“The vicar has invited me to study with him. I’m moving out of Leighton Court tomorrow and coming here.”
“Oh, no.” Genevieve only realized she’d spoken aloud when humor turned his face to brilliance.
“Tell me what you really think.”
No other man made her blush like this or provoked her to say such idiotic things. And their acquaintance only started. The idea of sharing the same roof made her stomach cramp with dismay. Still, she’d been appallingly rude and to give him credit, he’d taken it in good spirit. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Evans collected his hat from the stand. “Perhaps you’ll like me once we’re better acquainted.”
And perhaps cows might sing Rossini. But she kept that thought to herself. Was she learning discretion? She’d need to if Mr. Evans became her houseguest. She consigned her father to perdition, not for the first time, for his impetuousness. But he was the master of the house and he expected his womenfolk to obey his whims. The task that currently engaged her became more urgent with every day.
“How long are you staying?” she asked stiffly.
Something about Mr. Evans’s smile made her step back. She’d feel less foolish if she could identify one particular element in his manner that unnerved her. Well, until he smiled at her the way he smiled now. He looked like a hungry tiger contemplating a lamb chop. Trepidation shivered along her veins and her heart thumped chaotically against her ribs.
“As long as it takes,” he said softly. His eyelids lowered, lending him a disconcertingly saturnine air. For most of the evening, he’d played the perfect guest. But in the space of a second, he transformed into a man who clearly intended seduction.
She told herself she let the fright she’d suffered from the burglary turn her into a nervous wreck. Surely she mistook him. A dull bluestocking past first youth couldn’t attract this Adonis.
“Stop flirting,” she said firmly. “You’re only doing it because there isn’t another woman here.”
This time he laughed out loud. The sound was attractive. Open. Joyful. Genuine. “You defeat me, Miss Barrett. How am I to work my wiles when you undo me at every turn?”
She didn’t smile back, although something in his unabashed delight tugged at her heart. “I don’t want you to work your wiles, Mr. Evans.”
“Your aunt likes me.”
Genevieve’s huff approached a snort. “My aunt likes any man who’s breathing and unmarried.”
Curse him, he shouldn’t laugh again. Her glare did nothing to quell his amusement. “The longer we’re alone, the keener she’ll be to see your ring on my finger.”
He slouched against the newel post and regarded her as if she
provided marvelous entertainment. She was sure she did. He probably hadn’t toyed with such an awkward female since his first dance lessons. Among the reasons he set her bristling like an angry cat was that she felt irredeemably gauche in his presence.
“You mention marriage with disdain worthy of a rake,” he said drily.
“You’d know.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I’m merely a country gentleman pursuing intellectual interests.”
“Not even I’m green enough to believe that.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “So it’s not that you don’t like me, it’s that you don’t trust me.”
She retreated until she collided with the wall. For one frantic moment, she wished she’d spent fewer nights over her books and more at the local assemblies. She was completely out of her depth with this urbane man. “Can’t it be both?”
He stepped closer. “Is it?”
She stared at him, her heart racing. She’d never been kissed. Until this moment, she hadn’t marked the lack. Right now, she had a horrible feeling that her unkissed days were numbered. Might perhaps end this second. She wondered why the prospect left her excited rather than outraged. She should itch to slap this Lothario’s face.
“Please go.” She cursed her husky tone. “Aunt Lucy will post the banns if I’m not back in the library within the next five minutes.”
“You’re not really at your last prayers, are you?”
Color flooded her cheeks and she spoke sharply. “I’m not praying at all. I’m not interested in marriage.”
“Miss Barrett, you shock me.”