Page 83 of Courting the Country Miss

“Does everything remind you of a poem?” she asked.

His mouth curved upward on one side. “I suppose a great deal does.”

Elizabeth loved poetry too—something that had drawn Tristan and Elizabeth together for their brief fling in a time that now seemed so long ago. Perhaps time did heal all wounds, for the wound of losing Richard to Elizabeth had vanished.

As they completed their walk and boarded the carriage, Tristan cocked his head. “An ice from Gunther’s?”

“How well you know me.” She smiled.

As they sat in the carriage enjoying ices, Tristan devouring his, he put a hand on his head. “Ow.”

A bit smug, Leticia shook her head. “You ate yours too quickly; eating cold that fast always causes head pain.”

He winced. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“Not much experience with ices, I imagine?” she said sweetly.

“No, my friends and I preferred to take refreshment in other ways, as you well know, you saucy wench.”

“I hope you don’t still call me that when we’re old and gray.”

He leaned back, that gleam coming back into his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll have a new nickname for you by then—if you stop acting like a saucy wench.”

“Never. You wouldn’t know me then.”

“True. Very well, let’s think of a new one. How about…pet.”

She made a face.

“Ducks?”

She made a gagging sound.

“Dear?”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider.

The gleam turned to a hot, sultry glower she’d never seen before. Very slowly, his lips and tongue moved forming, “Love?”

Every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated under the heat of his stare. Leticia, the proper young lady, the friend, the rational being, collapsed and incinerated. Out of the ashes flew a new creature, one born of instinct and need. Her focus fixated on his mouth. Her lips starved for his kiss. Her arms ached to wrap around him. Her body craved his arms to enfold her. A temptation assaulted her to cast off her dish of ice and throw herself at him and do more than seek comfort in his familiarity.

The spoon cut into the edge of her fingers, snapping her out of such madness. Cold realization hit her like an icy wind.

This, then, must be the reason why every lady, proper or not, threw themselves at Tristan’s feet. He need only give them that look, and they lost all reason. No man should have that much power.

Anger that he’d had so much control over women all these years raced through her. If she’d been made of paper, the heat of her rage would have blackened her.

She tossed her head. She tried to make her voice sound teasing, but her brittle anger hurled her words at him like darts. “Don’t look at me like that, you rake. That obviously works with others, but you can be assured that I’m impervious to such a cheap ploy.”

He jerked back. Blinked. Confusion and hurt flitted over his features. “What?”

A Gunther’s waiter who passed by the carriage caught her eye. “I’m finished.” She handed her half-eaten dish of lemon ice to him. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them back. She would not cry in front of Tristan. The shameless womanizer! To think she almost fell for his game. How many he had seduced with such a look, she hoped she never knew.

“Please take me home.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and grappled at her tattered composure.

Tristan handed his dish to the waiter and spoke to the coachman. As the carriage pulled into traffic, neither of them spoke.

His hand enclosed hers. “Tish?”