“How very modern. I’m sure I don’t deserve such an honor.” She smiled and batted her lashes, though her blush gave away her true feelings. When Joan grew uncomfortable, he noticed, she acted like a fluttery female, with giggles and simpering smiles.
In spite of himself a wicked smile curved his mouth. “A shilling if you call me Tristan.”
“I don’t need your shilling.”
“You might. I seem to recall we have a wager.”
The color bloomed in her cheeks again, but instead of denying it, she said, “You haven’t won anything yet.”
He nodded. That was right: he hadn’t wonyet. But he would, and damn the consequences. “Would you care to go driving tomorrow?”
“That is taking your obligation to my brother far too seriously,” she said. Unless he missed his guess, her teeth were clenched behind her smile.
“The question had nothing to do with your brother. Would you go driving with me?” he repeated.
“Where, my lord?” She kept wetting her lips, and it was tormenting him.
His mouth quirked and he tilted his head toward her. “Where would you like to go, Joan?”
“Oh—well—” Her name seemed to disconcert her completely. He ought to use it more often. “Anywhere but the park,” she blurted out.
A half-remembered saying about the road to hell floated through his mind. He’d intended to drive around the park. That was the normal way to pay a woman attention, wasn’t it? Instead she surprised him yet again. “Not the park,” he said thoughtfully. “A challenge. I shall have to think of some unusual, entertaining destination.”
She appeared to reconsider. She gave a trill of nervous laughter, her gaze darting to the door again. “I didn’t mean it to be a challenge. I just think it’s so dreadfully dull and ordinary to drive around the park like horses in the ring at Astley’s.”
He laughed. “How right you are. We shan’t be dull or ordinary, then. Perhaps tomorrow is too soon; I must have time to deliberate. To think of something ... exciting.”
“I didn’t agree to go with you!”
“Oh?” He raised one brow. “You didn’t refuse, either. Do I need to ...” His gaze dipped again, first to her lips and then to her bosom. “Must I persuade you?”
For a moment she paused, as if she’d understood exactly what he meant and was considering provoking him to do it. For a moment, Tristan allowed himself to think of pulling her into his arms and kissing her until she said yes. Hell, he ought to have done it earlier, when she almost fell into his arms. As much as he told himself this was just a passing urge that would go away if he could only keep away from her, he couldn’t seem to follow his own good sense for even a few minutes around her. Perhaps he just ought to kiss her and be done with it.
“How could I refuse such a courteous threat—I mean, request? I would be delighted.” She curtsied. “Until tomorrow—or rather, whenever something interesting occurs to you, Lord Burke.”
“Call me Tristan,” he said. “Until then, Joan.” He bowed and walked out of the room. It was time to make his escape before he lost his mind and whisked her into his arms to see if her skin tasted as sweet as her mouth.
Chapter 16
Joan was still standing stock-still, staring at the door when Evangeline returned.
“Oh, my, has Lord Burke gone already?” her aunt asked, her eyes alert and her tone far from disappointed.
Already? Surely he’d stayed far too long. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry to have missed a chance to bid him farewell. Did you have a pleasant conversation?”
“I suppose.” Joan frowned. At first it had seemed much like every time she’d spoken to him: confusing and infuriating. But then there had been that moment when he looked at her as though he found her more than simply challenging—as though he wanted to kiss her in truth, not to make her stop talking or to win a wager. He said he could never insult her, only her taste in clothing, and the expression on his face indicated he meant it. And for that moment, she had found herself thinking that she might owe Douglas a very great favor for having sent Lord Burke to look after her.
Then he turned back into himself, and provoked her into hitting him, not once but several times. Mother would be appalled at her for that—although not as much as for the fact that Joan had somehow promised to dance with him and go driving with him. Oh, help; she would be in so much trouble when her mother discovered that. Parading around Hyde Park in a carriage with Lord Burke would ensure a dozen letters to Cornwall from the gossiping hens.
Still ... driving in the park was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. Her stomach had fluttered when he asked so persistently, even threatening topersuadeher. If he’d tried to kiss her to persuade her ... curse him, it would have worked. No matter how aggravating the man was, she couldn’t shake the memory of that kiss at the Malcolm ball, or the way he looked when he said he could never insult her face. Abigail’s advice, and Penelope’s suggestions, rang in her ears; sometimes wicked rakes did fall in love and settle down. Her own father had, after all. Was it wrong of her to wonder if Lord Burke might be the same? And would it be wrong of her to encourage him to do so, if he showed any signs of reforming his wicked ways and falling in love with her? He was so attractive, so tall and strong, and he danced so well; he even smelled good, as she’d learned with some dismay when she almost fell into him and caught a whiff of his shaving soap.
Joan sighed. She wasn’t likely ever to know if he reformed his wicked ways. It must have been a moment of lightheadedness that caused him to pay her so much attention. He stared at her bosom because he was a rake; to him, all bosoms were delectable. It made her angry all over again. If she had finally managed to attract the lascivious attentions of a rake, why couldn’t it have been a charming rake? It was a great testament to her poise and restraint that she hadn’t accepted his invitation to punch his handsome face with alacrity.
“Are we trying to bring Lord Burke up to scratch?” Evangeline asked all of a sudden. She had settled back into her chair, and must have deduced what occupied Joan’s thoughts.
She blushed furiously. “No!” Her aunt’s eyebrows went up at the vehemence of her outburst. She tried to calm her voice. “Pooh! What a thought. I don’t believe he’s the marrying sort. He’ll be one of those men who grows into an old roué, leering at the maids and avoided by decent women.”
