“They shouldn’t. You can’t be expected to feel differently from the rest of your sex.”

“I most certainly feel differently.”

Alex snorted in disbelief.

“You do not think me honest?”

“I think you believe that you are being honest. It’s simply that I saw you last night.”

“Last night?”

“Indeed. Penelope Grayson captured your interest. You’ve admitted as much. And I can only imagine she did it by being a delicate flower. Because I have serious doubts about her being your intellectual equal.”

The words came flooding out of her mouth before she had thought about just how insulting they would be, to both Penelope and to Gavin. Feeling color flood her cheeks, she bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to escape from the mess she had so effortlessly created. Instead, she sat quietly, waiting for him to speak, periodically lifting one gloved hand in greeting to one of the hundreds of people who seemed, suddenly, to be crowding around them.

It really wasn’t her business, how Blackmoor felt about Penelope. So why did the idea that he enjoyed her company bother her so very much? She pushed the niggling voice to the back of her mind and tried to convince herself that her outburst was only borne of concerned friendship. After all, she didn’t want Blackmoor making a decision he could very well regret. She was his friend. She was concerned. Hence, concerned friendship.

She wished he would say something.

The statement had been offensive, certainly. Well, more toward Penelope than to Blackmoor. She hadn’t questioned his intelligence. No, I simply questioned the intelligence of the woman he was courting. She started at the thought. He wasn’t courting her, was he? He couldn’t be. If he were, he wouldn’t have had the time to take Alex riding today. He certainly wouldn’t have taken her here, to Rotten Row, where they were certain to be seen by anyone and everyone. Of course, no one here would actually believe that she and Blackmoor were a couple. She didn’t even have a chaperone with her, for goodness sake. It was clear that they were more like siblings than anything else. All the more reason for her to have expressed her distaste for Penelope. Quite. She’d done the right thing. Even if it smarted a bit.

How was it that men could remain so stoically quiet when they wanted?

She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was focused on the traffic around them, his jaw set firmly as he wielded the reins of the pair of lovely tan geldings pulling along the curricle. Gone was the teasing humor that had characterized their afternoon. He was not happy, this much was clear. What remained to be seen was just how unhappy he was.

The silence was chipping away at her sanity. Truly.

And then, just when she thought he would never speak, he did.

“You do Penelope a discredit.”

Of all the things he could have said, this was not the one she had wanted to hear. Guilt began to gnaw at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have not witnessed my interactions with Penelope. You have no grasp of her intellect and no understanding of our conversations. Have you?”

“I—” He held up a hand to stop her from speaking.

“Nay, Alexandra. No excuses. Have you any understanding of my relationship with Penelope?”

“No.”

“Indeed. You have judged it—and her, I might add—wrongly. Were she here, you would owe her an apology.”

Alex flushed, embarrassed, and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes in response to his scolding. He was impassioned and filled with intense affront—all for Penelope’s honor. She had no doubt that, were she anyone else, he would have delivered a scathing set-down. Instead, his tone revealed not anger with her opinions but disappointment in her voicing them. All at once, she was aware of his position, not as her friend but as a well-bred gentleman, defending a woman’s honor. And, for a fleeting moment, she couldn’t help but envy Penelope just a little. How would it feel to have Blackmoor defend her?

“That said,” he pressed on, deliberately ignoring her embarrassment, “you are right about most men. We are, of course, initially drawn to the immediate. To beauty, wealth, youth, what have you. Each of us has our own weakness. But without the rest—the intelligence, the wit, the humor—our attraction is short-lived. At least, mine is. And I am not alone. Of that I am certain.”

He had moved past her criticism of Penelope deftly, without allowing for discussion, arguing his side of the debate with cool reason, conceding where necessary, and concluding with an unflappable, quiet certainty.

It was as though her insult had never been uttered. Of course, it had been, and she was going to have to apologize. She grimaced at the thought. She hated apologizing. She took a deep breath. “My apologies. I never meant to imply that Penelope’s intellect was inferior.”

He smiled, reaching out to tap her on her chin, “Of course you did, Minx. However, I appreciate that it has never been easy for you to apologize, and so I will accept this one without argument.” She blushed, chastised, as his eyes narrowed on a point over her shoulder. “Besides, I am not overly fond of certain members of your legion of suitors.”

Confused, Alex turned her head to follow his gaze and broke into a broad smile when she saw Lord Stanhope seated high on a beautiful black gelding riding next to the carriage. Stanhope tipped his hat and offered a greeting. “Lord Blackmoor, this is a stunning curricle. I should like one just like it for myself!” Turning to Alex, his voice dropped. “And you are doubly lucky—for you have found the only companion worthy of such transport. Lady Alexandra, as ever, it is a pleasure to see you.” He allowed himself a lazy perusal of her attire before continuing, “You are particularly lovely this afternoon…that color only makes you more beautiful.”