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‘Whereas you,’ she said, finally flinging up the lid of the hamper, to find it still contained plenty of delicacies, ‘are the perfect gentleman. At least, you would be perfect if you didn’t try to make me believe you would actually eat an entire hamper full of food and not leave a single bite for me.’
She threw him a smile over her shoulder as she rummaged for a glass into which to pour herself a drink. And caught him looking at her bottom. In a lascivious manner.
‘Perfect, eh?’ He ran his gaze the length of her spine, finishing by skewering her with a look of such heat her mouth ran dry.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, dropping the lid of the hamper, wriggling backwards and putting herself within the circle of his arms once again, ‘I was mistaken.’
‘Mistaken? You? Surely not.’
‘See? A perfect gentleman would never imply that I always think I’m right.’
‘He wouldn’t dare.’
‘Why, you—’
She raised her fists to give him a playful punch. But she never got the chance. In one slick move, he had pinioned her arms to her sides.
And brought the conversation to an end, the way he so very often did.
By kissing her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thank the Lord, Cottam was such a sanctimonious little weasel. Because, by comparison, Rawcliffe appeared to Clare like a perfect gentleman.
And thank God—again—for her temper, which had propelled her away from her brother, fizzing with indignation, and right back into his arms.
He’d feared her anger would be aimed at him. Had spent the entire time she was ashore bracing himself for the confrontation which would put an end to such moments as this, filled with teasing, and hugs, and laughter.
But it sounded as if Cottam had completely mismanaged her.
Well, he wasn’t about to make the same error. He was going to devote the rest of the day to keeping her off balance, to taking her mind off her brother’s behaviour and directing it where he wanted it.
It wasn’t going to be all that difficult. Her shy, flustered response to his gentle teasing betrayed her lack of experience in the game. Whilst also showing her eagerness to learn. So he reached for the picnic hamper and started selecting choice morsels to pop into her mouth. Kissed the juice of peaches from her lips. Showered her, for the entire remainder of the boat ride, with compliments that were so outrageous she protested with giggles and blushes.
After they disembarked they walked back to the house arm in arm. He noted with satisfaction that her eyes, which had been so stormy when she’d left Peeving Cove, now sparkled.
Ponsonby opened the door when they were still a few yards from their cottage, and bowed them into the house. Clare put her hand to her bonnet.
‘I suppose I had better go and tidy myself up. I must look a perfect fright.’
‘You look adorable,’ he said, kissing her fingers, rather than her nose as he’d have preferred to do, out of deference to her shyness around the servants. ‘You always do.’
‘Even when I’m waist-deep in muddy water, with pond weed all over my face?’ She laughed up at him, though there was a trace of uncertainty in her lovely golden eyes.
‘Especially then.’ His mind flew back to the way he’d felt at that moment and, as he handed his hat and gloves to Ponsonby, he experienced an overwhelming urge to share it with her. ‘That was the moment,’ he said, turning back to her and taking hold of her hands again, ‘when I fell in love with you.’ And then, on a wave of panic, he added, ‘In a boyish fashion.’
She blushed and flicked a nervous glance at Ponsonby.
‘No, really, you couldn’t have…’
And there it was. Doubt in her own ability to inspire love. How glad he was that he hadn’t succumbed to the temptation to tell her he loved her now. She wouldn’t have believed him. He would have to convince her she was worthy of love, before he risked using the words.
However long it took.
She had shaken her head, but she’d kept her gaze fixed intently upon him and appeared to be holding her breath.
‘But I did,’ he assured her. ‘Because that was the moment I realised you were nothing like my mother. I looked at you and knew that I would never meet any woman more diametrically opposed to everything she stood for. Appearances didn’t mean more to you than doing the right thing. Your own safety or dignity wasn’t more important than trying to save anyone in trouble. And you were sober.’ He squeezed her hand hard for a moment, raised them to his lips one after the other, then let them go.
