pleasure , I assure you, is mine.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips.
She stared at him, but her expression was politely blank. The girl who had been known for her unbridled emotions had learned to mask them.
“Are you a frequent visitor at Hopford, Your Grace?”
Peter turned to Lindley. The man was overall a good sort. Sharp. Always worth listening to, whether in Parliament or the club. If Kate had chosen him, she had chosen well.
For some reason, that irritated him. That and that slightly territorial smile that graced Lindley’s hawkish features.
“Not often enough.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You were here yesterday. I would think you quite tired of the Mansfields. We are all so demanding of attention.”
So she was angry. How would he let Kate know he was sorry with Lindley watching the exchange so carefully?
“I give attention where it is deserved.” And Kate was more than deserving of his attention. The red of her gown made her look like a fiery jewel.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you? Perhaps you should give more attention to our footman, James, as he has announced dinner.”
Peter laughed. “But James does not wear that shade of red nearly so well.”
She flushed and the pink of her cheeks made him want to drag her away and kiss her. Oddly, Kate’s sharp tongue no longer aggravated him. Instead . . . instead it was a strange delight. As if this verbal sparring were merely proof of their connection. As if he were not so alone.
The thought sobered him. A kiss was one thing. This last . . . no.
“Quite right, Kate.” He looked about the room. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Mansfield!”
C HAPTER T EN
----
K ate seethed through the night. In part because of Peter and in part because she was seething over him. It was a stupid, pointless endeavor and she had guests. She had a potential husband with whom to fall in love.
And so the next day, during a picnic on the lawn punctuated by games of sport and the like, she turned her focus to Lord Lindley. Where it should have always been. After all, the entire event had been concocted for his benefit. Well, for her benefit in finding a husband.
“It is enlightening to see you in your natural habitat. Rustic suits you, Miss Mansfield.”
It suited her because she’d taken pains to make it so. Her sprigged muslin dress set against the expanse of green lawn was designed to be restful to the eye. To make a man feel at home and thus begin to imagine a home . . . with her. Not that Kate’s theories on attraction had any proof other than her six proposals, but she was confident in her instincts.
Maybe that was why she took little pleasure in his intended compliment. Of course, she also knew he was interested. He would not have accepted her invitation and left society and Miss Hightower’s charms for a week if he were not.
“Miss Mansfield, as I said, I like to win.”
“Yes, you did say that.” She offered him a brilliant smile. The sort they had exchanged flirtatiously again and again in London and Brighton.
“And oftentimes I win simply by knowing when I am destined to lose.”
“I don’t take your meaning.”
“Orland. I am not blind and I do not wish to continue a fruitless pursuit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Clearly there is more between the duke and yourself.”
“That scene last night. You witnessed that? An old animosity. He likes to torment me.”
“Court you, more like.”
She laughed, aware too late that the sound was tinged with bitterness.
Despite his attention, Peter could have no interest in courting her. It wasn’t as if he were going to suddenly wake up one day and decide he cared for her. She remembered very well that day when she was seventeen and he had returned home from Waterloo. The whole town had considered him a hero. The dashing Earl of Bonhill who had gone to war. He may as well have been Wellington for all the acclaim he received. But he had been like no hero she had ever imagined. And a
She stared at him, but her expression was politely blank. The girl who had been known for her unbridled emotions had learned to mask them.
“Are you a frequent visitor at Hopford, Your Grace?”
Peter turned to Lindley. The man was overall a good sort. Sharp. Always worth listening to, whether in Parliament or the club. If Kate had chosen him, she had chosen well.
For some reason, that irritated him. That and that slightly territorial smile that graced Lindley’s hawkish features.
“Not often enough.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You were here yesterday. I would think you quite tired of the Mansfields. We are all so demanding of attention.”
So she was angry. How would he let Kate know he was sorry with Lindley watching the exchange so carefully?
“I give attention where it is deserved.” And Kate was more than deserving of his attention. The red of her gown made her look like a fiery jewel.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you? Perhaps you should give more attention to our footman, James, as he has announced dinner.”
Peter laughed. “But James does not wear that shade of red nearly so well.”
She flushed and the pink of her cheeks made him want to drag her away and kiss her. Oddly, Kate’s sharp tongue no longer aggravated him. Instead . . . instead it was a strange delight. As if this verbal sparring were merely proof of their connection. As if he were not so alone.
The thought sobered him. A kiss was one thing. This last . . . no.
“Quite right, Kate.” He looked about the room. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Mansfield!”
C HAPTER T EN
----
K ate seethed through the night. In part because of Peter and in part because she was seething over him. It was a stupid, pointless endeavor and she had guests. She had a potential husband with whom to fall in love.
And so the next day, during a picnic on the lawn punctuated by games of sport and the like, she turned her focus to Lord Lindley. Where it should have always been. After all, the entire event had been concocted for his benefit. Well, for her benefit in finding a husband.
“It is enlightening to see you in your natural habitat. Rustic suits you, Miss Mansfield.”
It suited her because she’d taken pains to make it so. Her sprigged muslin dress set against the expanse of green lawn was designed to be restful to the eye. To make a man feel at home and thus begin to imagine a home . . . with her. Not that Kate’s theories on attraction had any proof other than her six proposals, but she was confident in her instincts.
Maybe that was why she took little pleasure in his intended compliment. Of course, she also knew he was interested. He would not have accepted her invitation and left society and Miss Hightower’s charms for a week if he were not.
“Miss Mansfield, as I said, I like to win.”
“Yes, you did say that.” She offered him a brilliant smile. The sort they had exchanged flirtatiously again and again in London and Brighton.
“And oftentimes I win simply by knowing when I am destined to lose.”
“I don’t take your meaning.”
“Orland. I am not blind and I do not wish to continue a fruitless pursuit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Clearly there is more between the duke and yourself.”
“That scene last night. You witnessed that? An old animosity. He likes to torment me.”
“Court you, more like.”
She laughed, aware too late that the sound was tinged with bitterness.
Despite his attention, Peter could have no interest in courting her. It wasn’t as if he were going to suddenly wake up one day and decide he cared for her. She remembered very well that day when she was seventeen and he had returned home from Waterloo. The whole town had considered him a hero. The dashing Earl of Bonhill who had gone to war. He may as well have been Wellington for all the acclaim he received. But he had been like no hero she had ever imagined. And a
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