She batted her eyelashes at him. “Now it’s your turn. What are your interests? Solely so that I can tell Lady Evangeline about them, of course. I would say it’s clear that you enjoy hunting. Aside from that, what is it you do in your spare time?”
“I do not have any spare time. When I don’t hunt, I need to oversee estate matters.”
She pulled a face. “Reading? Fishing? Riding? Boxing? Or none of those fashionable pursuits men seem to take up these days?”
He thought for one moment. “Oh yes, there is one.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“In the unlikely eventuality that I do find myself with some spare time, I like to knit.”
Evie thought she’d misheard. “Knit?”
“Yes. You know.” He mimicked with his hands the motion of two hands holding knitting needles, and knitting. “Socks.”
“You knit socks.”
He nodded solemnly. “The heel is particularly difficult to knit. But I believe I have mastered it.”
“You. Knit. Socks.”
“I give them away afterwards, of course. Some of my men are most grateful to receive them, since it is rather easy to get wet feet during the heat of battle when out in the field. A pair of woollen socks is one of the most practical presents one can make to one’s fellow human being.”
Was he roasting her?
Surely he must, but his face seemed to be entirely earnest.
She scowled.
He tilted his head aside and narrowed his eyes. “Doesthis displease you? Is it, perhaps, not a manly enough pursuit for you?”
“I frankly don’t care a tuppence about what your pastimes are and what you knit—socks or scarves or other things.”
“Ah yes. You merely wanted that information to pass on to Lady Evie.” He settled back into his chair and crossed his legs. “How do you think she will take it, when she discovers that I knit?”
When had this conversation taken such a ridiculous turn?
“Rest assured, sir, that Lady Evie shan’t care a tuppence about it, either.”
“Well, then I shall count myself immeasurably relieved.”
She stared at him broodingly for one moment.
“Is there anything else, Miss Honeywell? Something appears to weigh on your mind.”
“What about love?” she blurted out, and then promptly could have bitten off her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say that at all.
She saw his eyes widen in surprise.
“What do you mean, love? Are you perhaps a romantic, Miss Honeywell?” he said after a moment, with that quizzical look of his, as though he were truly puzzled.
Of course she was a romantic. “Certainly not.”
His gaze sharpened. “Then maybe Lady Evangeline?”
Evie shrugged. “Lady Evangeline cannot afford to be romantic.”
Something in his face hardened, slowly, almost imperceptibly, as though a shutter had been drawn across it.
