He had just taken a half-step back, ready to surge forward and bowl the ball toward the pins that Caroline had set back up when he felt something tickle his neck. A soft breath, robbing him of his own.
“You should plant your feet,” Olivia whispered, so close to his ear that he felt the tingle of her voice into the center of his skull: a delicate tremor that seized his muscles and snatched away his balance. “Move your upper body and arms, not your legs.”
He swallowed thickly. “I do not recall asking for a lesson.”
“I shall not ask for payment, do not worry,” she replied, standing directly at his side, too close for comfort.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block her out, but the scent of wildflowers and perfume of amber and citrus infiltrated his senses, drifting from her too-near body. His swallow transformed into a gulp as he forced his eyes open, and, with a breath, he swung his arm forward to throw.
At the last moment, before releasing the ball, fingertips brushed his blond hair behind his ear, startling him so hard that he forgot to let go of the ball altogether. Worse still, when he finally remembered what he was supposed to be doing, he had to watch as the ball sailed upward instead of forward. It arced through the air and landed with a dismal thud, knocking over just one of the pins.
“I do believe that makes me the winner,” Olivia whispered, “but you may have my daisy as a consolation prize.”
He turned to her, realizing that the daisy was no longer behind her ear. Touching his own, he felt the waxy surface of thin petals and the rough, yellow center of the small flower. “You distracted me,” he protested, removing the flower. “Surely, I deserve another attempt after such deviousness?”
“I thought you were going to be a respectable loser, My Lord?” She grinned, silencing any further argument he might have made.
He had seen her smile and laugh and revel in Caroline’s company, but he had not yet been the recipient of one of her radiant grins. Seeing her light up with such vitality and amusement was akin to bathing in the warmth of a summer afternoon, feeling as if he had been chosen by the sun for such a blessing.
What is the matter with me?He cleared his throat, his hand closing over the daisy. Evidently, the heat of the afternoon and the exertion of the game were taking its toll upon him.
“I bow to your triumph, Olivia,” he said with a smile that he hoped was something close to seductive. “And, please, do not make me ask again.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ask what?”
“For you to call me by my name,” he replied, reaching for her hand.
She blinked, and as her hand slipped into his, he felt it trembling. He held her hand there for a moment, observing the slenderness of her fingers, admiring the soft skin of her bare palm. She had removed her gloves to play the game, claiming that she could not hold the ball properly if she did not. Now, he suspected she might have regretted that decision, but he could not regret taking her hand.
Impossibly soft,he mused.How can she throw so precisely with hands so delicate?He decided to ask her.
“One does not have to be a towering beast in order to throw well,” she replied, her voice shaking slightly. “Mine is a quieter sort of strength.”
He nodded. “I see that, now.” Pausing, he smiled up at her. “Wait… Am I the towering beast?”
“I did not say that.”
“But you implied it,” he countered.
“Youare… very tall.” Her gaze flitted away from his as if she could not bear the intensity of looking into his eyes.
“Indeed, but a beast? No, Olivia. I am not that.” To prove his point, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, not caring about the scandalous nature of kissing bare skin in public while her mother was barely thirty paces away. Indeed, for a moment or two, he did not care about anything other than the warmth of her smooth, soft skin against his lips, as if he were kissing pure silk.
When he peered back up at her, he noticed that her mask of displeasure had fallen away, replaced with an astonished expression. Her eyes shone with shock, her lips pressed together as if to echo his kiss, while the rest of her shivered subtly though the weather was feverishly hot.
“Do I make you nervous, Olivia?” he purred, half-intrigued, half-toying.
She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his. “Not in the slightest.” In the blink of an eye, her mask of defiance restored itself. “I am sorry if that disappoints you, but I could never be nervous around a gentleman who is so easily beaten at skittles.”
“Is that so?” He took a step closer to her, feeling a rush of victory… and something else, something altogether more peculiar, as she took a hurried step backward, almost tripping over the basket that held the skittles.
“It is,” she insisted, flustered.
He nodded slowly, both of them knowing the truth. Even then, she fidgeted with the ribbon of her bonnet, looking toward Caroline instead of at him: the very picture of someone nervous. And he could not explain why, but he liked knowing she was nervous around him.
The trouble was he did notlike how nervousshemadehim.
CHAPTERSEVEN
