Sweet Enemy




He cut his eyes to Liliana. She was tugging her lower lip between her teeth, likely trying to think of a way out of his company.

Why? Spending the afternoon with him wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, she’d pricked his pride, and the strictly male part of him couldn’t let that stand.

Geoffrey knew he would acquit himself well on the field. His years spent in the military gave him a distinct advantage over the country gentlemen he’d be competing against. In his experience, women were drawn to that prowess, and he was fairly certain he could remember how to turn on the charm.

He’d be damned if by the end of this night Liliana Claremont would still be claiming indifference to him.

“Newton’s apple,” Liliana muttered, the curse falling from her lips as naturally as said fruit fell to the earth when dropped. She considered it almost blasphemous to use Newton’s name as a curse, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to take the Lord’s name in vain, and to her, Sir Isaac was the next best thing.

Stratford led her to the front of the crowd and deposited her on a chair nearest the field of play. Brows around them rose, and envious glares speared her when he lifted her hand to his lips, making the tips of her ears burn.

Or perhaps it was the way Stratford wickedly caressed the underside of her wrist beneath her glove as he bowed.

“I do hope you enjoy the exhibition,” he murmured low, so only she could hear. A benign statement, but the way he said it sent a hot shiver through her.

Liliana could manage only a nod.

Stratford flashed her a devilish smile and departed to join a gathering group of gentlemen.

Feeling eyes upon her, Liliana shifted, smoothing her skirts and tucking one foot behind the other. Her fists balled in her lap. She hated being under scrutiny.

She clenched her teeth. She also hated being delayed. She should be searching for her father’s letters this very moment.

Liliana watched Stratford from beneath her lids. She’d done her best to put him off, but instead it was as if he’d dug in his heels.

Her stomach fluttered as she released a shaky breath. She raised two fingers to her temple. Never could she remember feeling such confusion, such a jumble of nerves and unknowns circling her brain, causing a nauseous churning in her middle.

She’d thought for sure that she’d been caught when he asked the reason for her absence this morning. Liliana wrinkled her nose. Insulting him probably hadn’t been the appropriate reaction to his charges, but it was the only thing she could think of to distract him from his interrogation. And now she still didn’t know whether he suspected her or whether he was just—

“Your ribbons, miss.”

Liliana turned her head in surprise toward the maid who’d appeared on her right. The girl stood looking at Liliana expectantly, brandishing a silver tray. Three lavender ribbons lay pooled on the shiny surface.

“My ribbons?” Liliana asked.

“Yes, well, I know they’re not the same color as your dress, but we didn’t have any ribbons that shade of blue.” The maid sniffed, then gave a little shrug. “His lordship picked these out for you special. Said they reminded him of your eyes.” The maid pushed the tray toward Liliana, who picked up the ribbons, still unsure what she was to do with them. But the girl flounced off before Liliana could question her further.

“Stratford is certainly taking this chivalry business a bit far,” came the pinched voice of the young lady sitting to Liliana’s left. Liliana glanced over at the pretty blonde, attired in a pale pink gown. She held three ribbons of a similar shade between her fingers.

What did she mean, this chivalry business? Not having attended the morning activities or nuncheon, Liliana felt at a distinct disadvantage.

“Yes,” answered a brunette dressed in yellow, holding three yellow ribbons. “Choosing the least acceptable woman here is too much.”

A sinking feeling overcame Liliana as her eyes traveled down the row. There were twelve women, including herself, each holding three ribbons. The other eleven were staring right back at her, some curiously, some disdainfully, and a couple downright angrily.

She turned her gaze back to the field. Bright red and blue and green pennants flapped in the wind, surrounding a field that was absurdly marked with streamers. A multicolored tent was staked beneath a large oak. Stratford and the other gentlemen had disappeared into it, presumably to ready themselves for the games.

Liliana looked behind her. Amongst the gathering crowd, several young ladies—Penelope included—stood near, ready to watch the sport. Yet they had no ribbons. An elderly matron not so discreetly pointed toward Liliana while others openly stared, appraising her before whispering behind their fans or open hands.

The clues clicked into place.

Drat Stratford! He’d made her the center of attention, choosing her to champion in some ridiculous farce of a tournament. And for what reason? To keep his eye on her or…

A strange melting sensation drizzled down Liliana’s middle.

Could he actually be interested in her? An improbable likelihood, but—

Several trumpets blared, signaling the start of the event. Liliana turned in her seat, her back straightening, trying to ignore the stares of the crowd. Drat, drat, drat Stratford!

As if curses called him to her, he emerged from the tent flap, his black hair shining almost blue in the sun. Liliana’s breath caught. She hadn’t noticed before how tightly the buckskin breeches molded to Stratford’s hips, clinging to his legs and accentuating his muscled movements. His chest was now covered in a scrap of leather, but her mind easily filled in what her eyes could no longer see, what her hands had felt beneath them last night in the library.

Though the other competitors looked somewhat plain out of their formal dress, this casual guise seemed to fit Stratford. Liliana shook her head. Fit was perhaps not the right word so much as…suit. As he strode across the expanse toward her, with the hint of a roguish smile tugging at one side of his mouth, he looked strangely…unburdened. Like he was truly comfortable for the first time in a long time.

Liliana huffed. How would she know that?

What she did know was that he eclipsed the other men, blotting them out with his sheer presence.

Some long-dormant female nerve shivered as he stopped before her, bowing low.

“M’lady,” he said, his voice swirling over her. He extended his hand, helping her to rise. His eyes caught hers, staring into them for a prolonged moment before giving a cluck of his tongue. He nodded at the ribbons she still held in her hand. “I had hoped the lavender would suit, but I can see now that no man-made shade of purple could ever compare to your eyes.”

Liliana felt a ridiculous urge to smile, but then firmed her jaw. What was he up to? “The ribbons are fine. Thank you, but—”

“I shall have to scour the garden for a natural shade to match them,” he interrupted. “Violets? No, too dark. Freesia, perhaps? Or sweet peas.” His eyes glinted. “I have it. Globe thistle.” He smiled, his teeth white behind the slow spread of his lips. “Prickly, yet passionately purple.”

Liliana stared at him, openmouthed, she feared. He was playing with her, but to what purpose? Her toes felt warm. In fact, heat was seeping into all kinds of unusual places.