“I will do no such thing.” I stared at him. His chin wavered at the terrified sound in my voice.
“Then do you concede?”
“Of course not.”
Peter waited. As did everyone in the room.
I turned to the girls, who nodded in encouragement.
Huffing, I mimicked Peter’s folded arms, shaking my head. If I was going to do this, I would do it right. I stepped around him, and Peter mirrored my movement until we had switched places. I was sitting in his chair, and he was leaning against the table.
My cheeks flushed. I’d never been so embarrassed in all my life. Tilting my head, I looked up at him and fluttered my lashes ridiculously.
The men stepped closer. Peter’s lips twitched. How was he not smiling?
I licked my lips, and Peter’s gaze dropped. He was suddenly still, watching. This was utterly absurd. Completely mortifying. I thought to wink, but my lips started to curl—oh, how it hurt to force my mouth into a line!—and Peter was as near to smiling as I. A small breath escaped me, and I thought of Clara.
It is only a wink, Amelia, for heaven’s sake.
Chin raised, I met Peter’s gaze andwinked.
Peter’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushed scarlet, and his own lips parted as though he had never been so surprised. Desperately, I released my smile, it broke across my face, and I bent over, laughing.
“Champions!” Sir Ronald yelled, pumping a fist into the air as Mr. Bratten punched Lieutenant Rawles in the arm.
Peter smiled fully then, breathing hard.
As the men cheered, we huffed, the anger of four women intensifying with each happy smile from the opposing team.
Beatrice frowned. “Georgiana, I think I would like to see your dress for the ball after all.”
“As would I.” Clara took Beatrice’s arm.
“Amelia?” Georgiana raised a brow, beckoning me to follow suit. “Shall we?”
I seized on the opportunity to leave Peter and this ridiculous game behind me. “I am dying to see it.”
“Wait, no.” Sir Ronald lifted a hand. “It is not even eleven. You cannot retire just yet. Let’s play another round of blindman’s bluff.”
“Come, ladies,” Georgiana called as she moved toward the door, ignoring Sir Ronald’s pleas. I had to give her credit for holding a decent grudge for once. We followed after her, despite complaining and calling from the men behind us.
I’d reached the doorway when Peter called, “A moment, Miss Moore?”
I thought to run from him, that man whose dimpled cheeks had been my undoing, but his strides were too quick. Peter crossed to me, out of earshot from the rest of the party, and I glanced toward the stairs where the other ladies had reached the top.
“I won fair and square,” he whispered.
I poked his chest with my finger. “You are a horrible flirt, and I shall never forgive you. And you absolutely smiled before I did.”
“I did not,” he said only half seriously. “But I’d be willing to play again if you’d like.”
I scowled at his teasing, and he chuckled. “Go to bed, Peter Wood.”
“One thing more, and I shall. Did you decipher your French like a good pupil?”
I crossed my arms confidently, “I did. It is ‘all is more bright.’ Though I am not sure what it means.”
“Yes. More succinctly in English, ‘everything is brighter.’”
