“You appear…” He faltered, then continued, “… comfortable.”
Her brows rose. “You have just informed me that I resemble a well-upholstered chair.”
Rowan let out a sigh and nodded. “You are agreeable to behold,” he began after a pause long enough to betray the effort it had taken to arrive at the phrase.
Lucy waited.
“Also, you appear well settled in your surroundings,” he added.
Her lips twitched despite herself. “Do go on.”
He frowned faintly, as though sensing treachery but unable to locate it. “There is something reassuring about you,” he said at last. “Solid. Dependable. I could not help but notice you from across the ballroom.”
She tilted her head. “Your Grace,” she said mildly, “you noticed that I was solid and dependable from across the room?”
His mouth opened then closed again. A muscle worked in his jaw. “That was not what I meant.”
“I should hope not,” she replied. “I would be terribly disappointed to learn I move about a ballroom like a piece of furniture.”
He exhaled through his nose, a sound suspiciously like restrained laughter, before straightening his shoulders as though preparing for a second campaign. “Very well. Let us attempt another approach.” His gaze swept over her with exaggerated seriousness. “You are… striking, Miss Crampton.In a manner that commands attention without demanding it. A rarity. Much like a?—”
She lifted a finger. “If you say oak, I shall leave.”
That did it. His composure slipped, just a fraction, and when he spoke again, there was a sharper edge to his tone, more familiar, more like him. “You are remarkably difficult to impress, Miss Crampton.”
“On the contrary,” she said lightly, “I am exceedingly easy to impress. You are simply impressing me in all the wrong directions.”
He studied her then, truly studied her, and she felt the intensity of it, the assessment giving way to something more curious. “You take pleasure in this,” he said slowly. “Turning my words upon me.”
Her smile was unapologetic. “You do it to everyone else.”
A pause followed, then his eyes narrowed, not in irritation but in recognition. “You are using my own manner against me.”
She inclined her head. “It is not so diverting when one finds oneself on the receiving end, is it?”
“Quite the contrary,” he said, surprising her with the warmth in his voice. “It is illuminating.” His gaze lingered, thoughtful now. “You understand my humor far better than most.”
Lucy felt a sudden, inconvenient warmth rise beneath her skin, and she forced herself to answer lightly, “I would say I am trying, Your Grace. It is still far too difficult to comprehend. Sometimes you say things that are completely diabolical.”
For a moment, he said nothing at all. Then, very softly, he smiled. “Thank you for the compliment, Lucy.”
Lucy felt the word before she fully heard it.
Her name settled between them, and she lifted her gaze at once, meeting his properly now, not as a coach assessing a pupil but as a woman suddenly, unhelpfully aware of the man standing before her. He seemed to realize it at the same moment, for his attention faltered, his eyes drifting, only briefly yet unmistakably, toward her lips before he caught himself.
A low laugh escaped him, surprised, almost boyish in its lack of polish. “Did I do it?” he asked, tilting his head as though the question amused him. “Did I manage to flirt with you at last?”
The answer, treacherous and immediate, rose within her without permission. Yes. Entirely by accident.
But she refused to grant it voice.
Lucy cleared her throat, stepping back a fraction, reclaiming the sensible space between them. “Not quite,” she said briskly, her tone all composure despite the lingering warmth beneath her skin. “You have done nothing of the sort.” She gestured towardhim with a decisive little motion, as though resetting a scene. “We shall have to try again, I am afraid.”
“Oh, nonsense,” he said and shook his head. “I saw your reaction.”
“You merely caught me off guard by calling me by my name,” she retorted. “That is not flirting, Your Grace. You caught me by surprise.”
“So, how pray tell,” he asked, not teasing now, but genuinely curious, “does one go further?”
