It was one of Christopher’s favourite places. He often found himself out here when being in the house around relatively newly married couples became too much. Of course, he’d adamantly deny having a favourite garden to any of his fashionable friends. He was known for being at home at the card table or enjoying an evening ofgetting foxed with other young men. Not one of those knew he was the sort of man who found pleasure in watching the way the spring petals bobbed in a gentle breeze. They continued walking, not speaking, Sophia seeming content to stay silent and take in her surroundings and he because he was fixating on that damned bow again.
A shower of pink-tinted blossom fell on them as they walked under a crab apple tree. Sophia laughed, plucking one that had landed on her chest and placing it in her upturned palm. ‘How soft and delicate,’ she murmured, her thumb lightly brushing over the petal.
Christopher couldn’t answer. Something hot and tight was constricting his lungs. It could not be because of the long slope of her neck, or the tiny black curls that were too short to be contained under her bonnet and curled about her neck. He clasped his hands behind his back, fighting the urge to twirl one around his finger, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
Touching this woman was the worst possible idea in the history of awful ideas, and he’d had some dire ones in the past. There’d been that joke he’d played on Fitzwilliam, one of his friends at Eton, which had crumbled halfway through, making him look mean instead of playful. That one sometimes kept him awake at night, even though everyone had eventually found the funny side and still ragged him about it years later. It had somehow hardened his reputation as themadcap oneand not, as he’d feared, thegrotesquely mean one. Nonetheless, he regretted it and still wished he could take it back so he wasn’t reminded of it at the end of a bad day. But giving into his desire now would be far, far worse. If he seduced her, if they developed real feelings for one another, it would only end in pain. He was not going to give up on his dream for travel and he could hardly do that with a wife and children. Because that was where touching her would lead. If she gavehim any indication that she would welcome the brush of his fingers against her skin, he would be lost. There would be no coming back from it.
The petal fluttered out of her palm, spinning away from them. She watched its progress before turning to look up at him. Her smile grew larger and he momentarily forgot how to breathe.
‘Your hair,’ she giggled, obviously not affected by his presence in any way. His internal wrangling was for nought. Before he could stop her, she was reaching up and plucking the petals from the top of his head, her barely there touch sending shivers down his spine. It took all his willpower not to lean into her.
She held up her hand, showing him her collection. His fingers flexed behind his back, but he held still, reminding himself of all the reasons he would not give in to temptation. Because, even if there were no reasons not to from his side, she was giving no sign that she wanted him to trace his fingers along the length of her jaw, and he did not want to repel her by being overfamiliar. Despite the indecent thoughts racing through his mind, he was a gentleman, and he would act it. He forced his lips into an approximation of a smile, trying desperately to hide the weird feelings he was experiencing.
As she gazed up at him, her smile slowly faded away, suggesting he wasn’t doing a good job of looking normal. Damnation.
‘Should we…?’
‘Are you…?’
She laughed. ‘I do apologise. What were you about to say?’
Really, he should let her go first, but as he was fairly sure she had been about to ask him whether everything was all right, he wasn’t going to. He didn’t know how to explain the swirling emotions going on inside him right now and he certainly did not want to dwell on them or discuss them with the woman who was causing them. ‘Iintended to return to our list. So far, we have a garden party and pall-mall, both of which will happen at the same time. It is not extensive and neither of those touch on the real matter at hand.’
‘We could try another ride in the park,’ she suggested. ‘No, I can see from your pursed lips that one is not for you.’
‘I thought only old ladies pursed their lips.’
‘In that case you are doing a good impression of one.’ Her teasing smile was delightfully wicked. ‘Answer the question.’
‘I do not believe you asked one.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But no, I would prefer not to do another ride in the park. I find the pastime rather tedious.’ Her shoulders drooped and she turned away from him but not before he saw the light in her eyes dim and he realised he had inadvertently offended her. She’d already told him she thought she was boring, and his words had obviously confirmed that thought. His heart squeezed looking at the sight of her so deflated. If he could paint, she would be the very picture of sadness. ‘I have said the wrong thing.’
One shoulder raised. ‘It is fine.’
There was no lightness in her voice, just quiet acceptance and he had a surge of anger at whoever had made her feel that way. ‘I was not apologising.’
She spun round, her mouth slightly agape, a fire sparking in her eyes. Good. He would rather she was annoyed with him than feeling sorry for herself. If there was one thing he could achieve before this betrothal ended, then it was changing this incorrect perception of herself. Perhaps she was more reserved than her sisters, but that was not a bad thing. Quiet did not mean dull. The first thing was to explain what he meant when he said he did not enjoy the ride in the park, because he could see that she would think he meant with her, after he had been so uncommunicative this morning. ‘It is nothing to do with the riding in the carriage. I would quite happily take you fora ride about town or the country. It’s that driving in the park means I am stared at a lot, and I do not find it at all pleasant.’ She blinked up at him as if he had spoken a different language. What he’d said was not all that radical, surely. ‘Do you not agree?’
‘I do not think people glance at me more than once. I doubt I am important enough for that.’ She wobbled her head from side to side in a way that was oddly endearing. ‘I am more likely to be the one doing the staring.’
This wasn’t going the way he had hoped; she was supposed to be feeling better about herself, or at least not concentrating on ways in which she was invisible to other people. ‘And do you enjoy what you see?’
‘Honestly—’ she paused again, as if weighing up whether to answer or not ‘—yes, I do.’
How utterly unfathomable. ‘Surely all that preening is absurd. What on earth can you be enjoying?’
Finally, his incredulity seemed to break through her soft sadness, and her eyes started to sparkle again. ‘Aside from all the fashion on display, which I do love to look at, it is the perfect place to find out what isreallyhappening.’
Now she was smiling again, he wasn’t about to stop talking about this. ‘I can tell you what is happening; people are driving, or walking around in circles, showing off their wealth or their grand connections, or at least pretending to if they have neither.’
She nodded, more of her curls escaping from the edge of her bonnet, as if they’d had enough of being tightly bound underneath the fabric. She absent-mindedly tried to smooth them back under; it was difficult to take his eyes from her long fingers or to stop himself from wishing he was the one touching her errant hair. ‘On the surface,that is true, but you need to look deeper. Did you see Lord James Daniel-Smythe this morning?’
‘The man with the orange waistcoat? He was impossible to miss. Anything that colour should never be mixed with burgundy.’
‘Quite.’ Her small smile looked pleased with his acerbic observation.
‘And what is deeper than Lord James having the most atrocious dress sense?’
‘His parents are pushing for a match with Miss Constantine Dewberry.’ Christopher was none the wiser, and as she spotted his expression, her smile widened and he had to fight, with every fibre of his being, the urge to lean down and press his lips to hers. ‘Is it not obvious what he is doing?’ He shook his head, his desire rendering him completely mute. ‘He is trying to make himself as unappealing as possible so that she will reject his suit.’
