Kara slowed her horse and drifted to the back of the party, where Aidan fell in by her side.
“I missed you at the ball last night. Was that you, the demoness?”
“Unfortunately.”
Aidan’s lips twisted. “What happened?”
“Lord Melbourne was a bit too forward for my liking. I took offense.”
“Be careful with that one. He’s mercenary scum.”
Kara stifled her frown. His derision grated. “I had to leave after the altercation—I was too embarrassed to stay.”
“Well, you didn’t miss much. Some lambs humping satyrs in the alcoves, one belligerent crow too deep in his cups.”
Kara chuckled. “What did you attend as? I didn’t spot you in the crowd.”
“An eagle.”
“Suits you.”
A hound bayed in the distance, alerting the party to the scent it’d found. The horses’ ears flickered, and they danced in place. The hunt master blew his horn, and they were off, the hunters of the group charging into the forest.
The party’s sedate tail wandered apart, sprinkling out around the lake at the forest’s edge. Young lovers glad to be rid of their chaperones wandered into the shadowy parts of the forest, and those too old and bloated to hunt mopped sweat off their faces and adjusted their belts. She and Aidan were alone.
An older matron named Lady Sheridan was coaching her team of servants through unfolding a blanket and setting out glassware far too fine for the outdoors. “I’ve prepared a picnic while we wait for the blood sport to be finished,” she called. “Do join us.”
Aidan gestured to the picnickers. “Shall we?”
“Why not?” Sitting next to Lady Sheridan was Lord Rutherford, a man of some influence at court that she’d been meaning to introduce herself to.
They made their way over to the group and dismounted, leaving the horses free to graze.
Aidan introduced her, and Kara knelt atop the blanket they’d laid out on the grass. Lord Rutherford was a plump man with a thick mustache and wire glasses. He didn’t strike Kara as the traitorous sort, but the most successful traitors wouldn’t.
Rutherford pulled a dark bottle out of a wicker picnic basket. “I’ve brought a bottle of my estate’s best whiskey to share.”
“Oh, goddess, I remember the trouble last time we got into this stuff,” Lady Sheridan said.
“Trouble?” Rutherford said. “You mean pleasure, raucous pleasure.”
Lady Sheridan blushed and glanced away. They were both married to other people, but that didn’t mean much in Lerathil.
Kara hid her smile and held out her glass to be filled. She took a sip and coughed, caught off guard by the harsh taste. It slid down her throat, settling into a warm glow in her stomach.
Aidan turned down the whiskey and began cutting an apple into thick slices, occasionally lifting the blade to his mouth to eat one.
Rutherford set his bottle down and lit a pipe. A smoky vanilla aroma filled the air.
Aidan offered Kara a slice of apple, and she bit it out of his hands without thinking.
“How is your husband hunt coming?” Lady Sheridan asked, staring pointedly at Aidan. She had all the subtlety of an elephant.
“I hope this hunt will be more successful,” Kara said, gesturing towards the forest.
Rutherford glanced between her and Aidan. “You two’d make a fine couple. Where are you from again, girl?” He pulled on the pipe and blew the smoke into the middle of their group.
“Briarcliff. Lord Grey is my father.”
