Page 67

She made to stand, but his whispered words, soft enough for no one else to hear, reached her ear.

“Miss Fernside, please.”

She was going to pretend she hadn’t heard him, protect her heart and her peace of mind. But when she made to stand, the subtle movement of his leg made his knee press up against hers, and she paused.

Heat seared through her thin gown, and the desire to feel that warmth for longer grew so strongly within her, she could not pull back. Instead, she peered up at him, the firelight dancing in his eyes and highlighting the look of pleading within them so brightly, she found herself nodding before sense could convince her to do otherwise.

Mr. Branok glanced around the room, no doubt to ensure their conversation remained unheard, but he kept his knee against hers as his voice dropped lower. “I shall be succinct, but if you still wish for our friendship to end, I will, of course, respect your decision.” He waited for another nod of understanding from her before continuing. “Firstly, allow me to apologize for my behavior on the”—he cleared his throat—“stairs.”

Lark blushed at the mention. More than a week and a half had passed since that night when they’d nearly kissed, but still, the memory was forever branded in her mind. The look of desire in his eyes, the heat blazing through her limbs at his touch, the stirring in her heart to feel him closer. It was as if it had happened yesterday.

“I thought it best to keep away from you after that,” he explained, “hoping that would prove my respect for you, but all it did was make me more and more irritable—resulting in my frustration with you falling into the nettles. But I must clarify that I was in no way upset with you and solely upset with myself, for if I had merely behaved as your friend, you would have come to stand beside me when observing the redstart instead of getting caught in the nettles. For that also I must beg your forgiveness, as well as for not keeping you safe to begin with.”

Lark listened to his reasoning, each word another salve to place upon her wounds. Her confusion over the last week, her frustration and anger over the man’s behavior, slowly seeped away until she was left with nothing but a stirring in the base of her stomach at the knowledge that he had wanted to protect her—that he had wanted her to respect him.

Of course, his actions weren’t the best way to go about that, but truthfully, she could see his logic and could not deny that she wouldn’t do something similar.

“So,” he finished, “shall I leave you alone or…or can you find it in your heart to forgive a fool such as I?”

Lark sighed. “As foolish as you are,” she whispered, “you are too charming not to forgive.”

His shoulders visibly lowered, and the lines in his brow grew faint.

“But,” she continued, “the question remains…are you foolish enough to forgive my own intolerance and curt words?”

“Surely you must know I already have.”

They shared a smile, and the tension between them faded. The fire popped beside her, and Lark turned her attention to the flames, watching them lap at the logs within the hearth, though her thoughts were centered instead on her burning skin that was nearly numb now due to Mr. Branok’s leg still pressed up against hers.

She sent a quick glance to Aunt, though Mrs. Chumley still spoke with her animatedly, which meant Lark’s proximity to Mr. Branok remained unnoticed in the dim light of the room.

That was more than a relief, for Lark would hate for Aunt to notice—just as greatly as Lark would hate to pull away.

Was Mr. Branok feeling the very same? Was that why he remained with his body shifted toward hers? Or was her spirit longing to be near an ever-unattainable soul?

After another moment, he shifted beside her, moving his leg away from her in the process, and she struggled to keep her spirits up.

“I know we cannot ask after specific numbers,” he began in a whisper, “but I have been dying to know, how fairs your list?”

Lark chewed on her lower lip. “You wish me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I nearly threw it out a hundred times last week.”

His lips parted in surprise. “My dear Miss Fernside, how dare you? My being ungentlemanly is in no way an excuse for us to sever the binding agreement we have made for this challenge. We signed the papers, after all.”

She attempted to hide her smile at his overt teasing. “Yes, well, I was perfectly ready to accept the consequences of my forfeit.”

He paused, holding his chin with his forefinger and thumb in a thoughtful gesture. “You know, I think we quite forgot to establish what those consequences would be.”

“You’re right. Somehow, I overlooked it. I thought I had been so thorough.”

“Not thorough enough, I suppose.”

He winked, and she shook her head, though within her, the fire of competition had been relit—as well as another flame within her heart. But this one was sparked by the gentleman beside her and was already growing so brightly, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to douse it again.

Chapter 22