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“I didn’t say that. I only thought the other gown suited you better. You looked sunny and pretty, like a daisy.”
“A daisy?” she sputtered. “I’m nothing so ordinary or conventional as a daisy. Take that back.”
“As you say, MissPenny. You have the pistol. You’re not a daisy. There’s no air of the country about you. You’re not sunny or fresh or pretty.”
Not pretty. Why did that upset her?
Everything about him was infuriating, especially that smirk, as if he knew the effect his proximity had on her. The way the backs of her knees wobbled and her belly tightened.
He had to be in control, didn’t he? Well. Who was the one with the pistol?
“Despite the firearm, I’m at a decided disadvantage here, Your Grace, wouldn’t you say? You’ve seen me in my chemise, and you’re still fully clothed. I think we should even the playing field, don’t you agree?”
Some demon was shaping her words. It’s just that he was so very in control, even when she had a pistol pressed against his chest.
She wanted him at a disadvantage. She wanted to dictate the tenor of this encounter.
“Remove your coat, Your Grace.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, MissPenny?”
“I demand retribution. A... chest for a chest. You saw mine.”
“This is my garden shed. I was here first. You’re the trespasser. Why did you hide a change of clothing in my gardener’s work bench?”
“No questions until we’re on even footing.”
“Very well, I agree that I had you at a disadvantage. Shall I remove my coat?”
His words spoken with a mocking inflection that clearly insinuated he thought that she’d back down easily.
She wasn’t going to back down, be silent, hide away. Not anymore.
“If you please,” she said boldly, if a bit breathlessly.
“You’ll have to move your pistol, MissPenny.”
“Oh, of course.” She took one small step away from him. Not too far. She wasn’t born yesterday.
He removed his tailcoat and hung it on a peg. His waistcoat was plain black silk but there was a thin band of gold around the edges that matched his eyes. She hadn’t noticed that before, because she’d been too busy staring into those eyes while they waltzed.
“There, are you happy?” he asked.
“The cravat, if you please.”
He loosened the knot of his cravat and undid the elaborate bow until the ends dangled down his chest.
She swallowed. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this all the way through. Watching Thorndon disrobe was disconcerting and rather... addictive. She wanted to see more of him. The well-defined arm muscles she’d felt beneath his shirt as they danced.
Perhaps a flat, muscular abdomen.
She glanced down.
Fatal error.
In one ruthless move he knocked the pistol from her hand, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her against the wall, reversing their positions.
“Oof,” she exhaled, more from surprise than pain.
