“You played dirty,” I say, throwing a harmless punch at his arm. My eyes refuse to lift higher than his chin.
He catches my wrist before my punch can land, then lowers his face into my line of sight. His voice is rich with mirth. “You played dirty first.”
I avert my gaze slightly, still not daring to look at him. “I was stating facts,” I mutter. “You were teasing.”
“Was I?” He leans into view again until I finally meet his eyes. “Or was I merely stating facts too, dear?”
My stomach flips all over again. Not only because he just called me dear—not Daffy Dear, not Daph—but because I’ve never been on the receiving end of his flirtatious mocking. I’ve only seen him tease others like this, like when he’d rile up Edwina and William during his matchmaking game. But he’s never teasedmethis way, not with such sexually charged subject matter, and I can’t pretend his actions are for the sake of matchmaking. If he wanted to tease me to make my suitor jealous, he’d wait until Conrad was paying attention. But he’s still playing the shooting game.
The feel of Monty’s fingers around my wrist absorbs all my attention, as do the scant few inches that separate us. My breaths grow heavier in my chest, and Monty’s mirth begins to fade into something more serious. Something like the intensity he showed during our painting session.
This would be a great opportunity to tease him back. I shattered his composure during the game. I could do it again. But even though my mouth opens, my words don’t come, and I find myself drawn deeper into silence. Deeper into his gaze. It’s strange because I don’t normally love prolonged eye contact, but with Monty…I don’t hate it. Moreover, I can’t keep myself from studying the particular shade of gray in his eyes. Like a storm cloud. A shade so beautiful I’m suddenly desperate to paint?—
A drop of moisture lands on my lashes, forcing me to blink. Then another falls on my cheek. I tilt my face back and find an overcast sky overhead. The clouds must have overtaken the blue while we were playing our game, and now rain has begun. In a matter of seconds, the light sprinkle turns into a deluge.
A burst of laughter escapes my lips. I close my eyes and lift my chin higher, luxuriating in the feel of the cold drops dancing over my face and hair. Soaking my arms. Then a tug on my wrist reminds me Monty is still holding onto it.
“Come on.” He gently guides me back under the stall’s awning, where the now-finished players and several other carnival guests crowd in close to the counter. I grin at the sight of the grass becoming soaked, at the stalls filled with people desperate to wait out the shower. Meanwhile, it takes all my restraint not to run back onto the grass and pounce from puddle to puddle.
I love the rain.
Yet that love is not one I can heed, the proof being the aghast looks I catch from those in the stall across from us. One woman whispers into another’s ear, their eyes on me. As both break into laughter, I’m thrown back to my debut season as the source of mockery and gossip.
Did you see her tear into that steak with her hands?
Did you hear her growl when I merely bumped into her?
I shake the memories from my head, burying the part of me that yearns for rain, and remind myself that being soaked through is not admirable in society. Instead of fantasizing about frolicking through puddles, I should be fretting over my hair like all the other ladies are doing.
“You’re drenched.” A panicked male voice draws my attention to the side, where Conrad shuffles between bodies to reach me and Monty. Araminta and David follow in his wake. “Are you all right? Why were you just standing there?”
My mood sours. I’d forgotten about Conrad during the shooting game. His incompetence was wearing on my nerves, so playing with Monty was a much-needed break. Is that what Araminta meant when she talked about being annoyed by David’s obsession with her? Because I was certainly annoyed.
“Why were you staring at the rain?” Araminta asks, genuine concern in her eyes.
“I like the rain,” I confess, but no one hears me over the rhythmic beat of droplets that pound the awning overhead.
Araminta arches a brow at Monty. “And why were you just staring ather?”
My breath catches. I swivel my face toward Monty but he’s pointedly ignoring our group. And Araminta’s question. Did he even hear what she said? Is it true? Was Monty…staring at me while I was basking in the splendor of the rain? I recall his expression before the downpour began. The intensity that swept over his expression. I shudder to think he continued to watch me like that, even after I turned my face to the sky.
Yet the shudder I feel…
It isn’t at all unpleasant.
Conrad steps in closer. He lifts his hand to the sodden ends of my short hair, and I habitually flinch away. Thankfully he pulls his hand back. His expression turns sheepish as he tucks his palms in his trouser pockets and rocks back on his heels. “After the rain lets up, would you care to join me for tea in the concessions pavilion?”
I open my mouth to refuse him, but I’m not sure how to best go about it. Or if I even should. Is accepting his offer essential to continuing Monty’s courtship lesson?
When I don’t answer, he speaks again. “We could warm up and dry off?—”
“We’re leaving.” Monty’s voice silences him, and something warm and heavy falls over my shoulders. It’s Monty’s jacket, and a glance at him shows he’s doffed his gloves and rolled up his shirtsleeves, his cravat now hanging loose. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to dress down. Then his words register in my mind, and the next thing I know, his fingers lace through mine. He gives me a wicked grin.
And then tugs me out into the rain.
The breath leaves my lungs in exhilarated surprise as we dart over the wet grass, our shoes making squelching sounds that are almost as loud as the downpour.
“What are we doing?” I shout at him, my words strangled with laughter.
