“I was unfairly distracted.”
A smile quivered at the corners of her mouth. “By what?”
“By you, Miss Cavanaugh. Your crooked endearing smile, your scent, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, and the unfettered way in which you laugh.”
Her face flushed a delicate, rosy hue, and her eyes lit with amusement and something soft. He wanted to explore that softness more than he wanted his next breath.
"Do not blame the weakness of your play on my crooked smile." Then she headed back toward their party, as if afraid of how intimate their conversation had grown. He hurried to fall in step with her.
“Does my frankness make you uncomfortable,” he asked gently.
"No." She turned her head, looking up into his face with pleading eyes. "It makes me hunger, and it is that reaction which I find alarming."
His mouth went dry at the echo of need in her voice. Thank God it is mutual.
They continued in silence until they reached their small party. Archery continued for another hour or so, before everyone retired for a lavish luncheon. A couple of hours later, several blankets were laid out on the lawns, and many guests reposed upon them playing cribbage.
Miss Cavanaugh had teasingly engaged him with their game of chess, and now they strolled together under the watchful eyes of her mother and what felt like society, but in truth was only about two dozen guests.
However, the guests soon noted he was extremely particular in his attention to Miss Cavanaugh, and their questioning stares were now becoming quite evident. When she realized it, she faltered into astonishing stillness and peered up at him.
“Your Grace…”
“Miss Cavanaugh,” he replied with tender amusement.
She directed him a look of bemused inquiry. He was heartened to see no animosity or judgment, but a distinct hint of curiosity and desire. The memory of their kiss lingered in her eyes along with the sometimes soft, and hesitant manner in which she tried to stare discreetly. "You are spending an inordinate amount of time with me today.” As if we are courting hung unspoken in the air. A frightening and thrilling question in equal measure.
“I find your company to be most charming.”
Her eyes widened. “Certainly not more than any other lady here. Miss Charlotte Hufford has been sending us very unpleasant glances. At first, I thought it was because I trounced her in archery, but I am beginning to suspect it is entirely something else!”
He placed a hand across his chest. “Perhaps my hopes to kiss you is not as masked as I’d intended.”
She blushed rosily, the pulse at her throat fluttering madly, and stammered, “Yo…you should not say such wicked things.”
“I cannot help wanting to woo you.”
The woman laughed. “How excessively diverting.” And he could see that she did not believe him to be sincere.
While past hurts had not made her bitter and wretched, she was untrusting. And it made Christopher question the tender yearning he saw in her lovely gaze.
“Do you still wish to exact revenge on me, Miss Cavanaugh?”
Pippa’s eyes swiftly raised and held an arrested expression. “I declare I never stopped.”
This piece of audacity was uttered in the most casual, and indifferent manner.
Amusement and devilry stirred. “If you are determined to unmask me as a debaucher, I daresay I should provide you with some material.”
“My attention is snared,” she said, her eyes laughing at him.
“The very first image you looked at…I want to do that to you…here, now. I wonder, Miss Cavanaugh; will you be wicked with me?”
He felt briefly surprised by himself for he had never been the one to cross sensual wits with a lady of society.
Though they did not touch, raw need flamed in her eyes and burned him. Their gaze held, and in the depth of her eyes he saw the same compelling desire which he held for her, an all-consuming hunger and a need, but he also saw mistrust. Shadows were still in her eyes and a hint of fear.
He breathed evenly, controlling his body's startling reaction to well…her response. It was wicked, unexpected, proper, and so damn honest.