“I will remember you eating that strawberry,” he added, in a low, ardent voice, “for the rest of my life.”
If she had been scarlet before, now she must be a veritable lobster.
And nowshewas sure that she would remember him saying these words for the rest ofherlife.
Scarlett knew they could never again do what they had done in that closet.Not to mention her bedchamber on her first night.Despite his kindness now, he could not want it—and it would be utterly inappropriate.She could see how ill-matched they were, even if by some miracle he did grow fond of her.Neither, after all, had any money.She had no idea, for instance, if he could even furnish a respectable establishment.And his work was here, in the country, and she had lived her whole life in London.
“You are forgiven, of course,” she said quietly.“And I am sorry if I horrified you with my appetite.I wouldn’t blame you.Ladies are only supposed to eat small portions.”
His eyebrows rose into his hairline.“Perhaps in London,” he said.“But here, at Parkhorne, I hope you will not feel the need to abide by such rules.Not when it gives me such pleasure to watch you enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
“Thank you,” she said, a strange lump rising in her throat.
It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever said to her, especially someone who wasn’t Tilly or Vera or her father.
“And I should add,” he continued.“You said something today, in the balloon, before our misadventure”—he gave a little wry smile—“that I must also correct.You said that you knew I must be ashamed of something that does not shame me at all.It is quite to the contrary.”
He could not say more at the table, she knew.He probably already risked too much.
But she was almost certain he referred to her comment right before the balloon lurched, the words she hadn’t meant to say, that she was sure he was ashamed of having been so intimate withher.
He was refuting it.
She did not know what to make of it.Could he really be suggesting that he found her handsome?She wasn’t sure.It seemed too implausible to be believed.
But she appreciated the effort, whatever it was, all the same.“I know relations between us, Mr.Brown,” she said, “have gotten off to an… unusual start.But I do wish we could regard each other as friends.”
He smiled.It was a friendly smile.Or could, at least, by an objective third party, be interpreted as such.Of course, to her, the smile looked like a sinful invitation towant.Her feelings for this man could never be purely friendly, but he didn’t need to know that.And it would be pleasant to be on warmer terms with him, especially since there were still twenty days left of this infernal house party.
“That sounds lovely, Miss Perkins.”
God, why she did have to flush hot at the sound of his voice.It wasn’t fair.She might be able to resist his looks—some men were very good-looking, after all—but none had ever made her feel so much desire just from the sound of their voice alone.
They spent the rest of the dinner in pleasant conversation.She continued to ask him questions about the different dishes before them, which he answered easily.He then, in turn, began to ask her questions about her life in London, and whether she enjoyed living there and how she spent her time.His questions therein were so careful, so considerate, that she had to stop herself from glowing too obviously under his attention.
When she informed him that she frequented the public lectures put on by the Royal Society of London, he exclaimed that shewasmechanically minded.And she confessed that while she had often heard that women and machinery did not mix, she had never found it particularly intimidating—and that, in fact, she found engines of all types quite intriguing.He said he followed the discoveries of the Royal Society in the papers and that it was one of the few things about London that had tempted him to visit.
It had been a very long time since she had enjoyed speaking to any man as much.
In fact, if she were honest with herself, that had been the case since their first dinner together, if one ignored the misunderstanding he had just apologized for.
She could hardly pay attention to another soul at the table.And truthfully, she didn’t.She could spare no consideration—to her shame—for how Tilly made out with George on the other end.
And it was not lost on her that when dessert arrived, Mr.Malcolm Brown served her an indecently large piece of cake.
She ate it all.
And if she was not mistaken, and despite their resolution to be friends, he watched her with eyes hungry for something more than apple cake.
Chapter Seventeen
Malcolm had toadmit that being friends with Miss Scarlett Perkins made this house party much more enjoyable.
The days after the balloon incident passed in a pleasant blur that made him understand much more acutely why people like his sister and Mrs.Salisbury wanted to have house parties in the first place.In a highly uncharacteristic move, Malcolm was letting Ezra oversee his responsibilities on the farm, so that he could attend to what was happening in and around Parkhorne Hall itself.He told himself it was because he cared about George and his pursuit of a wife.But he also knew that here he lied to himself.
It was for her.
And only her.
