She opened the hamper and drew out two linen-wrapped bundles. “Ah, the spoils of war. We have bread, cheese, a dish I cannot identify, and a strawberry tart I will defend with my life.”
He accepted a plate. “I have no quarrel with the tart.”
“Wise. She is not to be trifled with.”
He glanced at her, unsure whether she was referring to the dessert or herself.
They ate in silence for a few moments. Not comfortable, precisely, but not hostile. The air was warm, shaded by the tree. Distant laughter drifted from the other picnic pairs. Somewhere, a string quartet had begun to tune again… badly.
At last, Miss Bennet spoke.
“You looked like you were being sentenced to death.”
“I very nearly was.”
“You have not expired yet.”
He inclined his head. “Nor, apparently, have you.”
“Give it time. I expect the shame of this moment will kill me somewhere around tea.”
He looked at her then. Really looked.
Her eyes were not coy. Her mouth was not simpering. She was not flirting. She was not, as he had first suspected, attempting to trap him into conversation or marriage or charity. She was simply—enjoyingthis. Prodding it. Watching it twitch.
“You did not want to winme,” he realized suddenly.
She tilted her head. “Of course not. I just wanted towin.”
It was so blunt, so irreverent, that he laughed.
She looked pleased. “There it is. I had wondered if you had teeth.”
“They are mostly used for biting my tongue.”
“I should think that exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
She tore a piece of bread and offered it to the air. “Well. I appreciate you playing along. I imagine you had other plans for the afternoon.”
“I had plans to be left alone.”
“Ah. And now you are left with me.”
He glanced sideways. “It could be worse.”
Her brows lifted.
He cleared his throat and added, “Marginally.”
“Well then. Shall we call a truce for the remainder of the hour?”
He considered. “Temporary.”
“Excellent. I should warn you I plan to write about this in my notebook.”
Darcy gave her a sharp look. “You keep a record of your conquests, then?”
