“And I’d rather you didn’t hide from me.”
“What makes you think I was hiding fromyou?” He really was arrogant.
“Weren’t you?” There was a softness to his voice that made me want to tell him the truth. Perhaps if I were honest with him, he would be honest with me.
“It was Ollie I couldn’t face,” I said quietly.
“Why would you hide from Ollie?”
“Our ride yesterday bothered him.”
Damon’s head tilted to the side. “Was that not our express purpose?”
“It was, but it doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Do you regret our arrangement?”
“Only when you keep things from me. I would feel better if you weren’t so private.”
Damon shook his head. “I’m sure you would not.”
Why was Damon always so obstinate? He could be forthcoming about his feelings regarding things I did not care to know but silent when it came to things I did. For once, I wanted to be on the upper hand of our conversation. I searched my mind. There had to be something . . . Ah. Yes. I knew just the thing to lure him into conversation.
“Red,” I said.
“Pardon?”
“The color fabric I chose is red. Poppy to be exact.”
“Poppy? I would have expected you to choose a subtler shade. White or pale green perhaps.”
“Yes, well. I wanted to select a color that would be noticed.”
“That color will—” He paused to clear his throat. “It will suit your complexion nicely.”
“Thank you. Now it isyourturn to be forthcoming.”
“You want a confession.” He shook his head with a small laugh. “Very well then. The night you wear such a dress will surely be the end of our little charade. Ollie and every other man in the room will be captivated by you.”
My cheeks burned. No man had ever paid me such a direct compliment.
Damon smiled to himself as if pleased by my stunned reaction. This wouldn’t do. If he wanted to play games, then I would be a worthy opponent.
I took a steadying breath, sliding into character. “I didn’t choose the color to please your brother.”
“Oh? Who did you buy it to please?”
I looked up at Damon through my lashes and smiled coyly like I’d seen Miss Digby do. “Myself.” That was only partially true—I’d chosen the fabric because I liked it but also because I hoped the bold shade might make Ollie see me in a different light—but Damon needn’t know that.
He didn’t laugh like I’d expected. Instead, he held my gaze and in a low voice said, “How foolish of me to have hoped.”
Was he teasing me again? No matter how well I thought I was faring at commanding our conversation, healwaysmanaged to get in the last word. Damon did not play fair.
At long last, we reached the carriage. A footman scurried to meet us at the door, but when he moved to open it, Damon held up his hand, stopping him, and he opened the carriage door himself. “Miss Kent.” He held out his hand to assist me up.
I hesitated. He’d only dismissed the footman and offered me his hand so people nearby would see the gesture. Iknewthis, and yet itfeltlike more.
Damon leaned close. Too close. Close enough that I could smell the musk of his shaving soap. “The polite thing to do when a gentleman offers you his hand, Miss Kent, is to accept it.”
