For a full breath, the air remained electrified, as if lightning had struck the table. Then, everything changed. Bromton did not exactly return her smile, but his features thawed and a gleam entered his eyes. In that moment, they were two people sharing a private jest. The effect was quickening as much as perplexing. She could not break their gaze.
What was his eye color? And what quality did the mysterious shade have that made her want to settle in and stare as if he were a crackling fire and she desperately needed warmth?
“Katherine,” Markham said warningly, “leave now, or we will.”
The spell broke. Katherine turned and plucked a stick from the wall.
Markham strode to the door. “Coming, Bromton?”
She held her breath—
“The lady and I are not finished,” Bromton said.
—and then exhaled.
“Well, I am.” Markham’s footsteps slowly faded.
She sensed Lord Bromton at her back with a strange, new perception. Disconcertingly, she wished herself free of her dowdy clothes. Discreetly, she adjusted her fichu. Then, she turned.
Unfortunately, she had not shocked the marquess. Instead, he appeared intent. Dangerously intent. And he trained his gaze on her person as if, from that point on, he expected to make her his first and primary concern.
She’d never been anyone’s first concern, let alone their most important.
“Markham and I were playing Carambole. Would you prefer Hazzards or the Winning Game?”
“What was that?” she asked.
He lifted a brow. “Your purpose was to play billiards, was it not?”
“Of course.” Her color heightened.
“Well,” he said, focusing on the table, “different rules and objectives apply depending on what game you choose to play. Let us start simple, shall we? The red ball is three points, the white, two.” He opened his arm. “I can help you find the correct position, if you’d like.”
She approached the table, leaving a healthy distance between them. “I prefer to discern things for myself.”
“You prefer control.”
He closed the distance.
“As do you.” She forced a steady breath. “We are equal in our preference.”
“Equality between the sexes.” Hetsked. “And you accused me of holding radical thoughts.”
“I spoke only of a specific preference.” She kept her voice light. “In the broader sense, ladies are superior in every way. Why else would you men work so very hard to limit us?”
“Tell me,” he spoke against her ear, “are you revolutionizing the Southford youth during those Sunday lessons of yours?”
“Ah,” she said, refusing to be distracted by his breath and the prickling sensations it caused. “You’ve been inquiring after me.”
“Yes,” he confirmed without apology.
She took a deep breath. “Then you know there is nothing radical about my lessons. An intelligent, skilled tenant is an asset.”
His knee brushed against the back of her skirts. “An excellent point.”
“Now, where was I?” She flashed a glance over her shoulder. “Room please.”
He bowed and moved aside. She leaned over the table with slow, determined grace and then shifted on her heel. Not much, but enough to give her backside a sway.
