Page 30

His eyes settled deeper into hers. “I shan’t tell Mr. Chumley the conversations that take place between us.”

She hesitated, if only due to her very soul instantly trusting the man’s words, as if her heart had more sway than her logic. There were very few men who had earned her trust in life. Why did her heart believe Mr. Branok could so readily be part of that club?

“You do not trust me,” he stated without question, obviously reading her expression.

To her relief, he did not appear offended, merely intrigued.

“On the contrary,” she said truthfully. “I do trust you.”

“But you require a signature from me for you to do so?”

The glow in his eyes and the lure of his teasing lips coaxed out a smile of her own.

“No,” she finally stated. “I merely find it difficult to speak the truth with you because, as you said, you are so far removed from gentlemanly manners.”

“Perhaps in Society’s view,” he stated. “But as a true gentleman, I assure you, you will find no man as genteel as I.”

Once again, her heart pulled toward him.

“Very well,” she finally relented. “If you wish me to be honest, I will be. While Mr. Dunn is not solely the cause, I did leave last night due to the conversation. I cannot abide discussions of hunting, especially when spoken by gentlemen who claim to be bird enthusiasts.”

To her surprise, Mr. Branok nodded soberly. “I must agree with you there, Miss Fernside. I, for one, have a difficult time tolerating hunting, as well. Especially when it comes to birds of any sort—even the ones we eat.”

She wondered if that was really true, but as she thought of the evening before, she could not recall Mr. Branok joining in with most of the conversation, either.

How had she not realized until then?

As they recognized their similarity, a connection she had not expected filled the air between them. She needed to do something to break it, or her heart would drift senselessly toward him again.

“And yet,” she began, “are we not both hypocritical, as we were eating the very hunted pheasants last evening for dinner?”

He stared down at her, then suddenly chuckled, which elicited a soft laugh of her own.

“Quite right, Miss Fernside,” Henry said. “I suppose we all have our levels, though I do admit I’ve never liked the taste of the bird.”

“Neither have I.” She rested a hand against her lips to stifle her own smile, finding the Shepherds looking in their direction. “I suppose you ought not keep them any longer.”

He nodded, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “Yes.” He paused, lowering his voice a degree further. “It is a shame we do not have more time together, though. I was hoping to compare numbers, you see, as I assume you were out here early to add to your list.”

She pulled on a look of disappointment. “Why, Mr. Branok, have you forgotten our second rule already? We mustn’t speak of our lists until the end of the challenge.”

“Ah, of course. I suppose it is just as well, then.”

“But I will say,” she continued, “that was precisely what I was doing this morning.”

He grinned. “I thought so.”

“Is that not why you are out here?”

“That was the plan, yes. But with the Shepherds’ jovial but ever-present conversation…”

“You will find it very difficult, indeed, to find any birds at all,” she finished.

“Precisely.”

They shared a smile, but he broke their gaze in the next moment. “I will take my leave of you, then. Shall I see you in my class?”

His class. She could hardly wait for it. But she wouldn’t ever let him in on that knowledge. “I suppose.”