Alec nearly groaned. She couldn’t possibly think the man amusing. He was so . . . English.

“I did not see you,” she said.

“Well, you are easy to find in a crowd.”

She laughed. “Dressed as I was, I believe you.”

The earl joined her in the laugh, bright and rumbling, and Alec wanted to hit something. “Were you dressed strangely? I did not notice.”

She grinned wide, setting Alec’s heart pounding in his chest. “You are an excellent liar, my lord.”

This had been a mistake.

She liked the idiot aristocrat. And he liked her, Alec wagered, his gaze falling to the way Stanhope held Lily’s hand—as though he owned her.

Alec did not like that.

No one owned her. She owned herself, dammit.

“Keep your distance, Stanhope,” he growled.

The moment Alec spoke, Angus and Hardy leapt down to give the earl full inspection. The fop released her hand to crouch low and greet the dogs. “What glorious hounds,” he said as Angus licked his jaw. “What a very good dog.”

First Hardy fell for Lily, and now Angus liked this peacock. England was destroying his dogs. That was perhaps the most pressing reason why he had to get Lily matched and return to Scotland.

But she wasn’t matching with this man, that was damn certain.

“Angus. Enough,” Alec commanded from where he was hitching the horses.

Angus stopped with a little whine of protest and the earl stood. Alec noticed that he sneaked in a final little scratch behind the dog’s ear before coming to his full height. He supposed that the man wasn’t all bad.

“Warnick,” Stanhope said with a wide, friendly smile. “It’s rare to see you in London, let alone here. At the fashionable hour.” His gaze slid over the skirt of Alec’s tartan, glittering with humor. “I see you dressed for the occasion.”

Alec raised one black brow. “I’m wearing a coat, am I not?”

Lily smiled over Stanhope’s shoulder, and Alec ignored the thread of pleasure that came with making her smile. He’d donned a coat for her, as a nod to her presentation on Rotten Row—Rotten indeed. But he’d kept the plaid. On principle. To remind himself that he did not belong here.

With her.

She did a fine job of reminding him herself, however. “You can take the Scot from Scotland . . .”

Stanhope grinned an idiot grin at the words. “But not the Scotland from the Scot, I see.”

They were already finishing each other’s ridiculous sentences.

Alec growled and turned away.

The earl wouldn’t stop blathering. “It shan’t be the coat that will attract attention from the ladies of London.”

“It’s you who should worry about attracting ladies,” Alec shot over his shoulder. “That’s what you’re here for.”

An uncomfortable silence fell among them, the only sounds the rustle of wind through the trees above and the chatter on the road beyond, far enough away to sound like a low hum.

Or perhaps the low hum was inside his ears.

He shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have pointed out that this entire afternoon was fabricated to get Stanhope and Lily together. Courting.

Fabricated by Alec.

He turned back to find Lily’s cheeks blazing red, her gaze fixed on the ground between her and the earl. Alec wanted to go to her and apologize for his crassness. For everything. It seemed that was all he did these days—apologize to Lillian Hargrove. For being a damn brute.

He did not have a chance to apologize, however, as Stanhope leapt to rescue her with impressive speed, extending one arm as though Alec had never spoken. “I would be incredibly honored if you would turn down the Row with me, Miss Hargrove.”

Lily’s gaze lifted, and she smiled at the earl. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Alec’s heart began to pound with irritation and frustration and something else he was not interested in investigating. Instead, he directed his attention to Angus and Hardy, now sitting beside him on the ground, staring up at him in superior canine judgment.

He scowled at the dogs.

Stanhope looked to the open, empty curricle. “Is there a chaperone who might join us?”

Alec crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, there is.”

Stanhope looked to Lily.

She set her hand to the earl’s proffered arm and turned her back to Alec. “My chaperone situation is also somewhat unconventional.”

Stanhope took the situation in stride, his gaze settling on the dogs. “An impressive ménage.” He leaned in and whispered, “Never fear. I am very good with animals.”

A beast joke. How droll. The ass deserved to have his head handed to him.

She laughed. “I do hope so, my lord.”

Was she flirting? Was that a flirt?

Alec did not care for that.

They set off down the dusty Rotten Row, which Alec assumed Lily and the rest of London would refer to as “nature.” Of course, it was nothing even resembling nature. It teemed with people, clusters of women in fine dresses, flanked on both sides by swifter forms of travel—couples in curricles and men on horseback. It was most definitely the fashionable hour; it seemed as though there was barely enough room to walk on the footpath, one was simply carried along by the stream of people.

He knew that chaperones were supposed to keep a proper distance from a couple in situations like this, but if he did, he might lose track of them. Stanhope might be so consumed with talking about himself that someone might take the opportunity to ferret Lily away. Or, worse, Stanhope could ferret her away.

Anything could happen to her.

It was best that Alec stay close. Angus and Hardy clearly agreed, as they were just ahead, flanking the couple.

“Is it always this crowded?” Lily asked the earl, her voice curling up and around Alec, who bit his tongue to keep from answering her.

“Not usually,” the earl replied. “I assume the day’s popularity is for one of two reasons. It could be the beautiful weather . . .”

He trailed off and smiled down at Lily until she looked up. “Or they all heard you would be here.”

Lily was far too smart to fall for such treacle.

He couldn’t see her face over the brim of her pretty pink bonnet, but he did see a flash of white teeth before she dipped her head and looked away.

She liked it.

Good Lord. “Don’t embarrass the girl, Stanhope.”