JAMIE WON, OF COURSE, as she could have predicted. He’d been so infectiously charming everyone had to laugh, even Mrs. Green, eventually.
And no one had been able to get him to even crack a smile. Sophronia was surprised to find how competitive she’d been at the game, trying her best to make him at least smile.
But no. He remained implacable, a startling change from the charming man she’d come to expect.
She would have to challenge him to a private game of it sometime, perhaps, to see if she could break his composure.
And wasn’t that a thought she should absolutely not be having.
“What are you thinking about, my lady?” Maria asked her, pausing midstroke as she was brushing her hair.
Sophronia felt her cheeks immediately begin to burn, and she swallowed. “Nothing. Not a thing.” No need to say it again, Sophronia, she heard her father’s voice say. “Why do you ask?”
Maria shrugged, beginning to brush her hair again. “Because you made this funny noise, and then you looked all different for a second.”
Wonderful. So when she thought about things like that, she made funny noises and faces. Maybe that would be the thing to make him laugh.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
Whatever Mrs. Green wants, Sophronia thought. “I believe we are spending the day at the house, making plans for Christmas. The Greens host a party for the villagers, and so everyone comes and has wine, and food, and there is singing and some dancing.”
It sounded delightful, especially since Sophronia had attended very few parties in her life. But also sad, since it meant the visit and the charade would be almost over, and she would be heading to her cottage with Maria, taken care of, but not cared for.
“That sounds a treat,” Maria said, her tone showing only delight at the prospect. “And there is that one gown that is perfect for the party—it is cream-colored, with dark green ribbons, and you will look perfect for the season.”
“Thank you, Maria, I have no doubt you will make me look lovely.” She had to admit to enjoying the look in her pretend betrothed’s eye when she appeared dressed in one of her new gowns. She’d never realized before just how much some fabric, buttons, and stitching could alter a person’s appearance. Yet another benefit to this whole lying-to-a-perfectly-nice-woman-because-her-son-couldn’t-tell-her-the-truth thing.
And with that depressing thought, Sophronia dismissed Maria and took herself off to bed, trying not to count the remaining days.
“DO YOU EVER LOSE?” Sophronia—his Sophy—sounded entirely disgruntled. They had been at the Greens for close to a week, with only a week and a few days left to go in the visit.
Jamie didn’t think he’d ever spent so much time just socializing. And since it was with all the same people, he’d run out of things to say by about the third day, which meant he was reduced to playing games so he wouldn’t die of boredom.
Plus he was, as his pretend betrothed had soon discovered, very good at games.
They had escaped the drawing room after dinner, when Mrs. Green had decided anyone with musical talent had to perform. Jamie had none, and was delighted to discover that neither did Sophy. Another thing they had in common.
They’d told their dismissive hostess that they would prefer to read, so here they were in the library.
Not reading.
Instead, they sat at either end of one of the sofas in the room, him with his legs crossed and leaning back against the sofa, while she sat perfectly straight, her hands placed just so in her lap.
He’d thought he might have tired of looking at her—he tended to tire of things far more quickly than other people did. But he hadn’t. If anything, he wanted to look at her more, to see the range of emotions that flittered across her face in the course of minutes.
“I’ve lost,” he said, knowing his saying it so self-righteously would irk her.
She rolled her eyes. “You might have lost, once, but it wasn’t to me.” She lifted her head in that goddess pose he was coming to adore. “I am not accustomed to losing.” Then she shrugged. “Although to be fair, these are not the games I’ve played in the past. Still,” she said, and he wanted to laugh at her aggrieved expression, “it does not seem fair that I have lost each and every game we have played.”
“You were so close when we were playing Similes.” He shook his head mockingly. “But then you had to say it was strong as a mule, when it’s an ox. Mules are the stubborn ones.”
She frowned, twisting her mouth up in an expression of disgruntlement. “I could have sworn it was a mule, not an ox.”
“What games are you accustomed to playing?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her.
He could hear the strains of music coming from the drawing room, and knew they had some time before anyone would notice they hadn’t returned with their books. He was finding that a good thing—perhaps the only good thing—about a house party was that the rules were just slightly more relaxed out here, so chaperones weren’t always required, and besides, he was engaged to be married.
