attentions so cavalierly. “Madam, have you no response to the fact I find you fascinating?”
* * *
She really didn’t. Have a response, that is. He overthrew her common sense. She’d been avoiding him, it was true. His admission and her unexpected attraction to him made her uncomfortable. She’d known, of course, from that one scorching look at Harry’s, that he had an interest in her. But fascination was far beyond the scope she had been imagining.“I am fascinated by your fascination,” she countered, and it was true. Fascinated and fearful. She didn’t like feeling out of control, and that’s what he did to her. She’d thought to take the upper hand today by approaching him first, but as usual, he’d thrown her off balance and taken over.
He blew out a breath that sounded vaguely frustrated. From what she knew about him from their mutual friends, it was out of character and made her feel slightly better. “What does that mean?” he asked impatiently.
“It means I do not understand the basis of your fascination,” she admitted reluctantly. She didn’t want to reveal any weaknesses that he might take advantage of, but she really was perplexed at his attentions.
“You have bested me, madam. Not many can say that.”
“Have I?” she said with undisguised amazement and shock. “I am delighted, more so because I didn’t even know we were playing a game. I have bested you in ignorance. Do I earn more points for that?”
He stopped. When she looked at him in question, he was facing forward, his lips pursed in annoyance. “Oh, dear,” she said, letting go of his arm. “Now I’ve annoyed you. Is that part of the game, too? Have I won again? Perhaps you should tell me the rules.” She could hardly believe her forward behavior. It was as if Mrs. Fairchild was taking over and meek Eleanor Enderby was fading away.
He looked at her then, his brows raised haughtily. “I think not. It would be worse to be bested by you when you had complete knowledge of the game.”
She laughed in relief and began to walk again. After a moment he followed her. “I am not accustomed to playing catch-up,” he said. “And yet I am forever doing so with you.”
“Really?” she asked, not sure how to respond. She leaned over to smell some red roses growing in pots. Their scent was faint and their beautiful petals were beginning to curl in distress. “ ‘Oh rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm, has found out thy bed of crimson joy, and his dark secret love, does thy life destroy.’ ” She looked at Sir Hilary. “William Blake,” she explained.
“I know who wrote it,” he said, looking astonished she’d think otherwise. “I know a great many poems about flowers. What about, ‘Ah, sunflower, weary of time’ ? AlsoBlake.”
“There are no sunflowers here,” she observed flirtatiously, then wanted to bite her tongue. What was she doing, playing with a Devil? This girlish behavior was foolish in the extreme. He’d said ‘fascinated,’ not infatuated. It was her ability to outwit him he admired, not her womanly charms, despite that heated glance she’d caught. She was quite ordinary in most respects, with her boyish hair and slim figure. She’d heard Sir Hilary preferred curvaceous beauties.
“Fine. ‘The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, the humble sheep, a threat’ning horn: while the Lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.’ Also Blake. The man was obsessed with flowers.”
“A fan of the lily, are you? My point was that I do not think this garden party is good for the flowers.”
“Lady Gaston is not concerned about the flowers. She will grow more. She merely cares that her party is a huge success, which it is.”
“How can you tell?” she asked as she perused the room. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The ladies were staring at him with longing and her with envy, and the men were
* * *
She really didn’t. Have a response, that is. He overthrew her common sense. She’d been avoiding him, it was true. His admission and her unexpected attraction to him made her uncomfortable. She’d known, of course, from that one scorching look at Harry’s, that he had an interest in her. But fascination was far beyond the scope she had been imagining.“I am fascinated by your fascination,” she countered, and it was true. Fascinated and fearful. She didn’t like feeling out of control, and that’s what he did to her. She’d thought to take the upper hand today by approaching him first, but as usual, he’d thrown her off balance and taken over.
He blew out a breath that sounded vaguely frustrated. From what she knew about him from their mutual friends, it was out of character and made her feel slightly better. “What does that mean?” he asked impatiently.
“It means I do not understand the basis of your fascination,” she admitted reluctantly. She didn’t want to reveal any weaknesses that he might take advantage of, but she really was perplexed at his attentions.
“You have bested me, madam. Not many can say that.”
“Have I?” she said with undisguised amazement and shock. “I am delighted, more so because I didn’t even know we were playing a game. I have bested you in ignorance. Do I earn more points for that?”
He stopped. When she looked at him in question, he was facing forward, his lips pursed in annoyance. “Oh, dear,” she said, letting go of his arm. “Now I’ve annoyed you. Is that part of the game, too? Have I won again? Perhaps you should tell me the rules.” She could hardly believe her forward behavior. It was as if Mrs. Fairchild was taking over and meek Eleanor Enderby was fading away.
He looked at her then, his brows raised haughtily. “I think not. It would be worse to be bested by you when you had complete knowledge of the game.”
She laughed in relief and began to walk again. After a moment he followed her. “I am not accustomed to playing catch-up,” he said. “And yet I am forever doing so with you.”
“Really?” she asked, not sure how to respond. She leaned over to smell some red roses growing in pots. Their scent was faint and their beautiful petals were beginning to curl in distress. “ ‘Oh rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm, has found out thy bed of crimson joy, and his dark secret love, does thy life destroy.’ ” She looked at Sir Hilary. “William Blake,” she explained.
“I know who wrote it,” he said, looking astonished she’d think otherwise. “I know a great many poems about flowers. What about, ‘Ah, sunflower, weary of time’ ? AlsoBlake.”
“There are no sunflowers here,” she observed flirtatiously, then wanted to bite her tongue. What was she doing, playing with a Devil? This girlish behavior was foolish in the extreme. He’d said ‘fascinated,’ not infatuated. It was her ability to outwit him he admired, not her womanly charms, despite that heated glance she’d caught. She was quite ordinary in most respects, with her boyish hair and slim figure. She’d heard Sir Hilary preferred curvaceous beauties.
“Fine. ‘The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, the humble sheep, a threat’ning horn: while the Lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.’ Also Blake. The man was obsessed with flowers.”
“A fan of the lily, are you? My point was that I do not think this garden party is good for the flowers.”
“Lady Gaston is not concerned about the flowers. She will grow more. She merely cares that her party is a huge success, which it is.”
“How can you tell?” she asked as she perused the room. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The ladies were staring at him with longing and her with envy, and the men were
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