It took her some seconds to realize he was teasing her. She relaxed, her lips turning up in a small smile. “In a manner of speaking.”
Reluctant humor flashed in his eyes. As they stood staring at one another, however, his humor was replaced by something else, a warmth that she felt clear to her toes. And then his eyes drifted down to settle on her mouth, and that warmth turned into a fire.
Lenora’s mouth went dry, and she unconsciously licked her lips. His eyes widened.
Confused, desperate to bring some normalcy back to the scenario, she rasped, “You can talk to me if you like.”
He blinked, his gaze still glued to her mouth. “What?”
How she formed a coherent thought, she would never know. But she did, the words coming in a rush. “About the duke. You can bend my ear if you wish.”
At once, his expression shuttered. “You want me to talk to you about the duke?”
She swallowed hard. “If you’d like.”
“No.”
That was it, one word, sharp and final. And then he was pulling from her grip and storming out into the garden.
Lenora drew in a shaky breath. She could not make sense of him, showing unexpected humor one minute, anger the next. As shock subsided, she expected outrage at his brusqueness to take its place. Yet what she felt was quite different, a softening toward him she had not expected, for he was not all bluster as he pretended to be. The man was getting under her skin.
Something she could not permit.
She hugged her arms about her middle. How she would survive this month with him was beyond her.
Chapter 8
Three days later—exhaustive days trying to ignore Miss Hartley and her soft lips and compassionate eyes—Lady Tesh gathered the small Seacliff party together for an impromptu picnic.
Thoughimpromptumight be the wrong word for it. Peter surveyed the lavish spread set up beneath a stand of twisted spruce trees. Nothing other than meticulous planning could have accomplished what he was seeing.
A large, pristine white tent rose up against the brilliant blue sky like a triangular cloud. Beneath it, an elegant wood table stood, topped with all manner of crystal and fine china. At its center were several vases, hothouse flowers spilling from them with colorful abandon. Off to the side, a second table fairly groaned under the weight of the food it held. To top off the ridiculous display, half a dozen bewigged footmen stood at attention.
Peter dismounted from his horse, striding to the carriage as it rumbled to a stop. He threw open the door, helping the dog down, then accepting Lady Tesh’s hand as she made to alight.
“I do hope you don’t mind a meal out of doors,” she said with a too-innocent smile.
He raised an eyebrow as he tucked the viscountess’s hand in the crook of his arm to help her over the uneven ground. To his surprise, she pulled away.
“Mr. Nesbitt may help myself and Margery,” she said by way of explanation. “If you could assist Lenora, I would be much obliged.”
Quincy was beside her in an instant, responding to the sound of his name on a female’s lips no matter that woman was old enough to be his grandmother. He bowed gallantly. “You honor me, my lady,” he said with a grin, offering his arm. Soon the three were off across the grass, talking and laughing quietly among themselves, the dog trotting regally ahead, leading the procession.
Leaving Peter alone with Miss Hartley.
With unease, he turned back to the carriage. She peered out at the departing trio, her eyes wide. With almost comical slowness, she turned to look at him.
Peter cleared his throat, stepping forward and holding his hand out to her. She hesitated but a moment before slipping her fingers into his. They both wore gloves, yet the shock of the tentative touch stunned him. Making certain to keep their contact as minimal as possible, Peter guided her behind the others.
It took an inordinately long time to walk the short way to the tents. He was painfully aware of every breath she took, every sway of her body. The space of a foot was no hindrance to the heat of her. It seemed to shimmer in the air between them. It took everything in him to hold his arm still under the tentative touch of her fingers on his sleeve.
No matter how he had wracked his brain over the past days, he couldn’t make sense of his body’s response to her. She was lovely, yes, and had shown proof on more than one occasion that she possessed far more spirit than he’d thought her capable of.
But that did not explain the way he burned for her, how she preyed on his thoughts, how he was achingly aware of her whenever she was near.
It was with relief that they made it to the luncheon area. Peter released her as soon as he was able. A footman was there before he could blink, pulling a chair back for Miss Hartley. It was only then that Peter saw the only chair available was beside her. He stared at it as if it were the fiery pit of hell.
“Come along, Peter,” Lady Tesh said. “Take your seat before we all expire on the spot from starvation.” The dog, seated regally in Lady Tesh’s lap, seemed to stare at him in faint reprimand.
