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She stared at him for a moment, one eye covered by the brim of her hat, and then glanced down. “What’s that?”
“Pardon?”
She pointed at the book.
“Oh, ah...” He suddenly felt ridiculous. Why had he brought it? “It’s... I thought you might...” How mortifying—he didn’t know how to be this man.
Justine spared him the humiliation of having to choke out the admission that it was a gift and took it from his hand.
“You like books, and I... I thought...” He cleared his throat. “William Thackeray is an English novelist—”
“Yes, I know.” She was squinting at the book’s spine.
“The title isThe History of Henry Esmond.I thought it quite English in its story. I enjoyed it.”
She glanced up with a dubious expression. “You read it?”
“I think I ought to be offended. I do know how to read, ma’am. Like you, I enjoy it.”
“But I’ve never known a gentleman to enjoy works of fiction.”
“All written works are works of fiction. They vary only in degree.”
She laughed. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a pair of eyeglasses and fumbled with them, trying to set them on her face while holding the book, and when William tried to reach for the book to help her, she pulled it from his grasp. She managed to set the eyeglasses on her face and opened the book.
William blinked. He wasn’t expecting this, but she looked so...so bloodycharmingin her eyeglasses. Without them, she was elegant, refined, pretty. Every inch a queen. But with them, she looked—and he couldn’t believe that he was thinking this—adorable.
She happened to glance up and frowned curiously. “What’s that look? Have you never seen anyone wear eyeglasses? I may look silly, but they are entirely necessary for me to read. It’s not as if I can help it.”
“You donna look silly. You wear eyeglasses better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t tease me,” she said, her eyes on the first page of the book.
“I’m no’, Justine. You look...” He had to pause and swallow. This was so unlike him. “Winsome.”
She glanced up.“Winsome?”Her amber eyes sparkled with amusement behind the lenses. She laughed. And when she did, William couldn’t help himself—he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, catching half of her brim between their cheeks.
Justine instantly squealed against his mouth and put a hand to his chest, pushing him back. “You’ve lost your mind!” She looked to where the guard was standing.
“Aye, maybe,” he answered truthfully.
“I thoughtIwas supposed to pay my debt.”
“That was no’ about a bet,” he said, annoyed with himself.
“Then what was it? I know you must be terribly pleased with yourself, having guessed right again.”
“I’m no’ pleased, I’m angry that he was ever presented to you.”
“I should have listened to you.” She turned away and moved deeper into the garden. “It would appear you’ll have another opportunity to prove your incomparable skill and report to Robuchard. Another suitor is due to arrive this evening. Prince Michel of Miraval. Have you met him? Do you want to warn me now about why he is utterly the wrong pick?”
“I’ve no’ heard of Miraval, much less this...prince,” he said with a flick of his hand. He could, in fact, warn her why this prince was utterly the wrong pick, but not for the reasons she expected. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to really want him to say, which meant he wouldn’t have to put his complicated feelings into words.
“Miraval is a small principality on the Mediterranean Sea. My ancestors once ruled it before they were pushed out by the Spaniards.”
“A small principality? That seems reason enough to dismiss him.”
Justine laughed and walked to the end of a line of shrubs sculpted to resemble a giant butterfly. She glanced at the guard, then at William and stepped behind the butterfly.
