Sebastian allowed her words to settle into the air between them, where they nested and made themselves comfortable.
“You know, Delilah, I’m not alone in exercising my aristocratic prerogative.”
“Oh?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence, except for the self-deprecating glint in her eyes.
“I can’t imagine there’s anything you’ve wanted to do that you haven’t done.”
She screwed her eyes up to the sky, face scrunched, as if she were thinking hard. “I haven’t attended a masquerade ball, and I’ve always wanted to do that.”
After a few rows of the oars, Sebastian found himself asking, “Shall I throw a masquerade ball?”
“It doesn’t exactly seem like your style,” she said, blithely reaching out and allowing her fingertips to graze along the surface of the water.
Was she saying he was an old fogey? “I might throw one,” he protested.
“And why would you do that?” Her eyes had drifted closed with the smooth glide of the punt.
“Because you would like it.”
Her eyes slitted open and met his. “You would throw a masquerade ball for me?”
He held her gaze and said, “If I ever do, you’ll know why.”
His words didn’t drift lightly away with the river breeze, but instead remained, solid, as if composed of dense substance. Delilah’s head canted as she chewed on them. At last, she said, “You’re a sweet man.”
She spoke the words with such utter and complete surprise, a laugh almost burst from him. “Pardon?” He would give her the opportunity to take them back.
“You heard me.”
He met challenge in her eyes. Rather than folding, she was doubling down.
“I’m most definitely notsweet.”
Men simply weren’tsweet. That was the role of women.
“You are,” Delilah returned without heat. As if it were established fact, and she was simply the messenger.
“I’m not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Am I the only one who knows that about you?”
Nonplussed, Sebastian took refuge in a grunt. Anyway, they’d been punting alongside his land for the last ten minutes and the dock was now in view, which gave him the excuse to make ready for disembarkation. Then he was securing the boat and taking Delilah’s hand to assist her onto dry land.
“Come with me,” he said.
And she allowed her hand to remain within his.
Chapter Ten
Sebastian led Delilahacross the manicured meadows and paths of Wimberley Hill, her hand nestled within his, anticipation roaring through him.
He had a place to show her.
A place she would love.
“This might be the prettiest estate in all England,” she said, her gaze casting about, enchantment curving her mouth.
“Aye,” agreed Sebastian.
