She closed her mouth. Opened it again. Closed it and then opened and closed it a third time. The pink hue on her cheeks had spread to nearly all of her face and down her neck. Jules checked himself to keep from wondering if all of her skin flushed such a delicate color…
“Where would you get such a pigheaded idea as that?” The question sounded half astonished and half disgusted.
He peered closer. Tiny freckles that he hadn’t noticed before dotted the bridge of her nose. He’d embarrassed her. American ladies perhaps weren’t as sophisticated regarding such arrangements.
Several strands of fiery red hair slipped free when she turned her head from side to side. The wind immediately caught the wayward locks and she brushed at them, then smoothed them behind her ears.
“My father.”
Oh, bollocks. Jules winced.
“What did my father do?” The tenor of her voice had dropped an octave and she blinked rapidly, then swiped her arm across them to hide her imminent tears.
Jules rubbed his fingers together and rolled his shoulders, uncertain as to what to expect from her next. Would she cry, or worse, unleash her temper on him? Perhaps the sheen of brightness in her eyes were tears of joy.
A stiff breeze raced up the valley, pressing her coat against her figure. She folded her arms across her breasts and hugged herself. When he moved to step toward her, she turned away. “I’m not a fool. Please tell me why you are under the assumption that I would… that you and I…” She stumbled over the words.
Jules didn’t always behave as a proper gentleman ought, but his honor mattered a great deal to him. Honesty was an essential element of honor. So he decided to come clean with her. He owed her that much.
“Your father and I,” he began warily, “have an agreement.”
“Is he paying you?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Because I have no intention of honoring any sort of agreement the two of you have concocted.”
“I,” Jules winced as he searched for an apt description of what had taken place the night before, an apt description that might be flattering to her. “Won you.”
He wished he could read her expression, but she remained standing with her back to him. This morning wasn’t going at all as he’d anticipated.
“In a game of cards,” he added.
In a flash, she whirled around to face him, her eyes flared in accusation. “You… won me?”
Jules nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Then my father.” She swallowed hard. “Lost me?”
The pain in her voice pierced his conscience. Her trembling lower lip turned the knife.
Oh, hell. He wasn’t going to be able to put a shine on this either way. Furthermore, he couldn’t in all good conscience allow her to believe her father lost her in a game of cards.
“Technically, I was the loser…” He met her gaze and wished he could take the words back the instant he spoke them. “But let’s not consider this in terms of winning or losing.”
He studied his hands, then jerked his head back up when an indelicate scoffing sound came from her.
“Did you just snort?” Jules wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or entertained.
“The same way you were cracking your knuckles earlier.”
This young woman was nothing like the chits he’d become accustomed to.
She entertained him. Challenged him. Definitely intrigued him, which was a surprising twist in and of itself.
He didn’t often stumble upon a lady who wasn’t eager to fall into his wishes.
Refreshing, indeed.
And since she was on to him anyhow, he tilted his head just so until his neck produced a satisfying cracking sound.
She rewarded him by turning and walking in the direction she’d initially been going. “Fear not, Lord Westerley,” she sang out. “There is no need for you to worry that you will have to relinquish your freedom by marrying me.”
