Page 42 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

Lord Hartwell chuckled, but Josephine didn’t even glance at him as he spoke. “I didn’t take you for a gambling man.”

“I never wager more than I can afford to lose,” Andrew said with an easy shrug.

“And the prize is almost never coin,” Josephine added. “What did you have in mind this time?”

“The last one to the castle must serve the others tea.”

It took more than a little control to avoid snorting in amusement. “That is hardly a decent forfeit.”

“I thought to keep it mild, for the sake of our guest, who is unfamiliar with our ways.” Andrew had the audacity to wink at her before turning his grin to Hartwell. “We wouldn’t want to shock you.”

How many times had Andrew said “we” and “our” about the two of them in the last moment? And why hadn’t she caught it until the last? She laughed, the sound weak to her own ears. “Sir Andrew, Simon, and myself have long teased one another this way. Do not worry much over our ridiculousness, Lord Hartwell.”

The baron stared at her with a furrowed brow, clearly contemplating the scene before him and the actors in it too closely for her comfort. He must think her peculiar to go along with Andrew’s odd scheme.

But before she could withdraw from the idea, Andrew snapped his fingers. “I have it. Tea will be served, as I said. But the person pouring out must also wear one of the frilled aprons the maids all wear.”

The idea of Andrew in an apron serving her tea appealed to her, but she chewed her bottom lip and looked to the baron. “While I have no wish to disparage your riding abilities, Lord Hartwell, I do not think the terms fair to you, a guest in my home.”

He quirked an eyebrow upward. “My sense of honor is uninjured, my lady. And I cannot imagine the ruffles on an apron would suit me poorly. Of course, I’d much rather Sir Andrew serve the two of us tea.”

The baron went up in her estimation with that easy declaration. There were few men in the world willing to look silly, especially for the sake of something so small. Perhaps she might befriend the baron after all.

“Very well. As no one has any objections, let us inform the others and invite them to participate. I should hate to leave out Simon or Lyness.” Andrew whirled his horse about and trotted down the path where the other men had paused to wait for those who had fallen behind.

Josephine shook her head somewhat ruefully. “We will all be sorry if Andrew wins. He will crow about it for days.”

Hartwell chuckled. “But imagine if he is the one who loses.”

“You are a good sport, to participate even under threat of wearing a maid’s apron.” Josephine didn’t try to hide her admiration of that fact. “I cannot think of many gentlemen I know who would chance such a thing.”

“My pride can stand it.” He walked his horse around hers, his eyes sparkling at her. “Can yours?”

There ought to have been something—she instinctively knew it was missing—that happened when a man looked at a woman like that. She should have felt her stomach twist, or her heart race, or a blush grow in her cheeks. But instead, she felt only the same amusement she would if her own brother teased her.

It was quite disappointing. Even Andrew stirred up unusual sensations now and again.

That thought, unbidden as it was, made her jolt in the saddle. Her horse side-stepped and flicked an ear back at her. Josephine hastily soothed the beast with a hum of nonsense and a pat on the neck.

Andrew couldn’t stir her feelings. Not unless he drove her to distraction with his absurd behavior, or to anger with his irritating teasing. Those were the only sorts of feelings he inspired—negative ones.

Then Andrew appeared beside her. The clack of horseshoes from behind meant Simon and Lyness Eastwood followed. Andrew’s wide grin, infectious as it was, didn’t quite penetrate the sudden fog of confusion in her thoughts.

“Are you ready, Josie?”

She blinked, trying to focus on him. On the sparkle in his eye. The lift of his lips. The strangely endearing tilt to his head.

“O-of course.” She cleared her throat self-consciously and forced herself to sit straight again. Imperious to all. “But I must ask you a very important question first.”

His amusement grew. “And what would that be?”

“Do you remember how I take my tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him, then nudged her horse forward to the gate that would mark a perfect starting line. She heard Andrew’s chuckle, low and deep, behind her.

* * *

Andrew wasn’t a fool. He’d nettled Josephine, though he hadn’t thought his challenge distasteful. He knew Hartwell from school, just as Simon did, and the three of them had used to get up to far more embarrassing capers.

But something about the way she looked at him when he returned, jolly as he was that everyone meant to take part, warned him that something made Josephine uneasy.