Page 11 of Sin and Serendipity

Ellie’s gaze fell to her lap, and she sighed, her fingers flexing around her glass. “Because the last time I tried talking to him, he…” She frowned. “It did not go as I’d hoped.” An egregious understatement.

The viscount was silent for a moment, and then, gently: “What happened?”

Her lips flattened, as if loath to share the tale, but she forced herself to continue. “It was at Lady Sutclift’s ball. Freddy was alone and, somehow, I managed to pluck up the courage to approach him.” Her mind flashed back to damp palms, a racing heart. Freddy’s polite smile. “But once the greetings were over, I seemed to lose all command of the English language. I tried to flirt without words instead—fluttering eyelashes, an encouraging smile—but he…” She trailed off embarrassment heating her face.

“I take it his response was less than satisfying?” Lord Darrington asked.

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “He asked me if I was unwell. I think he thought I was on the verge of swooning.” She shook her head. “That was when I excused myself and ran for the hills.”

The viscount winced. “Yes, I suppose that could have gone better.”

“It certainly couldn’t have gone much worse,” she said, her smile rueful. “Most ladies seem to be born with the ability to flirt, but when I try it, I wind up looking like a simpleton. It is grossly unfair.”

“Why don’t you practice on me?”

She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

His gaze slid to hers. “Pretend I’m Freddy,” he said, “and practice your flirting on me.” A wry smile curved his lips. “I’m a poor substitute for my brother, I know, but I think I can manage to be charming for a few minutes. If I really try.”

Ellie cocked her head to one side and eyed him with wary suspicion. “Two nights ago you were certain this endeavor of mine would end in disappointment,” she said. “But now you wish to help me? Why?”

He shrugged. “Because it’s obvious you won’t be dissuaded from your pursuit. And because I like you.”

Her brow knit and she flicked her gaze over his face, certain he was jesting or, worse, mocking her. But there was no trace of derision in his smile, and his eyes, more gray than blue today, were steady and sincere.

“Now,” he said, leaning down to set his empty glass on the lawn, “go on and give me your most charming opening gambit.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I can produce charm on command.”

“Nonsense. Of course you can.”

Ellie took a sip of her lemonade, stalling for time, feeling a bit like a little girl who’s just been ordered to perform on the pianoforte with no chance to warm up her fingers first.

“This exercise will only work if you actually speak, Miss Wrencroft,” Lord Darrington said, his voice dry as dust.

She sighed. “All right. Fine.” Rolling her shoulders back, she pasted a smile on her lips and said brightly, “Good afternoon, sir! It is a beautiful day, is it not?”

Talk of the weather hardly qualified as charming conversation, but it was the only thing that sprang to mind, so it would have to do.

Lord Darrington’s eyes lit with humor, but he made no comment on her less-than-inspired opening. “Absolutely magnificent,” he said. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Oh, yes, I’m having a glorious time,” she said, though she had yet to partake in a single activity.

“So am I. Nothing invigorates a man quite like a rousing game of lawn bowls.” His brows arched meaningfully. “Except, perhaps, conversing with a pretty young woman.”

Ellie’s cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Thank you,” she said, disconcerted by the admiration shining in his gaze, until she remembered he was only pretending and none of this was real.

“Your gown is lovely, by the way,” he said. “That color suits you. It brings out your eyes.”

She glanced down at the lavender muslin. “My eyes are brown,“ she said wryly, meeting his gaze again.

He shook his head. “Your eyes are russet with green and gold flecks. They’re quite remarkable.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Remarkable? Did he mean that? Did he truly think…but, no, of course he didn’t. He was playacting. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about her eyes.

“Of course,” he continued, “they’re not nearly as remarkable as mine.“ He leaned in and fluttered his lashes. “My eyes have been likened to English bluebells, you know.”

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “I do wish you would forget I said that.”