Page 13 of Courting the Country Miss

Tristan held out his hands in surrender. “I didn’t put them up to it. Well, maybe Seton; he was aching to catch your eye, so I made a suggestion that he might have better luck if he actually asked you for a set. The others did it on their own.”

“I’m happy to hear you didn’t have to force them to dance with a dowdy thing like me.”

“You aren’t dowdy and you know it, you saucy wench. By the way, that Wynn fellow is not a candidate for your future husband.”

“Oh? Didn’t you introduce him to me?”

“I felt obligated to do so because he asked. But under no circumstances are you to allow him to pursue you.”

“Why, Tristan, you sound almost protective.” Overly dramatic, she laid her hand over her head and fluttered her eyelashes like a coquette.

Tristan normally found her theatrics humorous. Today he scowled that she made light of his concerns. “He admitted to an indiscretion, so he isn’t a potential husband for you.”

Her brows shot up, but she looked amused rather than annoyed. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

“I’m making a judgment based on your own list.”

“I see.” Her mouth contorted as if trying to smother a laugh.

He glared. “I’m doing this to spare you embarrassment or bruised feelings later, you ingrate.”

She did laugh then. “Oh, Tristan. You can be very sweet, you know that?”

He had nothing to say to that so he stuffed a large piece of cake into his mouth.

She patted his arm. “Don’t frown so. It will mar your stunning good looks for your next conquest.”

He choked again. “Leticia, really.”

“Oh, right. How unladylike of me to use such a word.”

After finishing his cake, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Leticia’s soothing mirth had eased away his tension and all seemed right again. Content with a full stomach and in the presence of a friend who’d always understood him, he drew a breath and listened to the song of birds, the gentle lapping of the pond, the shiver of wings in flight, Leticia’s breathing. He always felt more comfortable with her than he had with any other female, even his sister, Selena. He smiled, recalling his sister’s letter detailing how much she enjoyed her time in Italy with Aunt Fanny. Perhaps he’d join them this summer after he matched Leticia with a boring, dependable husband.

Feminine laughter broke into his reverie.

“Good day, Miss Wentworth,” sang out a sultry alto.

Tristan opened an eye and peered at a cluster of ladies hovering nearby.

“Good afternoon,” Leticia replied. When they didn’t leave, but remained nearby, she motioned them over. “Care to join us?”

“Thank you,” said another.

A moment later Tristan found himself surrounded by a flock of pretty young ladies, all smiling and fluttering like so many hens. He got to his feet to greet them as Leticia made the introductions.

“Tristan Barrett? Oh, dear, I’ve heard of you.” The sultry alto voice belonged to a gorgeous brunette whose long-lashed eyes moved up and down his body, her come-hither tone not matching the disapproving words she spoke. “You aren’t as wicked and scandalous as they say, are you?”

Tristan cast an appraising glance over her, noting that she failed to blush or lower her eyes. What had Leticia said her name was? He gave her a lazy grin. “I am wonderfully wicked and properly scandalous.”

Trills of laughter erupted in all but one, a blonde who blinked and wore a bewildered expression as if she couldn’t quite place the meaning of his words.

“Miss Wentworth tells me you and she are childhood friends,” the brunette said.

“That’s true.”

“Then I suppose she knows all sorts of delicious secrets about you.”

“Perhaps some of the tamer ones I kept in my youth.” Wickedly, he added, “But nothing compared to those I have now.”