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“Well, then what else can I do?” she asked slowly, remembering how Daphne had paraded up and down the front of the boxing tent, opportuning passers-by. She shuddered. “I – I do not think I am cut out to approach people. I do not have a particularly engaging manner.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “No, you don’t, do you?” he admitted softly, and for some reason, that, too, discomforted her. Luckily, the girl returned at this point with a tea tray and set down their pot of tea, two cups and saucers, and a plate of buns. Benedict paid her but otherwise ignored the admiring looks she was casting at him through her lashes. Finally, the girl retreated with a last wistful glance.

Lizzie found she did not truly wonder at it as she once did. She had judged Betsy harshly, she thought, for being taken in by Benedict Toomes’ flashy good looks. Now she had seen him stripped to the waist, she had to admit he was an admirable male specimen.

Benedict had to be the poorest dressed man in the tent in his black waistcoat and faded shirt. He did not even wear a collar at his neck, let alone a cravat or tie. Instead, he had a loosely tied kerchief completing his workaday outfit. But still, she thought, letting her eye wander around the tent, he was commanding plenty of attention from the female quarters.

“Lizzie,” he said suddenly, and she returned her gaze to his face. “Your tea’s growing cold while you gape at all and sundry.”

“I wasn’t gaping,” she protested as she lifted her cup to her lips.

“What was it?” he said half turning to look over his shoulder. “A hat you admire? A gown?”

“Certainly not! I hope I am not so caught up in worldly things that I sit gawping at another lady’s finery.”

“It better not be a man,” he uttered direly.

Lizzie spluttered on her mouthful of tea. A man! “It is not my habit to sit and s-stare at gentlemen!” she assured him freezingly, but a slight stammer revealed her discomfort.

“You were staring at me earlier. I could feel your eyes burning into me,” he said looking at her over the rim of his teacup.

Lizzie felt her face grow scarlet. “Well, you were on display!” she pointed out hotly. “Everyone was looking at you, not just me!”

“I did not care about anyone else,” he answered smoothly.

“Well, then perhaps you will be so good as to inform me where I should have directed my gaze?” she said smartly, setting her teacup back in its saucer with a rattle.

“Oh, you were looking exactly where you were supposed to,” he assured her. “What did you think?”

Lizzie was momentarily thrown. Surely, he was not expecting her to comment on his physique? She reached for a teaspoon and distractedly added a lump of sugar to her tea. She did not even take sugar usually, just lemon, however they had only been supplied with a small jug of milk. She cleared her throat. “I – er – do not have extensive experience about such matters,” she prevaricated feeling a complete fool. “I once attended a viewing of antiquities that it put me in mind of,” she admitted, desperately groping for some experience to draw on.

“Antiquities?” Now it was Benedict’s turn to look blank. “I don’t think I follow.”

“N-naked statues,” Lizzie blurted. “Classical ones.” Benedict stared at her in seeming bemusement, and she grew even more flustered. “I don’t mean a Greek god or anything of that nature,” she assured him hurriedly. “But they had – er – games and such pursuits even in those ancient times.”

“They had boxing?” he asked lightly, his eyes gleaming in a manner she found deeply disconcerting.

Lizzie took a deep breath. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “They certainly had wrestling and – um, gladiatorial entertainments in arenas and things,” she finished off lamely.

A smile curved his lips, and she found herself remembering, rather inconveniently, his kiss from the previous evening. “Is that so?”

Lizzie forced herself to take a bite of her bun. At least chewing on that gave her an excuse not to enmesh herself even deeper. He must think she had been shamelessly ogling him, she thought feeling mortified. Swallowing, she asked him quickly. “What did your brother Frank mean by his comments at the close of the match?”

He shrugged. “You don’t need to pay that any heed.” She looked at him curiously a minute. “What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“It’s just, I thought you would want me to pander to your family more,” she admitted. “I called your grandmother a horrible old woman earlier.”

He gave a choked laugh at that. “I daresay she asked for it.”

“I’m not so sure, I think I was just in a flat panic.” Lizzie sighed, peering into the teapot. “There’s enough for another cup,” she informed him.

“You have it.” Lizzie poured the last of it into her cup through the strainer. “The boxing tent’s too rough for the likes of you,” he said abruptly. “We’ll find you something else to do.”

“What?” asked Lizzie, gratefully gulping her tea.