Chapter 57

When he got to Oxford Street, he turned east, walking at a fair pace. He was still turning over the morning’s events in his mind when he reached Marylebone Street nearly a mile away, so he kept on walking.

If only he had gone home the night before, then none of this would have happened. Next time—if there was a next time, which he doubted—he would take his own coach and save them both such a ridiculous scene. Leander knew he would never be able to recall the pleasure of the previous evening without it being overshadowed by his humiliating display the next morning.