“But why should you wish to captivate a man?” he asked.
“Because I must marry,” she exclaimed, her voice bursting with passion. And then she clamped her mouth shut as if loathing her admission. After a moment, she continued, her tone subdued because she obviously realized that the company inside might realize that they were alone in the garden.
“Forgive me,” she said. “We should not be here alone at all. Someone might come out and—” She shrugged. “No, no one could ever possibly believe you were about to seduce me. We are perfectly safe.”
He let out a slow, quiet laugh. “Society has a very rude mind,” he said. “No one is ever entirely safe. So perhaps you’re right. We should go back in. But first, Lady Ophelia, if I might be so bold, why must you marry?”
“You know why,” she ground out, irritated. “All ladies must, and I am the last of my sisters. I’ve had three seasons. And I cannot go on like this.”
Her confirmation of his earlier thoughts made him realize that this was no game to her but a matter of great importance. Three seasons and still a wallflower was damning for a young lady. Even he knew that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not sure what to say. “But it’s not true. I don’t see you as a clothes horse or an ornament in the room. I just always assumed you didn’t particularly care for conversation or company.”
“It’s not that I don’t care for it,” she said honestly, her eyes widening. She blinked rapidly. “I’m just not very good at it, and I was hoping to practice upon you, if I’m honest. But I thought I would be able to do a better job of it. Apparently, I’m entirely in a muddle.”
“You wish to practice upon me,” he replied, mystified.
She winced. “Yes, is that so very terrible?”
“No,” he said. He hesitated. The truth might be painful to her, but he couldn’t lie. Not to Ophelia. He didn’t know why, but he knew there would be no lies between them. “But you see, I’m not very easily, well, seduced by a lady’s charms. I’m so accustomed to them, you see. Ladies are forever using them upon me, hoping for something.”
A dry laugh passed her lips. “You think very highly of yourself, sir.”
“Do I?” he asked, surprised.
“No,” she admitted, her lips quirking. “I suppose not. It is simply a fact, isn’t it? You are very beautiful.”
He nearly choked. “I am?”
“Oh please,” she scoffed, “do not deny that you know your effect upon young ladies.”
“I suppose it’s true,” he groaned, driving a gloved hand through his hair. It was deuced awkward to admit to a sensible person like Ophelia. “Though I don’t give it a great deal of thought. Yet, I am accustomed to being pursued. That is true, and perhaps that’s why the fan did not work on me.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “If I had done it better—”
“Well,” he allowed, dropping his gaze to the uncooperative object. “You did look as if you were trying to cool yourself down. It wasn’t very seductive, I must confess,” he said.
“What should I have done differently?” she asked with surprising boldness.
A boldness he admired.
He stared at her, considering. Did he dare be blunt? She had been, so he knew he must. “I don’t know if it suits you at all.”
A look of consternation crossed her face, and he raised his hand. “First, since you are committed,” he said, “you must take up the fan and ...” He bit his lower lip. “Are you willing to take my instruction?”
Her own lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyes sparked with hope. “Yes.”
God, how he admired her. Her determination. Her openness. He hated that it could vanish in her pursuit of a marriage she did not actually want.
“Take your fan and bring it up toward your face,” he said softly.
She lifted it carefully as he suggested, her gaze never leaving his face.
“Good. Now, open it slowly,” he said.
She did as he instructed, opening it oh so slowly, and for the first time, he noticed her hands. They were delicate, small, and quite capable. Even though she did not possess long or elegant fingers, there was a strength to them that he quite liked.
“Now,” he said, “wave it slowly. Hypnotically.”