Sebastian grasped her hand. “That does not surprise me.”
“It does not?”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. “I would not think that a cautious woman would climb into bed with an unsuspecting man, even if she does think he will be her fiancé.” He didn’t sound as though he was mocking her. The words, as he spoke them, felt rather more like a compliment.
Laughing, she shook her head at her audacity. “It took me hours to garner the courage to do it and without Penelope’s urging, I don’t know that I would have gone through with it.”
He squeezed her hand. “But you did.”
“I did.”
A seagull swooped up from the water to fly just below them. “The Duchess of Monfort says that she and the duke have gone up in a hot air balloon—more than once. They have flown.”
“And what do you think of that. Would you like to fly, Maggie?”
She would. Oh, she would. “I don’t know.” She smiled. “The duchess said it was rather terrifying.” But then she added, “I would. Yes.”
And then she dismissed such fantastical thoughts. “I believe, Sebastian.” She again found the feel of his name on her lips to be a pleasant sensation. “That I am ready to eat! I do hope you are hungry.”
When she turned to stare up at him, she found him studying her. His eyes gleamed and she wondered at all the thoughts in his head that she didn’t know. At that moment, it didn’t matter that he was younger than she. She looked forward to knowing him better. He was thoughtful and kind and… and… her body was feeling pulled toward his. She longed to part her lips and press up onto her toes.
He looked as though he was going to say something but then clamped his mouth shut and, still holding her hand, took a step backward.
What on earth was the matter with her?
9
The Lady Artist
Margaret would have stepped dangerously close to the cliff’s edge if Sebastian hadn’t such a tight hold of her hand. So instead, she stumbled forward practically right into him.
“Clumsy of me.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she dropped his hand and looked everywhere else.
Who was she and why was she here? What was she doing? The sight of her art supplies lying on the blanket reminded her why they had come. A picnic. Yes. And painting.
She busied herself by moving the supplies and then digging into the contents of the picnic basket: some cheese, strawberries, grapes, cold meats, and—aha!—a bottle of wine.
Her hand barely shook but her mind was still in turmoil as she wondered what to do with it.
“You serve and I will pour.” Sebastian removed the wine from her hand and then withdrew the glasses that Cook had carefully packed. By the time she summoned the wherewithal to serve up two plates and was sipping from her glass, she felt significantly relaxed and was grateful that their mood had returned to one of easy camaraderie.
He told her a few amusing anecdotes from his recent journey on the way to Land’s End and she, in turn, complained of how many times she’d endured the very long, very onerous trip.
“Tell me.” She stared at him over her glass. “When you are not charming all the debutantes and fending off their mamas in London or attending autumn house parties at the far corners of England, what is it that you like to do?”
“You do not really wish to know.” He gazed down into his glass, looking more serious than he had before.
“Please?” Because she did. She surprisingly wanted to know everything about him.
“I am learning about the world.” When he stared back up at her, determination burned in his eyes but also vulnerability, as though he’d shared something private about himself.
It was a magnificent answer to her question, really. He had not said that hehadlearned about the world, or thathe wishedto learn about the world, but that it was an active pursuit.
“What is it you are learning?”
He took a sip, and she watched his throat move as he swallowed.
He shook his head. “It will bore you. Ladies are not usually interested in such matters.”
