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determination apparent in the very lines of his body, as if he had a purpose far more pressing than a mere drive in the park. She bit back a satisfied smile. And indeed this was no mere drive.
    She’d been aware—even if not overly interested—of his books and adventures long before she’d ever met his cousin. He was, after all, extremely well-known. Her late husband had been something of an admirer and had Sir Sebastian’s books in his library. But it wasn’t until recent months that Veronica had read them. She wasn’t at all sure if the idea of becoming Sir Sebastian’s mistress was a result of having read his words or if it was just a happy coincidence that she had become intrigued with the man behind the books at very nearly the same time she had decided she would much prefer to be a mistress rather than a wife. Not that it made any difference in the scheme of things. And how convenient that he was related to one of her dearest friends.
    He drew closer and her heart fluttered. Nerves, of course, and apprehension. To be expected, really. While Veronica was outspoken on very nearly every topic, and had her own particular set of morals and rules of behavior that might well offend those governed by strict propriety, she had never been with a man other than her husband. She’d never been seduced by anyone other than Charles, and indeed, she had not been averse to his seduction. She had, on occasion, wondered if any woman would or had. Charles had been quite a disreputable rogue when she’d met him, at least where women were concerned. Not that she had fallen into his bed without due consideration. She had too much pride to value herself lightly. She had, admittedly, wanted him with the sort of ache she’d never experienced before. It was as much lust as love. And she’d not been disappointed. Veronica thought it exceptionally odd that so many wives considered intimate relations a duty rather than a pleasure. But then Charles had been unique. And so was she.
    “Henry,” she called to her driver. “Do stop the carriage.”
    “But, Lady Smithson,” Henry began, then caught sight of Sir Sebastian. Realization dawned on his face, and he cast her an assessing look. “Do you intend to walk, my lady?”
    “Not in these shoes.” Her gaze settled on Sir Sebastian. A broad grin spread across his face. He waved and picked up his pace. “I suspect Sir Sebastian will be joining me.”
    “As you wish, my lady,” Henry said in a noncommittal manner, but there was a distinct hint of approval in his tone.
    Portia’s relations weren’t the only ones who thought three years was long enough to mourn for a woman of her age. Still, if Henry knew exactly what she had in mind, his disapproval would show on his face. The benefit of having servants who had been with you for years was unquestioned loyalty. They were nearly as much a part of her family as her blood relations. On the other hand, while Henry and the others were too well trained to say anything aloud, they were not at all reluctant to let their opinions of her behavior show. She often wondered how difficult it was to be a properly trained servant with a mistress who preferred her own rules to those of society’s.
    “Good day, Lady Smithson.” Enthusiasm rang in Sir Sebastian’s voice. She did hope it was for her.
    “Good day, Sir Sebastian.” She nodded. “I’m surprised to find you on foot. I thought you intended to drive today.”
    “On a day like this? Never.” He drew a deep breath and glanced around. Apparently his enthusiasm was for the weather. “What a fine day this is.”
    “Is it?” She raised a brow. “One might think it rather cold.”
    “I find it refreshing.” He drew another breath deep into his lungs. “And most stimulating. Makes the blood rush through your veins.”
    “In a futile effort to keep warm, no doubt,” she said under her breath.
    He laughed. “Come now, Lady Smithson. Admittedly, it is a little colder than usual for