “At once, sir!”
    Avanoll had little trouble handling the fresh
horses in the afternoon traffic, and in a few minutes they were
turning into the Park. There they joined the press of curricles,
phaetons, landaus, barouches, and tilburys—and their
modishly-dressed occupants—all busy seeing and being seen by the
rest of the ton as they bowed and nodded and occasionally
condescended to stop and pass a few moments in conversation
(successfully jamming all traffic in both directions and
guaranteeing them the notice of their fellow promenaders—at least
the ones not busy trying to keep their showy, temperamental cattle
in check).
    The social politics of all this head-jerking
and hand-waving was totally lost on Tansy. She knew only that her
skill in handling the ribbons would be limited to not allowing the
horses to fall asleep in the shafts as they waited for a ridiculous
old creature in orchid to stop waggling her bonnet’s ostrich
feathers all over the aging roué who was nearly tumbling from his
mount into her more than ample lap in an effort to decipher her
long and garbled attempt at girlish flirtation.
    Avanoll could feel Tansy’s tenseness across
the short distance between them and almost—but not quite—wished to
hear her sure-to-be pithy remarks on the orchid lady. Wordlessly he
slipped the reins into her hands and she took them quite naturally,
with no trace of nervousness. Just impatience.
    Suddenly the air was split by three
resounding sneezes as the ostrich plumes and the roué’s nose
collided one too many times. Tansy’s clear laugh rang out, to his
grace’s way of thinking, twice as piercingly as a Highlander’s
battle cry. The orchid lady looked pointedly toward the phaeton
with murder in her eyes—but quickly adjusted her features to
resemble indulgent understanding of the youthful high spirits so
prevalent these days when she saw the miscreant’s companion.
    Without a backward look to her companion
whose face was now buried in a voluminous handkerchief, she
motioned her driver forward, then stopped him when abreast of
juicier quarry.
    “Why, your grace, at first I thought I beheld
an apparition. It