***
He had finally managed to keep Elowen from baring her fangs at him. Lucas hadn’t anticipated that, of all the challenges he might face today, softening her temper would prove the most formidable. She wore her defences like armour—bright, sharp, and difficult to pierce.
“My father speaks quite highly of you,” she said after a stretch of silence, during which he had been trying, without much success, to draw her into conversation. “I am curious how you two became acquainted.”
“It appears you are curious about many things, my lady.”
She turned those guarded hazel eyes on him. “I was under the impression that it was common practice for ladies to ask gentlemen about themselves. Is that not how the game is played?”
Lucas’s lips twitched. Her tone carried the faintest thread of sarcasm, veiled beneath a layer of composure that might have deceived any other man. “You are not mistaken, Miss Tremaine. But it works best when the lady allows the gentleman to ask questions in return.”
“I am not stopping you, am I?”
“No, though you do not strike me as one inclined to answer them.”
This time, her lips were the ones that twitched, as if she were fighting a smile. They had returned to Room One, since she claimed she had not properly admired Banks’s collection. He doubted she was paying much attention to it now. He liked to think it was because of him.
“Am I wrong?” he pressed, hoping to coax that smile.
She faced him, raising one brow expectantly. “I would not say so,” she admitted. “But you must see where I stand on the matter—and you have yet to reveal anything of yourself.”
“So if I were to ask your favourite colour, you would not tell me?”
Those perfectly arched brows of hers knitted together. “Well, I cannot fathom why you would care for such a thing.”
“Simply because I wish to know you better. What of your favourite flowers?”
Her frown deepened. “Does this desire to know me better serve your mysterious scheme—the one you refuse to explain?”
“Nefarious, you mean?” he teased, laughing under his breath. “It is anything but though, I assure you.”
“Your assurances mean very little, I’m afraid.”
“Well then,” he said lightly, “let us see how long you can keep singing that tune.”
“You underestimate me, Your Grace.” She turned back toward the display. “My stubbornness is rooted in a steadfast need to prove others wrong.”
“As is mine.”
That earned him half a smile—just enough to make his chest feel absurdly light. The afternoon had begun in rocky fashion, but at last she seemed to be warming to him.
“Oh, Lucas!”
He closed his eyes briefly.Confound it, no.
He didn’t turn, clinging to the faint hope that his ears deceived him. But Elowen’s startled expression told him otherwise.
“Isn’t that your cousin, Miss Beaumont?”
He hoped it wasn’t. Because if it was, she owed him ten pounds.
“Lucas! Miss Tremaine!” came Catherine’s bright voice. She all but bounded toward them, beaming. “I wasn’t sure you would still be here. What a delightful coincidence!”
Lucas turned slowly, his smile fixed and strained. “Catherine, what are you doing here? I thought you said you would visit the museumlater.”
“Yes—but I never saidhow muchlater,” she chirped, a wicked glint in her eye. “And of course, I did not come alone. Lord Westbrook is with me, and my maid chaperones, so you needn’t worry.”
“I am not the one who should be worried,” he muttered through his teeth.
