Selina pushed back from the table. “First, I need to find him.”
“And second you need to tell him where he’s gone wrong?”
She had a lifetime of ignoring the teasing of brothers, so rather than respond, she tugged her gloves on wordlessly.
“I rather think,” said Aunt Judith, a half smile on her lips, “that Selina is prepared to tell him how to get it right.”
Peter still didn’t know if Georgiana Cleeve was faking it.
It had happened once more, when he’d said that eggs were the roundest animal. The downcast eyes, the shiver at the cornerof her mouth as though she was ruthlessly biting her cheek. He’d been nearly certain she was trying not to laugh.
But only once! In two weeks of his attempts to out-ludicrous her. When he told her that he’d hired a valet for each of the fine grays that pulled his curricle, she’d merely blinked rapidly at him and said, “I’d have thought the cattle needed two each, at least.”
Several times now he’d considered demanding whether or not she meant one-quarter of the things she said—and if not, why in the world she said them. But there was something peculiar and fragile in that bizarre brand of defiance, something that reminded him strangely of Lu. So he took her for walks, and said whatever absurd thought came into his head, and decided that there was no way he could marry this woman, but he’d do what he could to see that she didn’t get hurt.
“I say,” Georgiana said, pulling to a stop from where they were walking on the banks of the Serpentine. “Is that a dog?” She lifted a hand to shade her eyes, though Peter couldn’t possibly imagine why, given that she was also wearing a substantial bonnet.
He peered out in the direction of her gaze. “In the water? Maybe a duck.”
“I rather think it’s a dog. On sort of a log?”
He couldn’t help but laugh, but when he glanced down at her, Georgiana’s blue eyes were a little impatient.
“Look there,” she said. “Isn’t that a dog?” She pointed a long, doeskin-clad finger out at the Serpentine.
He looked, and looked again, and by God, Georgiana Cleeve had incredibly sharp eyes to go with her perfect teeth. He could just pick out the little white clump of fur she was pointing to, a wet, miserable-looking thing afloat on a tangle of branches. It didn’t seem to be in imminent peril. It did, however, look decidedly pathetic.
“Whatever it is, it’s certainly not a duck.”
“I really think it’s a dog,” she said, her tone edging toward insistent. “I think it’s stuck.”
“All right,” he said. “Can you hold my hat?”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes so startled that he was almost certain it wasn’t feigned. “I… yes?”
He gave her his hat and started to tug at his boots. Cursed English fashions—he wasn’t sure he could get the damned things off unless he sat down. He needed an armchair. Perhaps a valet, lowering as that was.
He looked again at the little dog, or kitten, or possibly loosed piece of knitting. Hopped on one foot as he yanked at his heel and wished pathetically for a flat rock.
And then a familiar cool female voice met his ears, and he stopped hopping.
“Do not tell me you are going for a swim in the Serpentine in front of half theton?”
Peter realized he was still standing on one foot like an overdressed flamingo, and so he put his foot down. Tried to squelch his sheer delight at the sound of her voice as he turned.
Selina stood on the bank behind them. Her face was a little flushed, her breath coming quickly. He meant not to look at the way her breasts rose and fell, pressed taut against the lace-edged neckline of her thin blue walking dress. Meant not to, and then did anyway.
He blinked at her. “Did you run here?”
She scowled at him, and he liked it far more than he had any rational reason to. “That is entirely beside the point.”
“Surely,” he protested, “if you can sprint through Hyde Park, then I can take a casual afternoon swim.”
She stalked closer. He took a step back.
“I,” she hissed in an undervoice, “Iam not the one who cannot keep himself out of the scandal sheets for two days running.Iam not the one who is attempting to improve his reputation in English society.”
She was so damned lovely with those hectic spots of color on her cheeks, her eyes as ferocious as her tone, and for once in his life Peter managed to control his unruly mouth and not tell her so.
