He escorted her through the main entrance and down the front steps. They walked briskly, but not so quickly that she had to huff and puff in order to keep up. As they passed the fountain, she paused to admire the way the sunlight glinted on the water.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She turned to the baron and found him looking at her. Her stomach fluttered. She got the impression he wasn’t talking about the fountain. Unable to make herself reply, she simply nodded.
They continued on. He guided her through the fields,dodging uneven areas of ground, and continued on farther than she’d taken the horses with Nicholas the day before.
As they walked, they chatted about how unusually hot the season was, how well they knew the other guests, and their favorite things about the country.
Baron Sylvestor enjoyed the early mornings. Sophie did not, although she could tolerate them if necessary.
Baron Sylvestor loved waking to the sound of birdsong. Sophie agreed.
They both enjoyed riding and walking.
It should have been a match made in heaven, so why did it leave her feeling so dull?
He was nice company—there was no denying that—but he didn’t set her soul on fire. She didn’t long to feel his hands on her skin or wonder what he might taste like.
It was a disaster.
When the pond came into view, it was just as pretty as he’d claimed. The surface of the water gleamed and lapped gently at the shore. Clusters of water lilies covered parts of the surface, and a weeping willow shaded a small wooden bench seat.
Baron Sylvestor led her to the seat, and she set her parasol down, grateful for the shade. The sun was lovely, but it was rather intense.
Betsy joined them, and they sat there for a while, enjoying the scenery and the birdsong, until Sophie began to fidget. She had never been particularly good at sitting still.
Surveying the shoreline, she noticed that most of the stones were worn smooth and relatively flat.
“Do you know how to skip stones?” she asked the baron.
He chuckled. “I dedicated far too much of my boyhood to perfecting the art. And you, my lady?”
She grinned. “I do well enough. Would you like to see who can get the most skips?”
“That hardly seems fair. I’m sure I’ve had more opportunity to practice than you have.”
“Then you have no reason to fear the competition,” she teased.
He ducked his head in acknowledgement. “Do I earn a boon if I win?”
Her breath stuttered, but she schooled her features. “What sort of boon?”
He turned toward her, his bright eyes warm as he studied her. “Perhaps the promise of a dance at the soonest opportunity would suffice.”
Her stomach soured. It would be a sweet gesture, but it didn’t feel right. “That seems fair. And if I win?”
“Then you may claim whatever boon you see fit, as long as it’s within my power to provide.”
Very neatly dodged. He hadn’t committed to anything. But then, he didn’t expect her to win, so he probably thought it wouldn’t matter.
She stood and made her way down to the pond. She fossicked in the stones until she found one that had the right heft and felt good in her hand. She straightened, bent her elbow, and tried to recall the exact flicking motion her wrist should make to get maximum skips. It had been a while since she’d done this.
She flicked the stone, and it skimmed across the pond surface twice before disappearing beneath the surface of the water, leaving only a ripple in its place.
“Best of three?” she asked, well aware that two skips wouldn’t win her anything.
He laughed. “That’s fine with me.”
