Page 14 of Courting the Country Miss

“You don’t say?” Again came that come-hither look.

Tristan gave her a heavily lidded smile. “She grew up to become proper and I grew up to become scandalous.”

“Oh, my,” said another girl, Wynn’s sister, by her coloring and the shape of her mouth, which, at the moment, pressed into a disapproving line. Her hair appeared to be damp, no doubt from her fall in the pond after the goose attack. “You are rather proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m honest, Miss Wynn.”

She inclined her head as if to concede his point, but disapproval still oozed from every pore. He pictured her at odds with a flock of geese. A pity he missed that little show.

“His honesty allows for some degree of exaggeration,” Leticia said with a knowing smile.

Tristan eyed Leticia. Could it be possible she didn’t believe every rumor that flittered around him? For the first time in his life, he wished all the rumors were false and that he’d been as upright as Richard. But Richard never had any fun; he always busied himself being perfectly respectable. So, Tristan would be perfectly dissipated. It wasn’t like he’d ever marry. No lady would have him, and he refused to give his heart or his hand to a lusty woman who’d eventually leave him in wreckage.

The brunette sidled in closer. “Are you going to join us for bowls and nine-pins, Mr. Barrett?”

He hadn’t heard that the game had been planned. He glanced at Leticia.

She came to his rescue. “The colonel has invited us all to the south lawn for bowls this afternoon, followed by an archery tournament.”

Tristan nodded. “Then by all means, who am I to miss a moment of sport?” He held out one arm to Leticia and the other to the brunette. “May I escort you?”

As Leticia took his right arm, a comfortable, familiar motion, the brunette entwined her arm through his left, a sensual movement that evoked all kinds of images that shouldn’t be in his head, at least, not while in Leticia’s presence. Leticia glanced at him, one corner of her mouth lifting as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. But that couldn’t be. She was an innocent.

He always worried that his wickedness would somehow taint Leticia. There were times when he almost decided he should stop spending time in her company lest he mar her pristine reputation. But dash it all, she was his oldest friend and the one female he trusted not to have some hidden agenda.

And he needed to find her a husband so she would be happy. Then he could be happy.

Chattering and laughing, the other ladies walked several steps behind Tristan and the ladies he escorted.

Feeling the brunette’s gaze, he turned to her. “Are you enjoying the house party?”

Boldly, she looked into his eyes. “I find it hard to believe that we haven’t been introduced until now, Mr. Barrett.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Well…” she looked him up and down again. “I’ve been in London the last four Seasons, and I tend to notice”—her gaze flickered to Leticia—“tall, dark-haired men.” She’d obviously amended the thoughts she would have expressed had they been having this conversation in private. “I’m certain I would have remembered you if we’d met.” Again, that come-hither smile.

He laughed hoarsely and wanted to tug at his collar that the brunette came on so strong in front of Leticia. It made him feel something of a rascal to be caught by his very virtuous friend in the middle of such bold flirtation.

Leticia leaned around him to speak to the brunette. “Are you accomplished at bowls and nine-pins or archery, Mrs. Hunter?”

Ah, Mrs. Hunter. He sent a look of gratitude to Leticia as he sifted through all possible Mr. Hunters in his memory. He came up with nothing. Who was her husband? And where the deuce was he?

Mrs. Hunter let out a throaty sort of purr that doubled as a laugh. “Please, we’re all friends here. And Mrs. Hunter makes me sound so old. Do call me Georgette.” She focused on his mouth.

“Yes, do,” Leticia said in an even voice but Tristan recognized the mockery couched in her tone.

So did Georgette Hunter, apparently, judging from her sideways glance and amused, condescending twitch of her lips. “To answer your question, Miss Wentworth; yes, I admit, I have a fondness for both bowls and nine-pins and archery, especially in such fine company.” She looked up into his eyes again. Hers were a vibrant shade of violet-blue and he found it hard to look away. She murmured, “How was the hunt this morning?”

“Splendid,” Tristan said. “The Colonel has the finest hounds in the county.”

Mrs. Hunter nodded. “So I’ve heard. I’d planned to ride with the hunt this morning but was a bit fatigued from the long journey yesterday in addition to last evening’s festivities. I’ll join you tomorrow.”

Tristan raised a brow at her. “A woman who rides to hounds. How unconventional of you, Mrs. Hunter.”

“Georgette, remember? I used to ride with my father and brothers. I assure you, I am a competent rider.”

“You don’t ride with your husband?” Tristan fished.