Was it too hot in here? Too cold? The fireplace was crackling, the windows ajar to allow in fresh air—surely that was the explanation for this strange sensation of not knowing how to feel in his own skin.
He wasn’tattractedto her.
Here, he would prove how much they did not suit.
“Is it true you ran through the cascade fountains of Chatsworth House during a garden party?”
“I didn’trun. I luxuriated in them.”
She burst out laughing at his flinch of shock.
“In my defense,” she said, “it was a hot day. We had been playing Pall Mall on the lawn. I’d tried to balance a lemonade whilst taking a swing at my ball, and ended up splashing half of it down my bodice. Changing clothes would’ve taken an hour, and we werewinning.I was the only person in my group who knew what to do with a mallet, and my team depended on me. Whilst the others took their turn, I nipped over to the fountain to wipe the stickiness from my bosom as best I could. I might’ve been soaking wet, but I won the game.”
See? Not an attractive pictureat all.
He was definitely not imagining her hair clinging to her face in damp tendrils as she dabbed a wet handkerchief to her water-misted bodice.
Soglad he’d asked for clarification on the idle gossip.
Brilliant move. Now that he had the true mental image to picture, he’d... he’d...
Never sleep soundly again from dreams of Miss Finch glistening with water like a siren from the sea as she swung her mallet to victory.
“Why are you invited anywhere?” he blurted out.
“Oh, I wasn’t invitedback,” she said with a laugh. “But that was mostly due to the gentlemen being poor sports about losing a game of Pall Mall to a team of ladies. It seems men aren’t as superior as they like to claim.”
Or they weredistracted.
By Miss Finch, who wasn’t plain at all.
Which, Alexander supposed, only proved her point as to men’s inferiority.
She was standing before him perfectly dry, and he still had no hope in heaven of hitting a ball in a straight line in his current state. All he could think about was holding the next party at his West Midlands manor, which had plenty of garden for installing cascading fountains.
“Ooh,” she said. “I almost forgot about that one.”
“What one?” he stammered. “What are we talking about?”
She touched his arm, either to hush him or to get his attention.
It hushed him and got his attention.
It was the briefest touch. Practically accidental. Just a brushing of knuckles against his forearm. A playful little nudge, as ifhewere the naughty imp, and she the stern matron tasked with keeping him in line.
Wonderful. Another fine image for his growing collection.
Miss Finch was singing the virtues of a different young lady. Alexander was paying close attention. Or would be, if he hadn’t just now noticed that her extraordinary height wasn’t only advantageous for murmuring into one another’s ears, but also for kissing.
Not that hewouldkiss her.
He would never.
It was just that, for some other gentleman who happened to be as tall as Alexander, if he happened to be standing next to Miss Finch—their kiss would be a comfortable fit, was all. Just an observation. Nothing he intended to put intopractice.
She sucked in a breath. “Damnable puppy! I’ll return in a moment. Max appears to be sneaking cakes from plates left too low on side tables.”
There.
