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She raised her chin. “Perhaps that was not your exact phrasing, but that is what you meant, for that is how all gentlemen think.”

She must have revealed a little too much bitterness, then, for he paused, seeming to think before he spoke again.

“I must apologize,” he said softly, flicking his gaze in the direction of Aunt and Uncle. “I did not mean to cause offense. Allow me to start again. All I wished to say was that if you have the chance to leave abroad—I would suggest that you take it, for there is much to see, and you appear keen to see it.”

His apology was so graceful, so generous, Lark was minded to accept it instantly. But then, if she did, what would become of her? Surely this was not the last time they would disagree—surely this was not the last time he would cause her offense, for most gentlemen caused continuous offense. Excepting Uncle, of course.

If she relented now, that would only leave her open to feeling more pain and frustration in the future. Better to keep her defenses at the ready.

But she could feign generosity better than even he could.

“Thank you,” she stated. “I apologize for any misunderstanding on my part, as well. However, I will end on this—while there is much to see of the world beyond our country, there perhaps is more than you haven’t seen inside of England than out.”

She gave a curt nod, then pulled her body to sit straight as she cast a leveled gaze out of the window, determined to ignore Mr. Branok until Aunt and Uncle arose and she would be forced to behave.

But Mr. Branok spoke again. “I must admit, I cannot agree with you,” he said, his voice reaching her ears across the rumbling carriage.

She attempted to keep her focus on the trees atop the distant hills again, but his words were too much to ignore. Why did he insist on sustaining their conversation—or rather, their argument? Did he enjoy it? Or was he simply not finished exasperating her yet?

Either way, she found responding impossible to resist. “I expected as much,” she said. Her eyes traced the favorable angle of his jawline and the golden tint of his skin that resembled the tops of warm, buttered rolls.

“Why is that?” he asked, one corner of his masculine lips lifting.

The look in his eyes as they searched her features held something akin to admiration in them, and her stomach dipped. Swiftly, she looked away. He did not admire her. And even if he did, she would do well to remind herself what sort of person he was, for a handsome face could not make up for a decided lack of character—no matter how her quickened heart begged to differ.

“Have you explored England?” she asked, knowing very well that he had not.

“I cannot say that I have,” he stated confidently.

“Then that is why I expected you to disagree,” she said. “How can you know what you are missing when you have not even bothered to explore your own country? There are a number of species here. Over four hundred.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” He paused. “And nearly eleven thousand in the world.” He dipped his chin and looked at her with those sea-blue pools. “Not much of a comparison, is there?”

Her heartbeat stamped an image in her mind of that look, never to be replaced. Drat. He was far too charming for his own good, even when he was attempting to instruct her.

“Very well,” she agreed, “there is no comparison when referencing the number of species. However, the level of difficulty of finding birds in one’s own country is far greater than finding them in others.”

His smile grew. “And just how have you come to that conclusion, Miss Fernside?”

She turned her eyes to face him evenly, careful to keep her legs away from him this time. “Because when one exhausts all the common and recurring birds in one’s own country, one must work harder to discover the scarcer birds. However, when a gentleman ventures forth to countless countries, he can easily find all their common birds and consider himself quite the skillful observer, when in reality, he has only discovered the easily ascertainable birds, as opposed to the rarer birds in England.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes searching hers before a dazzling smile broke out across his lips.

Her own smile faded, then. That was not the response for which she’d hoped. Why was he not put in his place, as she had been before?

“Miss Fernside,” he began, his eyes delving into hers as he drew closer to her, “are you suggesting you are a better bird observer than I?”

She knew he was meaning to intimidate her with his closeness, but she refused to allow him to see the fact that it was affecting her—her skipping heart making it difficult to draw in steady breaths.

She leaned closer to him until their faces were mere inches apart and she could see the dark blue outline of his sea-colored eyes. “I am not suggesting, Mr. Branok.”

His eyes flicked between hers, shining with barely restrained mirth, but she did not budge. However, when his gaze dropped to her lips for a single moment, her breathing stopped altogether.

Out of seemingly thin air, a peculiar pull occurred between them—a magnetism she could not deny. She had never felt such an attraction before, as if she could not keep herself from leaning forward. And as his focused gaze moved back to her eyes, locking her in place, she felt as if the two of them were the only people left in existence.

“What say you to proving your claim?” Mr. Branok asked, interrupting her drifting thoughts with a low, rumbling voice.

Lark blinked. What claim had that been? Ah, yes. That she was the better bird observer. Her mind was still in a hazy fog, brought on by his proximity, that look in his eyes, and that smirk…That smirk that spoke of just how greatly he was aware of what his closeness was doing to her.