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Provoking humor gleamed in his silver-gray eyes. “Is there more you are willing to do?”

Her breath lodged somewhere behind her ribs. “Of course not,” she said tartly. “One must always ascertain the intentions of scoundrels before making an informed decision.”

“A scoundrel?” His brows rose. “You wound me.”

“I am certain you have survived far graver injuries.”

“I have.”

His answer was accompanied by such shameless amusement that Cordelia nearly smiled.

Nearly.

She hesitated. The sensible course was to gather Sir Charles and return home before the rain eased. Yet the thought of stepping once more into a silent house, with only the servants for company while her family attended another tedious social engagement, held remarkably little appeal.

Here, everything felt different, brighter somehow. She ought to have been horrified by her conduct, yet she had rarely felt so alive. Cordelia drew a steady breath and tried to reassert her good sense. “I should prefer you to lend me an umbrella.”

“Ah.” He settled more comfortably into the chair. “That would be impossible at the moment.”

She blinked. “You do not own umbrellas?”

“I do.”

“Then I fail to see the difficulty.”

“I simply do not wish to make it easier for you to leave before I am ready to see you go.”

Cordelia’s heart stumbled. He said it so easily. No embarrassment. No hesitation. No attempt to disguise his meaning beneath the elaborate courtesies gentlemen usually employed with unmarried ladies. He wanted her to stay. The knowledge sent a peculiar warmth spreading through her. It should not have, for if he behaved with such complete disregard for what was expected of a gentleman, surely that made him a scoundrel, a rogue, and men of that ilk were not to be trusted. They left heartbreak, suffering, and ruined reputations in their wake, yet walked away themselves entirely unscathed. Still, she had never judged others without first knowing them and understanding their character. And yet, some unfamiliar instinct had awakened within her, warning her with an insistence she could not quite explain that this man was dangerous.

“You are outrageous,” she said softly and entirely without heat.

“I have been accused of that too.”

“I warn you,” she said, striving for dignity, “I am perfectly willing to skewer you with my rapier if you direct so much as one improper look at me.”

His gaze descended deliberately from her eyes to her mouth. Only for a heartbeat. Then it returned to hers. Nothing about the glance could have been called scandalous.

Nothing at all.

Yet Cordelia’s lips suddenly felt strangely sensitive.

“I shall endeavor to behave,” he murmured.

She did not believe him for an instant.

His eyes gleamed. “I only hope you are as formidable at chess as you are with your threats.”

Cordelia silently prayed for courage, common sense, or anything capable of halting the exhilaration rushing through her. None arrived.

“I daresay I can offer you at least a modest challenge, if that is what you desire.” And there it was. She had willingly tumbled over the edge of the precipice of recklessness upon which she had been teetering ever since meeting this man. Yet she was determined to proceed with caution and not allow herself to fall so far that there could be no turning back.

“I do enjoy a good challenge.”

The words seemed directed at something other than chess. Cordelia refused to ask what. She tilted her head. “And if I should defeat you, sir?”

Another gleam she could not interpret entered his gaze. “I shall be forced to endure my defeat with what little grace I can muster.”

Despite every sensible instinct urging caution, the corner of her mouth lifted. “Very well,” she said. “One game.”