“A regrettable decision I daresay I will carry with me for the rest of my life.”
She bit her lip again, although this time it was as though she was trying not to smile. “And you were odious.”
“A far more recognizable Hansen trait,” he assured her and was rewarded by the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. On impulse, he reached out and stroked her lip, freeing them from her teeth. “On the whole,” he said, “your appearance is improved when you aren’t trying to bite your lip in two.”
She flushed and jerked away from him at the touch, but after a second, eyed the bottle. “May I have a sip?”
“Are you accustomed to drinking wine?”
The scowl she gave him, he noted, was rather more full of heat than he could have expected from such a primly dressed girl. There was lace around herneckfor heaven’s sake. Even dowagers often did not dress with such rigid propriety.
And the girl’s mother—well, that was not a woman to whom propriety seemed to matter at all.
“I offered it to you in the beginning,” he reminded her as he handed her the bottle and watched her take a sip. A small girl like that; he’d have to be careful she didn’t have too much.
“I didn’t think I wanted anything you had to give me in the beginning,” she said.
“And now?”
“Now I don’t care.”
“Charmed indeed,” he said, his mouth twitching into a smile at the look of irritation crossing her face. Now that she was removed from the overbearing beauty of her mother, and free from the look of terror she’d worn before, she really was a taking girl. Not stunning, perhaps, but there was something downright appealing about the occasional flashes of green in her hazel eyes, like sunlight through trees, and her plump lips.
It was not in his habit to seduce young ladies of quality, and especially not those whose preferences were made very plain by the cut of their dresses. But if she had been a maid or a girl of less exalted birth, he would already have made a move to kiss her.
To keep his mind from delving into the things they could do here, in the middle of nowhere, he took another long drink of the wine.
“Do you believe me?” he asked after a moment.
“That you’re charmed?”
“No, you wretch.” He reached out and tugged a curl, watching appreciatively as it bounced back into place. “That I’m the younger brother of the Duke.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head as she looked at him, clearly considering. “Does it matter?” she asked at last. “We are never going to see each other again, after all.”
“Are we not?”
“You are a footman, and I am—” She shuddered delicately and looked away. “Well, I am not.”
“I have no intention of going back to being a footman.”
The snort she gave was decidedly unladylike, but when she held out her hand for the bottle, he handed it to her, amused as she tried to take the same long pull as him and choked. “What’s your name?” she asked as she mopped at her eyes.
“George Hansen.”
There was some suspicion in her eyes as she regarded him, but eventually, she nodded. “Very well, George.”
It was plain she didn’t believe him, or perhaps she didn’t want to be caught into a lie, but he merely shrugged. “I’m surprised you’re tolerating associating with such lowly company.”
She lay down and stared at the sky. “If you recall, you joined me.”
“Ought I to have abandoned a crying lady?”
“I had not sought your company,” she flashed, glaring up at him. He grinned down at her. She really was pretty, with those honey curls and the little flush in her cheeks. A flush that only grew deeper the longer he looked at her.
“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “What has you running away, fair one?”
“I’mnotyour fair one.”
