Nagging? The hide of the man. She gritted her teeth and struggled to sound polite. “I thought you’d appreciate some advice about local matters.”
His eyes creased with wry amusement. Still no smile. And she’d dearly love to see him smile. “No, you thought you’d run me the way you ran my brother—and it’s not going to happen.”
“When you’re obviously doing so brilliantly on your own,” she responded tartly, gesturing around the disorderly room with eloquent derision.
“You are the damnedest lassie, Miss Farrar.”
His open admiration touched the same foolish patch of her heart that had warmed to hearing him call her pretty. “Language, my lord.”
“Why should I mind my manners? You’ve hardly been a model of decorum.”
She blushed—with mortification, not suppressed attraction. Curse him. He was right. Her father would be appalled to hear her. But then, her father’s soul was gentle and meek. Nobody had ever used either word to describe her. On the other hand, her father would dither and do nothing while the world collapsed about him.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said stiffly.
“Now, don’t go all missish on me. Our frank exchange of views is a refreshing change from the usual English mealy-mouthed rot.” To her alarm, he came and sat beside her. The sofa had plenty of room for two. But Channing’s robust personality made Bess feel as though he encroached too close. Nervously, she edged away.
She prepared to remind him that he had obligations, but that wasn’t what emerged. “How do you know?”
“Know what?”
Her cheeks were on fire. “That I’m the…prettiest girl in the village. You haven’t set foot in Penton Wyck.”
“I’ve clearly been remiss, if you’re an example of the views I’d take in from the high street. I’m sure people must come from miles around to catch a glimpse of the lovely local scenery.”
Her lips tightened at his teasing. Just as nobody flirted with her, nobody teased her either. She wasn’t sure she should encourage it. This playful discussion made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She was a self-willed woman past first youth. She was unused to men treating her as an object of desire. But surely she wasn’t mistaken about Lord Channing’s interest.
Unless after a month penned up at the Abbey, he was bored enough to flirt with anything in skirts. That lowering thought crushed her stirring excitement. This man had been around the world. Even someone as inexperienced as Bess saw that the girls would be mad for him wherever he went. A staid village maiden wasn’t likely to get him in a stew.
She regarded him without favor. “My lord, I’m beginning to think I should have asked Mr. White to stay.”
He ignored her remark. Her history with him indicated that he had a great capacity to ignore what he didn’t want to hear.
“Miss Farrar, you must be the prettiest lassie in the village, because you’re the prettiest lassie I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, and for a resonant moment, teasing receded and something more profound hovered between them.
He smiled fully, just for her. And her heart turned a triple somersault in her chest. It was the oddest sensation. The breath jammed in Bess’s throat as she stared into his eyes, drowning in rich green velvet. Somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice warned her that bearding this particular lion in his den was a foolhardy act. The pirate earl was a danger to more than ships of the line.
Suddenly she no longer felt like the wise ruler of her own little kingdom. Instead she felt like an untried girl confronting the eternal mystery of potent masculinity. She surged to her feet, smoothing uncreased skirts in an attempt to hide her disquiet. “I…I must go.”
She expected him to laugh at her again. A man as worldly as this would have no difficulty divining her purely female reaction to him.
He stared up at her from the sofa. Unsmiling. Then the predatory expression drained from his face and he looked almost harmless. Or at least as harmless as a man of his attractions could manage. “Don’t rush off. You must have come with a specific purpose, something a letter won’t accomplish.”
“My letters didn’t accomplish anything,” she responded shakily.
“Well, perhaps a request in person will achieve what they didn’t,” he said easily, slouching against the back of the couch. “Come, Miss Farrar…” He broke off. “You signed all your letters E. Farrar. What does the E stand for?”
She didn’t even think of refusing to answer. “Elizabeth. But everyone calls me Bess.”
She caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I like it.”
Standing up and away from him did wonders for her confidence. Her usual spirit revived. “I can’t imagine an occasion where you’ll use it.”
When his lids lowered, he once more became all sensual threat. “I certainly can.”
“Lord Channing—”
“Why did you come here, my charming Miss E. Farrar?”