Genova sighed audibly to cover a shiver of foolish temptation. His proposition gave her an excuse to leave, however, pride intact.
Before she could move he said, “Come, sit with me, Miss Smith. I promise not to offend, and we should plan our strategic disengagement.”
Willpower can stretch only so far before it breaks. Genova joined him on the seat, but left enough space between them for one or two imaginary chaperones. They were necessary. Moonlight flowed down his virile body, making him seem half light, half dark, and breathtaking.
“Strategy, my lord? We seem to have no difficulty in finding disputes.”
“True, peace might be more difficult, but perhaps we should try it. We need to be besotted for a day or two to lend credence to our commitment.”
Genova’s skin tingled with anticipation and alarm. “Why?”
“Come now, you’re not dull-witted. If Tess Brokesby is tattling, guests will arrive tomorrow pregnant with gossip and watching our every look. If we are already at sword’s point, the betrothal will look spurious, or at least forced. If they witness a day or two of devotion, you’ll emerge as victim of my callousness.”
“I don’t care to be seen as any sort of victim!”
A smile moved the corner of his lips. “Then I’m sure we can portray it as a triumph of virtue over vice.”
Not if you smile at me like that.
Genova flicked open her fan to provide a shield. “Very well, my lord. I will try to pretend devotion for a day or two, but the dramatically enjoyable separation will be my reward.”
That smile deepened. “Can I interest you in a dramatically enjoyable joining first?”
Parts of her trembled, but Genova was not such a fool as that. “If you seduce me, my lord, I will not release you from this engagement.”
That wiped the smile away. “A worthy opponent. So be it. When shall we two part again? Not, at least, until after Christmas. We don’t want discord to disturb the season of joy and peace.”
She studied him, cursing the uncertain light. “Don’t we? I assumed you were here to do precisely that.”
“Why?”
The air suddenly felt colder. She should brush past the subject, but for survival’s sake she needed to know what was going on. “Truth,” she said.
“Ah, yes. I am Loki at this feast.”
“Loki?”
“The Norse god of discord.”
“Talk sense, my lord! What do you plan?”
“It’s no concern of yours.”
He was right, but it wasn’t in Genova’s nature to back away from a just cause. “If it threatens your great-aunts, it is. I won’t let you hurt them.”
“You may trust me with their welfare, Miss Smith.”
She wanted to protest, but she recognized one of those lines a sensible person did not cross.
“You look,” he said, “as if you are biting your tongue.”
A touch of wry humor gave her courage to persist. “Are you really planning havoc, my lord, because of a tragedy nearly forty years old?”
“Ah, don’t,pandolcetta.Don’t meddle there.”
The sobriety of the warning raised the hairs on her neck.
Chapter Nineteen
