Page 48 of The Boxing Baroness

“Talk to me,” she said, just when he’d fallen into a comfortable fugue.

She made the same demand every time she ran. “It helps the time pass, and I despise running,” she had explained.

At first, he’d been almost offended by her peremptory demand. But now he knew she barely listened to the words themselves; she just liked hearing the sound of another person’s voice. Even if that person was Sin.

“What shall it be today?” He’d spoken more on her morning runs—and on a wider range of topics—than he could recall ever doing in his life. He never knew what subjects she’d come up with: the current status of the peace negotiations in Vienna, whether he liked Brighton or Bath, the war in America, and on and on. The only subjects she avoided were personal ones—much to his relief.

“Tell me about the Season you will be missing while you’re off on tour.”

Well, so much for avoiding personal subjects.

“What do you wish to know?” he asked warily.

“What is it like? Describe a day.”

Sin considered her question—he especially considered whether to answer it honestly or not.

Once she’d stopped trying to make his life miserable and drive him to quit, an odd acquaintance had sprung up between them—although he couldn’t really call it a friendship—and her company had grown on him. Although he made a point of not surrounding himself with sycophants, he knew his status intimidated all but a few people in the nation. Most of those people were other peers. And now, Marianne.

“Come, Your Grace,” she teased, clearly sensing his reticence. “Will you go to Almack’s? Will you chauffeur young ladies about in Hyde Park in a yellow bounder? I’ll never be part of your world. This is the only chance I’ll ever get for a peek into the ton.”

He considered mentioning that she’d once been the lover of a baron but didn’t want to spoil her cheery mood.

“Very well,” he said, pulling the brim of his hat lower to keep the snow off his nose. “Yes to Almack’s. Yes to driving ladies. Usually, I would attend no more than one, maybe two functions per day—”

“Functions?”

“Balls, dinners, routs, and the like.”

“Usually—what do you mean by that?”

Oh, she was so sharp, Miss Marianne—she picked up on that one word, which he already regretted inserting.

“Would it have been different this year?” she prodded. Before he could answer, she turned to him, her eyes wide. “Were you going courting this Season, Your Grace?”

Naturally his blasted face heated at the exceedingly personal nature of her question.

She grinned. “You were, weren’t you? You’re a bit long in the tooth to just be starting on that, aren’t you?”

Sin snorted but didn’t take the bait.

“How old are you?”

“How old are you?” he shot back.

“I’ll be twenty-one in July. Your turn.”

“Thirty-two.”

“Hmph.”

“What does that mean?”

“I just thought you were older.”

Sin frowned down at her.

She laughed up at him. “I’m just teasing you, Your Grace.”