That is, he was purportedly engaged to be married.
Her expression got dreamy, as though she were recalling a memory. “My father and I played Similes, but we usually made ourselves extend beyond England. In fact, it was a rule that we couldn’t use any similes that were in the common vernacular.”
“Sounds . . . edifying.” He couldn’t keep himself from sounding skeptical.
She rolled her eyes again. “Of course it wasn’t that, it wasn’t as though we deliberately sat around and made ourselves seem important because of our obscure knowledge.”
“Good to know,” he replied, sounding dubious.
She was about to roll her eyes again, he could tell, but then she paused, and instead, she got a wicked smile on her face.
That smile promised many things, and he hoped he would be the recipient of at least a few of them.
Actually, of all of them.
“I have thought of a game we could play where I will win.” She sounded so certain he couldn’t help but be intrigued. As though he weren’t entirely intrigued already.
“What game?”
“You’re Never Dressed Without a Smile.” She accompanied her words with, of course, a smile. That same wicked one that promised all sorts of things, probably three-quarters of which she wouldn’t know herself.
He would like the chance to teach her, however.
“We played that, and I won. We played a few times, didn’t we?” He tapped his mouth with his index finger. “And I believe I won every time.” He lowered his hand and looked at her, lifting one eyebrow as he spoke. “Why would tonight’s game be any different?”
WHY WOULD TONIGHT’S game be any different? She hoped he wouldn’t regret asking that, since the game she intended to play—that she intended to play with him—would be very different indeed.
She swallowed, feeling her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she braced herself. Not that what was about to occur was unpleasant—it would hopefully be the opposite of that—but that she had never been so forward before. And she was planning on it this evening.
“Because the game will be played with just us,” she replied. She scooted closer to him on the sofa, keeping her eyes on his face. His handsome, commanding, far-too-gorgeous-for-her face, only it was also his clearly-interested-she-wasn’t-stupid face.
She just hoped the interested section of him trumped the out-of-her-league section.
Now she definitely had his interest. She felt herself exhale, just a bit, out of relief. His expression had tightened, sharpened somehow, and she was keenly, even more so, aware that they were in the library alone, that Mrs. Green and her group of Somewhat Talented Musicians were still playing away in the other room, and this—whatever this was—was going to happen.
One way or the other.
“And how do you think to make me smile, much less laugh?” he asked in a serious tone. She could tell he was schooling himself not to smile, but the glint in his blue eyes belied his sober mien.
“I will just have to say a few words,” she said in a low voice.
“And if I don’t smile? What then?”
She shrugged, a far more casual gesture than her internal emotions warranted. “Then you may claim a forfeit. Whatever you want, I will do. If you win, that is.”
“Oh, that sounds promising.” The combination of his low, sensual tone and the serious expression on his face made something inside of her warm, as though he were touching her all over, a caress that was heating her up from the inside.
But perhaps he didn’t mean the way he sounded—she couldn’t assume, it wasn’t as though she had ever been in this dangerous flirting situation before. For all she knew, he was like this with every lady, regardless of how he thought of her.
Actually, he was like this with every lady. She’d seen it for herself, only there was something slightly different, more intense, about him now. She continued. “For example, I could ensure Miss Green was occupied for a few hours so her mother wouldn’t require you to escort her to view more arty facts.” She pronounced it as his mother would, and he nearly broke then, as well. “Or if you wanted me to gaze at you in rapt adoration as you expounded on the history of one of those odd jugs you seem to find entrancing. I could do that.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t break. “Or I could ask for something else entirely.” She shivered at the low promise in his tone.
“What would you want?”
He paused, his expression still serious, but the light in his eyes was fierce and wild. Thrilling her, even though she had no idea what it meant.
“I want a kiss.”
She nearly laughed aloud at the irony of it, but merely nodded and thrust her hand out. “We have a deal.”
He took her hand, sliding his fingers over her palm, making her heart race with just the merest touch.
Imagine what would happen to her when they did kiss. Because they would be kissing, of that she was now certain.
“You mentioned you could beat me with just a few words.” He still held her hand, his tone teasing, his expression entirely somber. “What words would those be?”
She paused and licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. His gaze fastened on her mouth and she felt it as though it was an almost palpable touch.
“I want a kiss.”