Heat rose into my cheeks, and Peter swallowed back his own humor. He was making fun of me, I knew it, but I had to stay serious. I would have the last laugh. Not the first.
“Without question, I am most affected by your smile.” And he almost gave it to me. Heart pounding in my chest, I reached for his cravat, tugging it loose. “But you really should teach your man to tie better. This knot is atrocious.”
Peter stole my blush, lifting a hand to his neck. “I knot my own cravat, thank you.”
“Perhaps you’d like a woman’s touch.” I reached out again, but Peter took my hand, stopping me.
“You’ve told her, haven’t you, Georgiana?” His eyes flashed amused daggers to his sister behind me.
“Oh, no, I’d never,” Georgiana said. “Just like you’d never tell Lieutenant Rawles of my ticklish wrists.”
Peter looked to me, shaking his head and releasing my hand. “I’ve outgrown it anyway.”
“Have you?” I wanted to smile so badly, but I couldn’t, not yet. I lifted my hands to the sides of his neck, surprised when he let me touch his skin. He stayed painfully still, breathing through his nose steadily, like a guard standing at attention. Loosening his cravat further, I studied his jaw, set and determined, and his eyes that searched mine with more seriousness than humor.
As I retied the knot in an ugly oversized bow, he raised his chin to aid my view and handling of the cloth, though his eyes never left mine. Puffing out the loops, I let my fingers linger near his collarbone. His skin was smooth, warmth radiating through my fingers and sending tickling waves to my chest. Peter’s shoulders twitched, and his jaw tightened. I wondered if he’d bitten down hard on his tongue.
“Well done.” I grumbled. The bow was done, and it had been a glorious failure on my part. Apparently, Georgiana had been wrong about his ticklishness. What next? What other weakness did Peter Wood possess?
“Don’t pout, Miss Moore. It is maddeningly attractive.” Peter’s eyes were teasing, smiling when his lips couldn’t.
I cast him a scowl, drawing a heavy breath. I’d played my best card too early.
“You’ve changed your dress,” he said, leaning in and resting his elbow on the table inches from my skirts. Much too close.
“I fell victim to an unattended drink at dinner.”
“You were gone quite a long time,” he said, tilting his head at me. His eyes were searching, questioning, but for what I could not tell.
Why did Peter care? What kind of cards were up his sleeve? Perhaps I could turn the conversation on him. I rested my hand on the table even closer to his elbow, leaning in. “Are you counting the minutes we are apart, Mr. Wood?”
I swore I saw a twitch in his cheek, a deepening of the crease just to the left of his mouth. Peter cleared his throat loudly, sitting up from his relaxed position.
“He smiled!” Georgiana shrieked.
“No, no, no, he recovered,” Sir Ronald argued, followed by voices in varying degrees of agreement.
“Keep going, this is getting good,” Beatrice said with a hint of pleasure in her voice.
Blast it all, I’d nearly had him. Now it seemed we were at a stalemate. I racked my brain trying to remember anything Georgiana might have said that could help me outwit Peter. She’d said to compliment him, to get closer. To intimidate him. What more could I do?
Peter fiddled with his newly tied cravat. “You have quite the talent, Miss Moore.”
Why did he sound so sincere? He looked like an overgrown child, proud at having just tied his first neckcloth. “Thank you, sir. I shall charge by the minute, should you need my services in the future.”
“The future, hmm?” Peter studied me, an idea forming clearly in his eyes. “Since you have so openly displayed your talents, perhaps it is my turn. Shall I read your palm? Discover the secrets of what is to come?”
Palmistry? Like a vagabond on the streets of London? “You want me to give you my palm for a reading?” My voice was unconvinced.
Peter’s lips parted. He nodded. “May I?”
My hands tingled at the thought of his touch. Any other time I would’ve laughed and walked away, but the gentlemen behind Peter bore enthusiastic grins, confident of victory. This game meant something to Clara and to the other girls, so I needed to put my own feelings aside. I would not forfeit. Somehow, Peter managed to skim by without smiling during my attempt. Maybe I could turn his fortune-telling against him.
I cast Peter a hard stare. What was I so afraid of? “As you wish, Mr. Wood.”
I slid off my gloves, placing them on the table. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I crossed my arms tightly.
“Are you right- or left-handed?” Peter asked. He was playing the part, looking serious and professional.
