She didn’t get up to leave.
She also didn’t look particularly relieved at his acquiescence.
Then laughter rose up from the room behind her. Dot and Delacorte and Farraday.
Her face at once reflected warmth and genuine delight that this strange blend of people were enjoying themselves in her parlor; she seemed poised to leap up to participate.
She didn’t.
He realized he’d been holding his breath. And when she turned back toward him, he knew the tiniest frisson of delight and relief.
He wondered if he would see something new in her face every time. Because so far, that’s precisely how it felt.
The room was filled with cozy ambient sounds: a page turning, a quill scratching along foolscap, the fire crackling, a chirp from Gordon, the cat.
“Captain Hardy...” Delilah had folded her hands before her and was lacing and unlacing her fingers.
“Yes?”
“I know that I am pretty...”
He smiled faintly. “I will offer you no argument.”
“It isn’t a precisely burdensome quality.”
“I should think not,” he said agreeably.
“And yet I feel as though I had nothing at all to do with it. It is like being congratulated for an archery prize when I haven’t even shot an arrow.”
He was tempted to say,I have perhaps seen more beautiful women, but the difference between them and youislike the difference between the grimy window and one rubbed clean, one through which the sun shines. It is about a certain quality of light.
“Do you excel at archery?” he said instead.
“This isn’t aboutarchery,” she said, with such impatience he bit back a smile. “That is... I suppose I was wondering...” She cleared her throat. Then she drew in what sounded like a fortifying breath and released it slowly. “...why you ‘want’me?”
She stumbled a little over the wordwant.
He watched her cheeks slowly flush rosy.
He went motionless.
Once again, he was absolutely flummoxed by the question.
He nearly felt a blush coming on, and he could not recall the last time he’d done that.
A woman no doubt had been involved, because that was the kind of creature they were.
But her expression was earnest, and a trifle tortured. The issue was clearly of some importance to her. He’d best wade in very, very gingerly.
“Is the emphasis on thewantor themein that question?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all if you addressed both.”
“Because, Lady Derring,” he said carefully, “if you are seeking flattery or persuasion, I’m afraid I can’t oblige. Not only do I not know how to do that, but my objective with regard to you is specific.”
This was an example of why he was often referred to as a “right bastard.”
Perverse female that she was, she just shook her head with a little “how you do run on, Hardy” eye roll. As if it was entirely what she’d expected him to say.
