“Eavesdropping?”
“No! Aunt Lydia sent me to find you.”
He narrowed one green-gold eye as if he didn’t believe her, which made her unreasonably irritated. Especially since it reminded her of him as a child. Days when she had called him Gray. A time when he listened to her and told her secrets and defended her against anyone who’d dare to tease her about her spectacles.
“Well, you’ve found me,” he said in the cool nobleman voice he wielded when they’d encountered each other at events in recent years. “What is the message?”
“You’re required in the drawing room. Your ladies are waiting for you.” Evie held her breath when she noticed the tick in his jaw that indicated she’d stoked his ire.
“What’s the plan for the evening?”
Evie’s mind went blank. Who was this version of Lord Rothwell? He wasn’t challenging her as he usually did. There was none of arrogance she expected. In fact, he looked exhausted. And chilled to the bone. The rain had somehow got past his coat and onto his shirt and waistcoat, and his bronze-blond hair, a bit too long at his nape, hung in wet, wavy strands against his collar.
“Tea now. Dinner later,” she finally managed. “Then parlor games and dancing.”
He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I guess the dayisstill young.”
It wasn’t yet three in the afternoon, but the dark skies and leaden clouds made it seem as if they were on the cusp of nightfall. He didn’t appear to be terribly unenthusiastic about the evening’s planned activities. Then the edge of his mouth hitched up.
“I claim a dance this evening, Miss Granger.”
“I do not dance, my lord, as you well know.”
Thiswas what they did. His favorite torment was asking her to dance, knowing she loathed dancing. So instead, they did a little verbal dance in lieu of an actual turn around a ballroom.
But today it felt different.
There was no thrill in it because if this house party proved a success, they’d likely never have such an exchange again.
A rumbling chuckle emerged from his throat. “Even here at Carthwaite, you defy me so readily. According to my father, a duke should never be defied.”
“You’re not a duke yet.” Evie regretted the words the moment they were out. They were callous, considering his father’s illness.
Gray didn’t seem to notice or take any offense. Instead, he leaned closer. “A single dance with me would not be as dreadful as you might imagine.”
The problem was she’d never imagined it would be dreadful. She very much suspected that being in his arms would be lovely. Perhaps one of the most memorable moments of her life. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be so for him. He danced with ladies all the time. There were six ladies downstairs who he’d dance with half a dozen times before the fortnight was out.
Dancing was a skill Evie had never mastered, no matter how she practiced. Perhaps she lacked the grace or the patience, but her mind and body never worked together the way she wished them to, even when she memorized the steps and kept count in her mind.
“I suppose I shall never know, my lord,” she quipped. “Now, if you care to change before greeting guests, I can delay Aunt Lydia a bit.” Evie glanced behind him at the door to his father’s rooms. Her aunt would understand that Rothwell needed a moment after attending to his dying father. “The duke—”
“Don’t concern yourself with him,” he snapped, then sighed. “Forgive me. You didn’t deserve that tone. Too little sleep and a long journey.” His gaze softened. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Granger.”
Evie blinked and wondered if she’d misheard him. The change from their typical teasing interactions made her wary and uncertain. Worst of all, something deep inside her—the wall she’d erected against him—gave way the slightest bit.
“Shall I tell Aunt Lydia you’ll be down in a quarter of an hour?”
“Do you think she and Aunt Agnes will allow me that much of a reprieve?” He smiled—not the practiced, tight smile he offered to those he met at balls and dinners throughout the social season. This was the imperfect one, lopsided on the left edge of his mouth where a dimple flickered.
Evie felt her mouth drop open and snapped it shut. Her body felt suddenly overheated and vibrated with a fizzing energy.
Good heavens, if she swooned, she’d never forgive herself. Especially if Rothwell was the cause.
“Are you unwell, Evie?”
At his low, concerned tone, she dropped the journal she’d kept clutched to her chest all morning.
Rothwell knelt to collect it at the same moment Evie bent at the waist. When he rose, she backed away lest their bodies collide.
