Page 24

She didn’t speak for a moment, then looked away with a shake of her head. “You are nothing as I had imagined you to be, Mr. Branok.”

“And how did you imagine me to be? Like Mr. Dunn?” he teased.

Once again, her cheeks pinked. “No. I thought you’d be a gentleman with more propriety than a common magpie.”

He softly chuckled. “I did warn you.”

“I suppose I shall simply have to muster up enough decency for the both of us, then.”

“It would appear so.”

She continued writing, and he leaned back in his seat, if only to not be caught too close to her by the Hasketts should another jostle from the carriage awaken them.

Henry was not typically a flirt. Well, not too bad of one, anyway. But he’d become starved of feminine attention over the last six months in the West Indies. And the months before that in Europe. And the past five years traipsing all over the world with only men for friendly companionship. With Miss Fernside, he was obviously making up for lost time.

Or…or perhaps that was merely an excuse, and the truth of the matter was, Miss Fernside was the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’d ever met, and she was, therefore, quite simply, irresistible.

“There,” she said, pulling back from her writing as she finished inscribing. “Now the third rule.”

She looked at him expectantly.

Right. He was supposed to be devising their plan. “I think we ought to make it a requirement that we must observe the bird in nature in order for it to count toward our list.”

“Naturally,” she agreed, writing his words down. “That will make the challenge fairer, as well.”

“And why is that?” he questioned. “Because you would attempt to add the birds you see in your books?”

He dropped the sentence before her, hoping for a reaction, but all she gave him was a sidelong glance and a subtle shake of her head.

“No,” she stated. “Because if we were including bird songs, I would have a significant advantage over you, as I can recognize a substantial number of birds by their calls alone.”

He eyed her. “Is that true?”

“I do not tell falsehoods.” Then she looked up at him. “Usually.”

Her gaze lingered, and a spark of humor he didn’t know she was capable of glinted in her eyes.

Henry felt like soaring.

“The fourth rule,” she continued, “ought to restrict either of us from sharing about this challenge with anyone else.” She glanced up at the Hasketts. “After all, I hardly think they would approve. Or Mr. Chumley.”

“Agreed,” he said.

“Are you certain? About Mr. Chumley, I mean.”

Clearly, she was asking if Henry could be trusted.

“I am certain,” he said in earnest, leaving behind his teasing nature for a moment so she could see the truth in his eyes. “I would not wish to create any grief for you—or to detract from the excursion.”

She studied him, then gave a single nod before writing further.

A lightness unfurled within him like a spotted falcon spreading out his wings. Miss Fernside trusted him. Why was the idea so satisfying?

“At any rate,” he said under his breath as he leaned toward her again, “it is far more exciting to keep this between the two of us, do you not think?”

She merely continued writing. “If you say so.”

He would have laughed again but settled with a simple smile. Her attempt at remaining unaffected by his words—the way she shifted subtly away from him though her eyes continued to skirt toward him—was nothing short of endearing.