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“If we complete those three tasks,” he corrected.

Beatrice watched Mr. Lewis carefully, as though if she stared closely enough, she would be able to read his mind. Three items off her list. On the surface, the wager seemed rather simple and very enticing. There was nothing objectionable on the list. Nothing that would force her to reconsider.

If we complete those three tasks.

A calculating glint sparkled in Mr. Lewis’s eyes. There was a catch, she could feel it.

Nevertheless, she was determined to make this month memorable. To make it a month she would remember for the rest of her days while living in a distant estate with a lord who was fifty years her senior. So, what could this gentleman do to make her rethink her list?

Nothing. She was convinced he could do nothing.

She extended her arm. “I accept the terms of your wager.”

The corners of Mr. Lewis’s mouth curled in a smug smile. He wrapped his fingers around her palm and squeezed. “Good. Now the list, please.”

Beatrice pulled back her hand, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Her hands shook as she rummaged through her reticule. She took out her small journal with leather binding and clutched it close to her heart.

Mr. Lewis extended his hand and raised his brow.

“It has other things in there,” she clarified.

Mr. Lewis returned his hand to his lap, donning his now customary mask of boredom. “Take your time.”

Beatrice brought the journal closer to the interior light hanging above the door. She turned the pages until she found her list. It had nine items on it, one of which she had no intention of showing to Mr. Lewis under any circumstances. She had been laughed at enough tonight, and she would rather avoid further humiliation. He wouldn’t pick that item anyway. So, she held the journal closer to the carriage light and carefully ripped the page, leaving the last item in her journal.

Mr. Lewis carefully took the torn piece of paper and scanned the list with a pronounced furrow in his brow. Beatrice closed her journal and smoothed the leather surface. It was an old journal that had initially belonged to her mother. She felt remorse for defacing such a valued item, but in her nervousness, she hadn’t thought about it prior to tearing the page. She only hoped it wasn’t for naught.

Contrary to Beatrice’s fears, Mr. Lewis didn’t laugh at her list. His frowning expression barely changed as he raised the paper in his hand. “Is that all?”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s all.”

“The paper is ripped,” he noted.

“How observant of you.”

“Do not be flippant,” he warned. “I am only going to help you with the items on this ripped paper. Whatever else you have in there, it won’t be considered even if you win the wager.”

“I did not expect anything less. Now, have you chosen the items?” She licked her suddenly dry lips.

“No,” he grumbled. “Can’t see a bleeding thing in here. Do you mind if I keep it?”

Beatrice swallowed. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Just for a night. I need time to pick three items.”

Beatrice ran her tongue against her lower lip, regretting more and more with each passing second the fact that she’d confided in Mr. Lewis. The entire night had been a bit of a nightmare… but at the same time, it had also been a bit of a dream.

“Very well,” she finally conceded. “I expect you to return it on the morrow and tell me which three items you’ll help me cross off my list.”

“Certainly. I shall visit during the calling hours,” he said without hesitation. Then he opened the door and jumped out of the carriage. He turned toward her and offered his hand. “But remember, Miss Fowley, while our wager is going on, you’re not allowed to attempt and cross off other items on your own.”

Beatrice took his hand and let him help her exit the carriage. She glanced at him briefly once her feet touched the pavement. “My fate is in your hands,” she said with a mischievous smile, only half-joking.

She thought she saw an answering smile in Mr. Lewis’s deep blue eyes as he absently stroked her knuckles with his thumb. Beatrice flushed hot, while chills chased up and down her skin. The wind caressed his dark chestnut hair, mussing his perfectly polished appearance, and somehow making him look even more devilishly handsome than before.

What am I thinking?

Beatrice needed to turn around and leave.