Until he spoke again. “Ah, I see Miss Trevor over there. Forgive me, but I must speak to her.” Then he was off again, striding across the garden.
What was this, a race? As usual, the devious fellow was accomplishing his task with the least amount of time and bother, which was not what she meant for him to do at all. She followed at a distance, rather eager to see what he would come up with as a compliment for the intrepid young woman.
Without even a preamble, he said, “Miss Trevor, I couldn’t help noticing that you have an excellent sense of humor.”
“Why, thank you, my lord. So do you.” Miss Trevor cast a speculative glance past him to Clarissa, who smiled and then turned and pretended to be admiring a plant. A rather ugly one. With spikes. Which she wished she could use on Miss Trevor.
Heavens, where had that come from?
Well, perhaps Miss Trevor would suit.
Oh, yes, that must be where. But only because Clarissa hated to see Edwin marry someone so obviously wrong for him. Not because she was jealous of any woman who actually garnered Edwin’s interest. Not. One. Bit.
“As soon as we can be alone, I mean to claim my reward.”
She jumped, then scowled at Edwin. “Good Lord, don’t surprise me like that. I thought you were still talking to Miss Trevor.”
“No need. I complimented her already.”
Clarissa looked over to see Miss Trevor now wandering over to Lady Anne, probably to discuss the very abrupt Lord Blakeborough. She lowered her voice. “That was not the point of the exercise. You were supposed to engage in polite chitchat and bury the compliment in it.”
There was a decided glint of humor in his eyes. “You didn’t say that. You said to offer four genuine compliments. So I did.”
“But—”
“Are you reneging on your offer of a reward?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow.
He would see it that way. “Of course not,” she mumbled.
“Good. Because I’ve decided what I want. Later, when we get a chance to be alone, I want to kiss the inside of your bare arm.”
Her stomach flipped over. “That’s a very odd request.”
“You said ‘anything.’”
“But . . . but why that?”
“You didn’t say I had to explain. You didn’t put any parameters on the reward. If you wanted a different outcome, you should have been more specific. You only demanded that I give—”
“Fine,” she said, to forestall his litany of logic. “If that is what you wish, you may kiss the inside of my arm. Once.”
His gaze burned into hers. “Your bare arm,” he corrected her.
She gave an exasperated breath. “Yes, of course. My bare arm.”
“Excellent.”
As he marched back into the museum, she told herself that a kiss on her arm was nothing. It wasn’t like a kiss on the mouth. It was hardly even intimate.
So why was her pulse leaping like a flying fish in anticipation?
Six
Edwin couldn’t help noticing Clarissa’s uncharacteristic silence on their way home. Generally, she chattered to her mother about each event they attended, describing who was wearing what, the drollest comments she’d heard, the latest gossip she’d gleaned in the retiring room. And he let her and her mother natter on, content just to slip into his own thoughts.
But her mother wasn’t with them, so the ride felt more intimate than usual, even with his tiger on the perch behind them. Night was falling, and her body slid against him every time they made a turn.
Sometimes he made the turn purposely sharp for that very reason. Not for nothing did he have an extensive knowledge of physics and how bodies behaved in motion.
After one such turn, Clarissa muttered an oath under her breath. “I’m astonished that you own a phaeton. And that you drive it so fast. I would have expected you to be more . . . well . . .”
“Boring?” he said tightly.
“Cautious. As a general rule, you aren’t reckless.”
“As long as one first assesses a rig to determine its limits, it is not reckless to drive it to the full extent of its capabilities.”
“Clearly when you did your assessing,” she grumbled, “you did not take your passenger into account. But then, that is typical of you.”
Of course he’d taken his passenger into account. That was why he was making all these sharp turns, though he could hardly tell her that.
He glanced over to see her clutching her large silk bonnet with one hand and the side of the phaeton with the other. She looked quite fetching doing it, too, with her plaid gown of soft blues and reds ruffling in the wind. “You seem to have a great many ideas about me that bear no resemblance to my true character.”
“I could say the same for you. Though it’s not my fault we don’t know each other better. You tend to run off whenever I’m around.”
“Because you and Yvette chatter incessantly. There’s only so much a man can endure.”
“Well, if you think we’re chatterboxes, you should see Miss Trevor.” Clarissa slanted a glance at him. “Indeed, I feel I should warn you about her. She’s clever, I’ll grant you, but I don’t think the two of you would suit.”