Agatha stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate. She maintained a respectful distance while infusing her steps with a subtle, practiced sway that conveyed sensuality.
A wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “Ah ... you’re putting your lessons to use, I see.”
She tilted her head, smiling slightly. “How is my walking?”
“Sensual and provocative, just as it should be. Balanced perfectly with a touch of coltishness and grace—enough to catch the eye without seeming too practiced. It’s enough to tempt any man to forget himself.”
She laughed, absurdly delighted. “What do you enjoy … other than flying in hot air balloons?”
“There is no mystery as to what brings men enjoyment.”
She inched closer so her words would only reach his ears. “Unfortunately, I am not well-versed in the pursuits of men of consequence like yourself.”
“All men are the same.”
Agatha sniffed. “Country gentlemen tend to their farms, take long walks in the woods, and share their troubles with their cows. I once saw Mr. Baddon complaining to his heifer about the grief his wife gave him. The cow seemed startlingly understanding andmooedat all the right moments. I cannot imagine you having this chat with a cow. Do you even have cows, my lord?”
Thomas laughed, the sound warm and rich, sending butterflies fluttering in her belly.
What is this feeling?
“I like quality whisky, carriage racing, sailing my yacht on the open seas, gambling … and fucking, though making love has its own pleasures.” He raised hisbrow, that devilish glint deepening. “How easily you blush.”
Agatha let her lips curl into the soft, carnal smile Bea and Ellen had taught her. “I was merely thinking that I now understand the delights of …fucking, thanks to your recent lesson and quite understand why it is a source of delight.”
He went still, his gaze sharpening as she let her fingers drift softly over his arm, the touch barely there. This was meant to be another lesson of subtlety in the art of seduction, but as her fingers lingered, she realized it was more than that. She wanted to touch Thomas—not to provoke a response or gauge his reaction, but to be close to him. The thought unsettled her, and she briefly closed her eyes, wrestling with the unfamiliar ache that stirred within her.
Agatha lifted her lashes and met his regard. “I am quite certain there is more to you, and I’d like to know more if you will allow it.”
His hooded eyes swept over her, an unfathomable guardedness in his gaze.
She brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek, aware of the sudden tightness in her heart. “If you have no wish to share, I do understand.”
An almost irritated grunt slipped from him, and he looked toward the horizon. They sailed in the air for several beats before Thomas murmured, “I enjoy my family.”
That peculiar thrill scythed through her heart. “What about them?”
“My brother sees life with an innocent wonder. Sometimes …” The corner of his mouth curled into a faint smile. “Sometimes, I talk with him to remind myself that there are still beautiful things in the world worth cherishing. My sister, Victoria—she’s a hellion at heart. It shatters my mother’s nerves, but I want her to stay exactly as she is. And my mother … she’s quick-witted, clever, owning an indomitable strength I only understood after my father’s death.”
Thomas stroked the tip of his finger along the skin below her chin, his touch sending warmth through her.
“What do you enjoy, Agatha?”
“Are you truly curious, or is this mere politeness, my lord?”
“I am not a man who subscribes to niceties,” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “I don’t ask out of obligation.”
Agatha smiled. “I enjoy reading.”
“Is that all?”
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the glistening water in the distance. From this distance, the Thames looked almost serene, masking the filth that usually sullied its surface.
“I don’t really know what I like,” she admitted quietly. “I have never attended the theatre, Covent Gardens. I want to see the fruit market there. I love oranges.”
“Oranges,” he said slowly as if he did not know what to make of her.
Agatha felt a sudden pang of inadequacy. He must think her so gauche. “It is silly—”
