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Justine didn’t want to squirm in her seat but she couldn’t help it. “And if I win?”
“You maybe as smug as you like and lord it over me at every opportunity, and I’ll no’ complain.”
She smiled instantly. “I wouldlovethat.”
“I thought you might. Do we have a deal, then?”
She looked at his mouth and imagined all sorts of kissing. Desperate, passionate kissing. She was such a fool. “You are so presumptuous.”
“It’s a fair bet. And where is the harm in making this odious matchmaking process a wee bit more diverting?”
He had a point. She pondered it as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the hall. “Just a kiss?”
He held up his right hand. “On my honor, just a kiss.”
She imagined the expressions of Lady Bardaline and her mother if they were to hear of this entirely inappropriate wager. Perhaps that was what made her suddenly put out her hand to seal the wager. “Agreed.”
Something sparked in his eyes, and Justine realized he hadn’t expected her to agree—he’d expected her to decline, probably demurely, like a proper princess would do. Well, maybe she wasn’t a proper princess. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering there. She could feel the heat of his lips, and her entire body tingled with anticipation. “I look forward to the challenge, Your Royal Highness.”
“Don’t look too far forward or you’ll strain your neck, my Lord Douglas. I fully intend to win.”
He smiled in a way that sent white-hot flames shooting through her. He smiled as if he knew he’d already won and was humoring her.
The door swung open and a footman put down the step. William went out first and held up his hand to help Justine out. When she came out of the coach, she had forgotten her things. He reached inside for them and handed them to her. She took the wrap and gloves in one hand, reached for the brim of the bonnet with the other. But William didn’t let go of it right away. He caressed one of her fingers with his thumb.
Justine lifted her gaze to his. “What are you doing?”
“Imagining.”
“Stop imagining.”
“Impossible. I found the afternoon to be surprisingly diverting, despite you draining all of the champagne from Sutherland’s wine cellars.”
“And I found the afternoon intolerable, in spite of draining all the champagne from Sutherland’s cellars. Isn’t it odd how a single event can be viewed so differently by two people?” She heard the sound of a coach turn onto the drive.
“If you found the day so truly wretched, I will make it up to you.”
She laughed and yanked her bonnet from his hand. “How?”
The coach drew closer. “Another invitation, perhaps. A smaller crowd.Muchsmaller.”
She laughed. This man was making her laugh, and there was hardly a person who had done that since Aldabert. She recalled that he’d made her laugh the last time she was in London, too. She couldn’t remember why, exactly, but remembered laughing often at the suppers and soirees.
She didn’t know what to make of the way she was feeling.
“I’ll arrange something and send word, aye?”
She smiled coyly. “Send all the words you like. To me, to Robuchard, even to Bardaline. Oh, and if you please, you mustn’t forget to tell the prime minister that in my first outing, I managed to avoid starting a war or ruining my prospects. He will be—”
“Your Royal Highness, I beg your pardon.”
Funny, Justine would later think, how neither she nor William saw or heard Bardaline approach. It was as if they were standing in their own private little patch of sunlight. But there he suddenly was, tall and thin and pointed chin, looking entirely too pleased for anything that could possibly be happening at Prescott Hall. Justine realized only then that the coach she’d heard had come to a halt behind William’s.
“Je?”Justine asked.
“Lady Aleksander has arrived.”
Just then the door on the second coach opened, and an attractive woman who looked to be around forty years or so, stepped out of the coach. She put her hands behind her and bent backward. “Lord!My back can scarcely stand the long coach rides anymore. I should rather walk, I think.”
