Page 20 of The Lady’s Sweet Revenge

Harlow leaned her head back to allow the sun to warm her face. It was a lovely day.

The soft chuckle behind her distracted her.

“What is funny, my lord? Have you never seen a person enjoy being outside before?”

“I’ve only known women to hide away from the sun for fear of getting spots.”

Harlow smiled.

“If my mother was here, she would well remind me. But I believe it is too late anyway.” She pointed to her nose. “I already have them. All the years running with my brothers in the summer.”

He made a show of squinting at her face as if he couldn’t see the freckles across her nose.

“I don’t know why they’re not more accepted. I think them lovely. Proof of a life lived outside, enjoying the world around us.”

“Perhaps you can sway all of Society to think like you so I will be the height of fashion next Season.”

“Next Season when you search for a husband?” he mentioned.

She wished she could see his face, but his being behind her as he pushed the chair made it impossible to know his expression.

“Searching makes it sound almost diabolical. I surely would never trap anyone or even wish to persuade them into considering me. I just want to be open to the idea so I will not face the rest of my life alone. I feel as if I was given a second chance. I don’t wish to waste it.”

Her chair paused in its motion for a moment. She felt Reese stand upright rather than where he’d been hunched to reach the chair. What had she said that had surprised such a reaction from him?

“And of course, I will need to find another man who is not put off by freckles. Do you think there may be more of you, Lord Breckenridge?”

She shifted to the side so she might look over her shoulder at him. He was smiling.

“I think you’ll find many a man is not so put off by them. Especially not when the nose they are on belongs to a lovely woman.”

Was he flirting with her?

She supposed she should use the opportunity to sharpen her skills of flirtation as well, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Promise me you will not accept the first buck who proposes,” he said.

She’d told him she planned to do just that, but now days later she saw how rash that might be. Still she wanted to marry.

She frowned. “I’ll not accept an offer only to accept. But if the first buck who proposes meets my criteria, then I don’t care much for the order in which I’m asked.”

“And what is your criteria?” he asked as she assumed he would. She also knew if she said she wasn’t willing to discuss it, he would let it lie. As any well-mannered gentleman would. But she wanted to tell him. If only so she might know if her demands were too unreasonable.

“First, he must have a sense of humor. Not just fake charm as to laugh at my jests, but he must be able to make me laugh as well. I don’t wish to spend my life unamused.”

“Ah, should he wear a tasseled hat like a court jester?”

She shook her head. “There is a difference between being silly and being witty, and you well know it, my lord.”

“You think I know the difference because I, myself, am witty? Gracious. Have I unwittingly met one of your criterium?”

She laughed as he’d, no doubt, intended. She found flirting to be easier than she’d expected. Perhaps that was because of her partner.

“Breathe easy, my lord. It is but one of the criteria, you are in no danger.”

“Very well, then let’s hear the rest of the list.”

She swallowed for fear that telling him the rest of the list would not put his mind at ease. But there was one thing on her list she knew would disbar him from the competition.