Damien shook his head and gestured vaguely towards the sprawling picnic around them. “I spend my time on logistics, discipline, and responsibility, not frivolities.”
Seraphine glanced sideways at him. “That sounds dreadfully dull.”
Damien glanced down at her, faintly offended by how quickly she had reached that conclusion. “It is efficient.”
Seraphine took a leisurely sip of her punch, then looked back at him with entirely too much satisfaction. “It is dull.”
A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. “It is productive.”
She waved a dismissive hand as though productivity was a minor inconvenience rather than a virtue. “It is still dull.”
Damien huffed a reluctant laugh and looked away towards the water, though he could still feel her watching him.
Despite himself, he smiled. A real smile. One that appeared far too easily around her. She immediately looked pleased with herself, as though she had won some private victory. An alarming development. Worse still, he found himself enjoying her satisfaction far more than he ought to have.
“Besides,” she continued, gesturing lightly with her glass, “some of the most advantageous business arrangements between gentlemen occur at gatherings such as these.”
Damien looked down at her, slowing his pace slightly as they followed the curve of the pond. Sunlight danced across the waterbeside them, and for a moment he found himself distracted by the way it caught in the loose strands of hair escaping her coiffure.
He watched as she nervously twisted a glove between her fingers. He itched to reach out and take her hand to calm her… to touch her.
He placed his hands behind his back to stop such an action. His hand curled into a fist to quell the instinct to grab her hand, or something considerably more reckless. He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
A brow rose slowly. “You make a fair point,” Damien admitted.
Seraphine lifted her chin with exaggerated dignity and took a sip of her punch. “I generally do,” she replied.
“There is the arrogance I was expecting,” he said dryly, adjusting his grip on his glass.
“There is the criticism I was expecting,” she returned without missing a beat.
Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and she shot him a look that was far too pleased with itself. Damien shook his head and let out a quiet laugh. “You are remarkably difficult.”
“So I have been told,” she said, spreading one hand innocently.
“Frequently, I imagine,” he replied, watching her far more closely than he ought to have.
“Only by people who dislike being corrected.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
God help me.
As they continued walking, his attention betrayed him repeatedly. He should have been listening to the conversation. Instead, he kept noticing entirely inappropriate things. The shape of her mouth whenever she smiled. The soft movement of her lashes whenever she looked down. The way her pale blue dress skimmed elegantly over her figure when she walked.
He dragged his gaze away, only for it to return moments later. This was absurd. He was thirty years old, a duke, a landowner, a man responsible for thousands of people, and yet one determined young lady with freckles had reduced him to behaving like a boy suffering through his first infatuation. Every sensible instinct urged him to focus on the conversation, but his attention seemed to possess a will of its own whenever she was near.
“You are staring.”
The observation caught him entirely off guard. Damien looked down sharply and found Seraphine watching him over the rim of her glass, amusement dancing in her brown eyes.
“I beg your pardon; I was only just wondering if you’ve made any progress on your matchmaking?” he asked. A lie. He had been thinking about something else entirely.
“I… I am not sure. The gentleman I have spent time with are agreeable,” she said.
“But none are marriage worthy?” he asked.
“What?” she stopped.
