“I’ve never seen anything like it.” “That’s because there isn’t anything like it,” he said. “It’s custom made.” Her brow furrowed. “You’ve a custom curricle? Whatever for? Do you spend a great deal of time driving about the Scottish countryside, eager to be seen?” He laughed at the question, the sound warm like the unseasonable day. “It’s built for racing. Very light, perfectly balanced, fast as a bullet. It’s virtually unbeatable.” She did not care for the image of him careening down a road at high speeds, putting himself in danger, but she ignored the concern. It wasn’t as though he were
...more
