No such miracle occurred.
Lady Artemis’s glider sailed through the air on its maiden voyage as if paper were meant to fly—smooth … graceful … interminable. It showed no intention of touching earth ever again.
Bran’s glider … Well, it did achieve a single second of glory based solely on the forward momentum provided by the footman’s long arm. The next second, it stalled mid-air and fell to earth with a papery, anticlimactic thud.
Meanwhile, Lady Artemis’s glider yet flew on—over their heads, past the fountain, toward the horizon that showed silver with the first suggestion of dawn.
Bran felt a pull. He should be making his way toward the sea right now for his morning swim.
Instead, he was involved in this—whateverthiswas.
Withher—a woman he’d thought never to lay eyes on again.
As if she could sense his thoughts, she turned her endlessly deep brown gaze on him. “It appears we have a tie, Lord Branwell.”
That smug smile perched on her full, berry-red lips … It didn’t irritate him as much as it ought to—or at all, really. In fact, it incited an altogether different feeling inside him—one long dormant.
Unless, of course, one has no further use for one’s nethers.
A feeling snaked through him and coiled within—desire.
Though he hadn’t experienced it in two years, it wasn’t new. He’d experienced it before—with this woman.
He was on the verge of losing this contest tonight, but that wasn’t the worst trouble he was in.
The woman before him …Shewas the worst of his troubles.
DidLord Branwell realize he was scowling at her?
Perhaps she had been gloating.
Still, it was one’s obligation to be a fair-minded sportsman and not glare at one’s opponent with the ferocity of a bull in the ring.
Sir Abstrupus clasped his hands together with undiluted delight. “Oh, I do love it when there’s a tie to be broken.”
The old scoundrel was enjoying himself entirely too much.
As it seemed all Lord Branwell would do for what remained of the night was scowl and growl, Artemis decided it was up to her to ask, “And for our third feat?” No mistaking the note of distrust in her voice.
A twinkle in his eye, Sir Abstrupus dug into his waistcoat pocket. His forefinger and thumb emerged holding a coin. “Are you aware the game of coin-flipping dates all the way back tothe ancient Romans?” He held what appeared to be a genuine Roman coin to flickering torchlight. “They called it ‘ship or head.’ A ship is on one side and the emperor’s head is on the other.”
Artemis’s stomach turned over.
A coin flip.
Her sweet victory from a minute ago turned to dust in her mouth. Now, she and Lord Branwell were again on level ground. Either of them could win this contest.
“Couldn’t we have saved ourselves a bit of trouble and flipped a coin from the start?” she asked, equal parts incredulous and annoyed.
“Oh, but who doesn’t enjoy a bit of trouble from time to time?” Sir Abstrupus’s self-satisfaction knew not the bounds of shame. “Remember what I said about luck?” he continued. “As you’re the lady in our midst, you get to call it.” He pursed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, as if giving the matter further consideration. “Unless you don’t prefer such treatment based solely upon your sex?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll call it.”
Sir Abstrupus chuckled. “Lady, it is.”
She wasn’t best pleased, but then neither was Lord Branwell, who was still scowling. At least, however, she possessed the edge—or illusion—of controlling her fate.
Sir Abstrupus tossed the coin into the air, and she called out, “Head!”
