A hint of approval flickered in his eyes. “Good girl.”
A thrill shot down her spine at the utterance of those two simple words. A curious thing, because she could sense within herself a strange and inexplicable urge to earn Tuck’s favor. Not at the cost of her own sense of self, but from a desire to bask in his approval. In fact, the thought of hearing those words again gave her such pleasure that she feared she might ask for them, propriety be hanged.
Yet she was wary of giving him too much power, hesitant to lose the upper hand in whatever seesaw game they were playing, especially considering the audacious path upon which they were to embark.
At least Georgie and Jane had blessed this scheme.
“What are you thinking about now?” he asked.
She tucked her chin and widened her eyes, a flirtatious gesture she’d observed other women employ at balls or dinner parties when playing the coquette. It always worked too, because, in her experience, men were easily swayed by such tactics.
Mr.Taylor sat back, seeming unimpressed. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
“Why the weird face?”
His blunt question caught her off guard. She tilted her head, adopting the picture of innocence, like a woman in a rococo painting. “I don’t know what you mean. This is how I look.”
“Yeah, sure.” He passed a thick hand over his strong jaw with a snort. She noticed a small cut near his chin, likely from shaving.
She squared her shoulders, resisting the compulsion to lean in and gently blow on the wound.
“I think you wonder what I think of you,” he stated, not a question.
“I’m curious about a great many things in this world, Mr.Taylor,” she replied primly. “If you wish to share what you perceive as fact, I’ll listen, although I may find it of little use.”
His nostrils flared, gaze sharpening. Their verbal volleys felt like both a conversation and a game, leaving her dizzy despite having drunk only tea.
In a blink-and-miss-it moment, he ran a finger down her left hand. She glanced up, her coy smile slipping at his intense expression. She donned her most useful mask, the one that betrayed no thoughts.
He didn’t break eye contact. “I think you have more courage in that little pinkie than most people have in their entire body.”
She forced a brief laugh, pressing her knees together, but the tension persisted, and worse, intensified. The spot where he’d caressed her still felt warm. If one touch had this effect, what about more prolonged contact?
“That’s quite a claim,” she said. “And unfortunately incorrect,as I’m afraid of many things. You’ve yet to see me encounter a spider, or a duck.”
“Duck?” His eyes crinkled with smile lines. “That sounds like a story.”
“When I was a child, a mallard bit me. I was at a park in London, enjoying a particularly delicious muffin, when it gave chase. The sensation of its beak pinching the backs of my legs is something I’ll never forget.” She shuddered. “So, you see, I’m not exactly the type to lead the Spanish Armada into battle.”
He cocked his head. “Everyone thinks I’m good at what I do because I have quick reflexes. But the reason I act fast is because I can predict. And I predict because I make it a point to study my opponents. I study them off and on the ice. I review games. I don’t quit until I know the competition better than they know themselves. People sometimes want to believe my success is due to luck, talent, or genetics. Nah. It’s due to observation.”
“And I’m an opponent?”
His expression softened. “No, you’re on my team.”
She scuffed her boots against the floor in a nervous rhythm. “And what team is that?”
“Team Mutual Benefit. You win if I win. I win if you win. Our goal is that I return home and you get to pretend I’m dead.”
“You’re not too offended?” she murmured.
“I’d like to think you could enjoy me for the time we have. That I’m the kind of man you’ll miss when I’m gone.”
She wouldn’t show how much his words touched her. “I’ll tell you one secret,” she replied breezily. “I don’t look good in black. I probably won’t be in mourning long.”
His serious expression didn’t alter. “I know how much you’re risking by taking this trip, Pocket Rocket. And if things go wrong, what it could mean for your future, even for your family. I want tobe straight before we climb into the stagecoach and go three feet from this place. I’m glad you’re on my team.”
