“What’s so amusing? It is a pretty set.”
“Without doubt the prettiest I’ve seen.” His gaze dropped,though not to the porcelain. “Shall I hold yours while you sit, Miss Harland?”
“Certainly not. Your fingers are trembling. And if you mean to kiss me again tonight, you should call me Daphne.”
“If I call you angel, will I earn more than a kiss?”
Why did that endearment weaken her resolve?
“Such a word should be saved for a special moment.” A moment she was not ready to surrender. “A touch for a secret? That was our agreement.”
“A touch anywhere,” he reminded her.
“You play by the rules when it suits you, I see.”
He drew her saucer from her hand and placed it on the old wooden chair. “I make the rules. You know that.”
“Does that include stealing my blanket?” She drew it from his shoulders and wrapped it around her own. She could no longer smell rosewater, only his darker, masculine scent.
“I needed something to keep me warm while you were gone.”
They would kiss again. The air thrummed between them. A slow ache settled in the cradle of her hips. Despite the open sky, she could scarcely draw breath.
But she steeled herself.
He would need to earn it.
“Have you thought about what secret you might tell me?” She took her seat and accepted the chocolate drink from him, sipping as she waited for his answer.
He settled beside her, stretching out his legs, the breadth of his thighs a devious distraction. “I’ve no wish to rake up the past tonight. Let’s keep it playful. I’ll answer the question you asked at Mrs Flavell’s.”
She prayed he hadn’t heard the hitch in her breath. Did he know she had lain inches from him, staring into the dark, wondering what he would say if he dared?
“Which one?” she said coolly.
“If you mean to bluff, do it with conviction.” He sipped his chocolate, drew his tongue slowly over his lower lip, and gazed at the spangle of stars.
She couldn’t wait while he baited her. “Had you known we’d end up here, would you have asked me to dance at the Templeton ball?”
He didn’t look at her. “Yes. No woman deserves to spend her life beneath a man like Irving.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.
Her throat tightened. It was her own fault for asking, for not realising this was only an inconvenient game to him. Why had she been foolish enough to fall under his spell?
She shifted in the seat, considering whether to pack her valise and leave under cover of darkness, or sip her drink and bide her time.
“If that’s the playful answer, I’m glad you spared me.”
Sweet mercy. Get up. Tell him it’s late. Send him away.
She drank her chocolate too quickly and burnt her tongue.
“And no,” he added. “The plan was simple. Yet it’s been anything but.”
Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. “Really, Mr Hawke, we must work on your delivery. I see now whydarlingisn’t in your vocabulary.”
He must have heard the fracture in her voice.
