“You look beautiful too, Dorothy,” he said, his voice low, almost casual, though his eyes were anything but. “The color suits you well.”
The words stole the air from her chest. Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could master it, spreading with a betrayal she could neither check nor conceal. She tried, quite desperately, to turn her face away, lifting her free hand as though to busy herself with the fall of her sleeve. Anything to conceal the warmth burning across her skin.
Magnus’s mouth curved. “You should know,” he said, amusement threading through his tone, “you do a very terrible job of hiding your blush.”
Her head snapped back toward him, mortified, which only deepened the flush she was so eager to disguise.
“Perhaps,” he continued, leaning slightly nearer. “You ought to stop trying altogether.”
Dorothy let out a breath that was half indignation, half laughter, her eyes flashing in spite of herself. “You say that only because it proves you have an effect on me,” she retorted, her voice pitched with forced composure though her heart beat wildly.
He tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful, almost wickedly so. “No,” he said softly. “I say it because I want the privilege of seeing it.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. For one suspended moment, they simply looked at one another, his hand still enclosing hers, the silence thick with everything they had not spoken since that night at Ravenmoor.
Magnus’s hand, warm and steady over hers, at last released her fingers, only to glide, unhurried, to the small of her waist. The movement drew her a step closer until she found herself standing against him, her breath catching at their nearness. With a careful touch, he raised his other hand, brushing aside a loose strand of hair and tucking it gently behind her ear.
“Do you want to speak of what happened at the Ravenmoor ball?” he asked quietly, his gaze intent upon hers.
Her heart gave a startled leap. She forced herself to meet his eyes, though her lips curved faintly in defense. “Is there some concern you wish to address?”
A corner of his mouth lifted, too. “No. None at all.”
Relief mingled with something far sweeter, and Dorothy allowed herself a small smile. “Then I have nothing to say against it either.”
Their words lingered in the stillness, fragile, waiting. Then, with a tenderness that undid her, Magnus lowered his head and pressed his lips softly to hers. Dorothy’s eyes fluttered closed, and before she could think better of it, she raised her arms and slipped them about him, drawing herself into his embrace.
For the first time, she held him.
He stilled, as though surprised, and then his arms came around her in return, firm and protective. Pressed against him, she felt a calm settle over her so complete that it stole her very strength. The rise and fall of his chest, the steady thrum of his heart beneath her cheek. These became an anchor so that she nearly surrendered to it altogether.
“Battledore and Shuttlecock?” Magnus asked with wide eyes. “No.”
Dorothy smiled patiently, for she had half-expected such resistance. She had risen early that morning to see to every detail of this outing—the hampers packed with roasted chicken, fresh rolls, and little cakes Eugenia had insisted upon, the checked cloth laid out beneath the shade of the great oak, and the cushions brought along so Eugenia might sit comfortably. It had been Dorothy’s wish that they spend the day together as a family, away from the solemn air of the house where Magnus might see his niece laugh freely and perhaps laugh himself.
“It’s a fun, simple game, Magnus,” Dorothy answered him lightly, holding out the battledore with an arch tilt of her head. “It is only a matter of keeping the shuttlecock aloft. I daresay even you will find some amusement in it.”
Magnus’s gaze flickered to Eugenia, who sat cross-legged upon the rug, her small hands clasped around the shuttlecock as though it were a treasure. Her eyes shone with eagerness.
“She believes you will be very good at it,” Dorothy added softly, her voice pitched so that only he could catch the gentle persuasion in it.
Eugenia nodded at once, as though prompted by some invisible cue, her curls bouncing.
Magnus drew in a breath, the corners of his mouth tightening. “I remain unconvinced. The picnic is going well. We can just... eat and talk.”
Dorothy did not relent. She moved closer on the checked cloth, letting the summer warmth of the day press against her skin as she settled beside him. Her skirts rustled, and the battledore lay between them forgotten for the moment. Before she thought too much of propriety or consequence, she laid her hand lightly upon his knee, an intentional, intimate weight that made him tense beneath her touch.
He closed his eyes as if to compose himself. “Don’t, Dorothy. You should not,” he said at last, the words a soft admonition. “You have an advantage.”
“An advantage?” Dorothy’s voice sounded innocent enough, though her pulse quickened with curiosity. “Pray tell, what advantage might that be?”
There was a little, almost insolent smile in the line of his mouth, even with his lids lowered. “You know what that advantage is.”
She laughed lightly, teasing, pretending ignorance as she leaned forward so only he might hear. “I do not. Perhaps you will open your eyes and explain it to me plainly.”
At that, his smile betrayed him completely. His lashes lifted, and his gaze found hers, warm and amused. For a moment, the air between them thrummed. “Very well,” he said, exasperation and fondness mingling. “I will play on one condition. If anyone is hurt or if anyone tumbles in such a way that dignity is at risk, the game is to end at once.”
Dorothy accepted this treaty without hesitation. “Agreed,” she replied. Her hand tightened once, just a fraction, then slid away so she might reach for the battledore. Eugenia clapped, delighted, already arranging herself to begin.
