Slightly Dangerous by Mary Balogh

walks or to remain where he was, simply breathing in the summer scents of water and greenery.
    He should have gone home to Lindsey Hall.
    But he had not, and so there was no point in wishing now that he had made a different decision.
    He was still standing there, content for the moment to be idle, when he heard the distinct rustle of footsteps on the path behind him—the path by which he had come. He was annoyed with himself then that he had not moved off sooner. The last thing he wanted was company. But it was too late now. Whichever of the side paths he took, he would be unable to move out of sight before whoever it was emerged onto the bank and saw him.
    He turned with barely concealed annoyance.
    She was marching along with quite unladylike strides, minus either bonnet or gloves, and her head was turned back over her shoulder as if to see who was coming along behind her. Before Wulfric could either move out of the way or alert her to impending disaster, she had collided with him full-on. He grasped her upper arms too late and found himself with a noseful of soft curls before she jerked back her head with a squeak of alarm and her nose collided with his.
    It seemed somehow almost inevitable, he thought with pained resignation—and with the pain of a smarting nose and watering eyes. Some evil angel must have sent her to this house party just to torment him—or to remind him never again to make an impulsive decision.
    Her hand flew to her nose—presumably to discover if it was broken or gushing blood or both. Tears welled in her eyes.
    “Mrs. Derrick,” he said with faint hauteur—though it was too late to discourage her from approaching him.
    “Oh, dear,” she said, lowering her hand and blinking her eyes, “I am so sorry. How clumsy of me! I was not looking where I was going.”
    “You might, then,” he said, “have walked right into the lake if I had not been standing here.”
    “But I did not,” she said reasonably. “I had a sudden feeling that I was not alone and looked behind me instead of ahead. And, of all people, it had to be you.”
    “I beg your pardon.” He bowed stiffly to her. He might have returned the compliment but did not.
    More than ever she looked countrified and without any of the elegance and sophistication he expected of ladies with whom he was obliged to socialize for two weeks. The breeze was ruffling her short curls. The sunlight was making her complexion look more bronzed even than it had appeared in the drawing room. Her teeth looked very white in contrast. Her eyes were as blue as the sky. She was, he conceded grudgingly, really quite startlingly pretty—despite a nose that was reddening by the moment.
    “My words
were
ill mannered,” she said with a smile. “I did not mean them quite the way they sounded. But first I spilled lemonade over you, then I engaged you in a staring match only because I objected to your eyebrow, and now I have run into you and cracked your nose with my own. I
do
hope I have used up a whole two weeks’ worth of clumsiness all within a few hours and can be quite decorous and graceful and really rather boring for the rest of my stay here.”
    There was not much to be said in response to such a frank speech. But during it she had revealed a great deal about herself, none of which was in any way appealing.
    “My choice of path appears to have been serendipitous,” he said, turning slightly away from her. “The lake was unexpected, but it is pleasantly situated.”
    “Oh, yes, indeed,” she agreed. “It has always been one of my favorite parts of the park.”
    “Doubtless,” he said, planning his escape, “you came out here to be alone. I have disturbed you.”
    “Not at all,” she said brightly. “Besides, I came out here to walk. There is a path that winds its way all about the lake. It has been carefully planned to give a variety of sensual pleasures.”
    Her eyes caught and held his and she grimaced and blushed.
    “Sometimes,” she