A change of subject was in order. So, too, a lighter mood.
“Enough seriousness,” she decided aloud. “Be forewarned, Mr. Carstairs. I am a formidable opponent. You must not expect to emerge from our tournament the victor.”
“I believe you, my dear.” He guided them from the sticky heat of the orangery, the scent of the lush blossoms perfuming the air around them. “I anticipate a thorough trouncing is in order.”
One thought struck her as they made their way back through the main house, to where their tour had begun.
She liked Mr. Robin Carstairs.
Liked him far, far too much.
Chapter 4
As of the current date, please forward all expenditures made by Her Grace to myself, that I may personally review them before they are settled.
~letter from the Duke of Longleigh to his steward
Tilly was reclining on a boat, the glorious sun shielded from her eyes by the brim of her handsome hat. The day was beautiful, the sounds of the water rushing along the hull and the steady, rhythmic dipping of the oars nothing short of splendid. Her left hand was hung over the edge of the shallow vessel, her fingers dipping into the cool waters.
Her ankles were crossed, her skirts pulled down to maintain her modesty. But she could not have been more aware of the other occupant of the boat if he had been engaged in the act of lifting those very skirts.
With her free, dry hand, she tilted her monstrosity of a hat—all the rage in Paris, of course—until she was afforded a sliver of Robin rowing the boat across the immense lake which had been ordered by the fourth—or mayhap it had been the fifth—Duke of Longleigh.
Robin was clad in nothing but his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, cuffs rolled to his elbows, forearms on display as he rowed them steadily to the farthest end of the lake.
“I see you there,” he said, tapping her bare toes with his boot-shod foot, his tone light and teasing. Flirtatious. “That hat may be the size of a house, but it cannot hide your eyes from me.”
“I could not wear my house upon my head,” she told him, feeling silly.
Feeling happy, light, and free as she had not in years, drunk on the sun and on the man watching her.
He rowed, and she admired the flex of muscle in his arms, the sight of his big hands wrapped around the oars. He was a deliciously handsome man. His own hat rested on the floor of the boat, the light gilding his golden-brown hair.
“I fear a bird will mistake your hat for a fellow avian and come courting,” he teased. “What with the abundance of plumage sticking out from it.”
Tilly giggled, feeling like a girl.
She was falling in love.
Or lust.
Or both.
She could not be sure. Did it matter?
For the last week, Robin had been charming her. Courting her. Seducing her. They had spent each day in each other’s company, from morning until they concluded the day with poetry in the library. She had trounced him at lawn tennis on no less than five occasions. She had played for him in the music room. He had defeated her at billiards. They had shared stories and laughter and so much time together. She could not recall a time in her life when she had ever been more content than she was now. They had gotten acquainted and, true to their aim, they had become friends. Everything was perfect.
Except for one missing element.
He had not kissed her again since that first night, and she had been longing for his lips on hers again.
But she would wait. This was all strange and unusual territory for her.
“Promise me that if a bird does perch on my hat, you shall chase him,” she said, wiggling her bare toes at Robin.
“I will on one condition.”
She raised a brow. “Gentlemen should not require conditions to be gentlemen.”
