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“I like that you find me not so ordinary.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps an ordinary man might not stand a chance.”
Good heavens. Her tongue felt thick as she asked, “A chance at what?”
“Being your friend.”
“You want to be my friend?” she demanded, all astonished.
“Why not? You are an unusual lady. We could develop a camaraderie, share confidences, and laugh at others. I was recently told that is a characteristic of friendship, as odd as it sounds.”
She laughed and said pertly, “I’ve never heard anything of the sort. A man and a woman could perhaps be lovers but nothing so banal as friends.”
A hush of breathless anticipation fell in the carriage.
“You would be my lover?”
Eleanor gasped. “That is not what I meant! I…” she flushed, suddenly regretting her unruly tongue. The dowager countess was right. Ladies did not speak so freely about scandalous matters, for it would give the impression they were fast and loose with their morals.
“Mr. Glendevon, please forgive my unruly utterances just now. I cannot imagine what came over me.”
“Please do not apologize, and if anyone should, it must be me. However, since we tossed good sense out of the window some minutes ago, I suggest that we can be as frank and unpardonable as we want.”
The laughter that ripped from her surprised Eleanor, but she could see that it pleased him. Her body warmed a little bit more, and something unknown inside of her tugged toward this stranger.
His gaze sharpened and kissed over her skin with such intensity her heart tripped. “So, would you, Miss Fairbanks?”
“No,” she said, “I am a miss of good sense and propriety.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive or independent. A lady has desires.”
“A lady is fashioned for marriage,” she said with amused candor for this rogue, “And as such, her passion is reserved for her husband.”
“Ah, it is a bit soon, but I accept.”
“Accept what?”
“That we should get married.”
She snorted, thoroughly in good humor with the man and his droll sense of flirtation. He ripped open the last piece of paper from his parcel, and she saw that they were books. She leaned forward. “A mathematical treatise?” she murmured. “You enjoy reading mathematics?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“How properly aghast you sound.”
“It was a torturous subject when my governess tried to introduce it,” she said with a light laugh. “I cannot imagine anyonelikingit. I still recall my two hours of punishment in the school room having to figure out what was nine hundred and thirty-eight replicated eighteen times, while my sisters played outside.”
“Sixteen eight hundred and eighty-four,” he said mildly.
Eleanor gaped at him.
“Forgive me, it is an automatic habit to answer.”
“Yes, but you did so without a pause or a cipher,” she said suitably impressed. “Please do calculate three thousand and eleven by ninety-one.”
