“Of course.” Mrs. Juliard patted his arm. “It’s so wonderful that the festival will be back at the castle this year. There’s a great deal of excitement brewing, I assure you.”
Gervase smiled, bowed and moved away. He hadn’t liked the glint in Mrs. Juliard’s eyes. Making a mental note to ask Sybil if there was a daughter or niece he should know about, so he could avoid same, he slowly made his way around the room toward Squire Ridley.
Madeline was standing by Ridley’s side.
Taking his time, Gervase pondered the blatantly apparent. She had gone on the offensive. He’d expected something-some reaction-but had had no real idea what tack she might take. Even now, with the evidence before him-stunning his senses-he was far too wise to take the message at face value.
She’d clearly made some decision, although he had no clue as to what. Regardless, he had his own agenda for the evening. After those revealing moments in the vicarage shrubbery, learning what made them incompatible was no longer the dominant thought in his mind.
“Madeline.” He halted beside her as the other men shifted to give him room.
She’d been speaking animatedly to Ridley; as she turned his way, Gervase captured her hand without waiting for her to offer it. He held the slim digits securely as he nodded a genial greeting around the circle, both felt and sensed the tension that gripped her as she waited, wondering if he would dare…
Bringing his gaze back to her eyes, he smiled. For one instant he considered doing what she feared and raising her hand to his lips; instead, he lightly squeezed her fingers and released them.
Her eyes on his, she drew breath, then smiled a fraction tightly and inclined her head. “Gervase. Gerald was just saying his lads have suggested a horseshoe competition.”
“Is that so?” Gervase looked at Ridley.
“We’ll need an area marked, and a peg of course, but it should be easy enough to manage.”
“There’s an area near the stable arch that should do,” Gervase replied. “I’ll have my grooms mark it out.”
He turned to Madeline.
She looked across the circle. “Mr. Juliard wanted to ask about the treasure hunt.”
Juliard cleared his throat. “I did hear some talk about a hunt for the younger children. I could help with that.”
“I believe Sybil and my sisters have that in hand-I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have your aid.”
And so it went. Every time he so much as glanced at Madeline, she directed the conversation-and his attention-in some other direction. They covered a host of topics, from aspects of the festival to crops and mining, even touching on the weather.
Initially amused, as the minutes ticked by, he felt frustration bloom.
Madeline sensed it-how, she didn’t know-but she knew he was getting her message. Buoyed, she stuck to her plan.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Lady Porthleven swept up. “Dinner is served. Crowhurst, if you would take Madeline in? And Gerald, come with me. Mr. Juliard, if you take Mrs. Canterbury? And…”
Madeline didn’t take in the other table assignments; the first had made her mind seize. What had possessed her ladyship…?
She shot a sharp glance at Gervase.
He met her gaze and smiled-intently. “No, I didn’t arrange it, but it seems fate is on my side.”
He’d spoken quietly, just for her; the low purr of his voice slid along her skin; she fought to quell a shiver.
“Shall we?” Eyes still on hers, he offered his arm.
She reminded herself of her aim, her determined course-and smiled, equally intently, back. “Thank you, my lord.” Placing her hand on his arm, she let him lead her to join the procession to the dining room.
“I meant to ask.” Gervase caught her eye. “Have you any particular interest at the festival-embroidery, knitting…saddlery, perhaps?”
The last surprised a laugh from her. “No. I’m usually so involved in the organization of the day I barely have time to think of the activities.”
“A pity. At least, this year, you’ll have time to wander and enjoy.”
She raised her brows. “I suppose I will.”
The thought distracted her; he guided her down the table to her place, then took the chair beside hers.
Conversation was general as the dinner commenced, but gradually became more specific as partners turned to each other and applied themselves to being entertaining. Madeline should have felt relieved when Gervase divided his time equally between her and Lady Moreston on his other side; instead, she viewed his amiability with suspicion.
The tiger’s stripes were there, concealed beneath his elegantly cut black coat, disguised by the precisely tied cravat and ivory linen perhaps, but he hadn’t lost them.
Yet every time he turned to her, he seemed perfectly content to toe the line she’d drawn, and interact with her purely on their previous social plane.
Perhaps he’d realized the unwisdom of his enterprise-his tilt at changing her mind about indulging in dalliance with him?
The thought gave her pause. When next she turned from Mr. Hennessy, Gervase was turning from Lady Moreston.
“I meant to thank you,” she said, voice low. “For taking the boys sailing yesterday.”
His lips curved; she saw the smile echoed in his eyes. “I can honestly say it was my pleasure. I haven’t had a boat out in years, and the truth is I can no longer so easily call on my grooms to join me. Having your brothers to crew was the perfect answer.”
She smiled. “They thought the day beyond perfect, too. Of course, now they’re pestering me for a boat of their own.”
“No need. Once Harry and Edmond are a trifle older and stronger, they can borrow one of the castle boats. One of the smaller ones, so they won’t be tempted to go out too far.” He met her gaze and shrugged. “Otherwise the boats are just sitting in the boathouse. The girls will never sail.”
She raised her brows, hesitated, then inclined her head. “The promise of that will hold them for now.”
He sat back, lifted his wine glass, and sipped.
She glanced at him-and found herself trapped in his eyes.
For one long heartbeat, she stared into those tigerish orbs, then she hauled in a breath, wrenched her gaze away and looked across the table. “I-”
“We have to talk.” Beneath the table he closed his hand over hers where it lay in her lap, lifted it when she jumped, long fingers tensing, gripping when she would have twisted free.
Lungs tightening, she again met his eyes. “We are talking.” She clung to her mask, her social persona.
His lips curved, the light in his eyes one she’d never expected to encounter, certainly not about a crowded dinner table. Out of sight, his fingers stroked hers, a soothing touch that didn’t soothe her at all.
“Not about what I need to discuss with you.”
She arched a brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
His smile widened. “I seriously doubt you want me to answer-not here, not now. Not in public.” He let a moment pass, then added, “Of course, if you insist…far be it from me to disoblige a lady.”
She jettisoned all notion of pretending disbelief; the threat in his words was proof enough of his fell intent.
Rescue came from an unexpected source. Lady Porthleven rose to her feet. “Come, ladies-let’s leave the gentlemen to their musings.”
Chairs scraped. Madeline seized the moment to lean nearer and murmur, “We don’t have anything to discuss, my lord-nothing that can’t be aired in a public forum.” She twisted her fingers and he let them go. She met his amber eyes. “There is nothing of a private nature between us.”
She turned from him and rose.
He rose, too, drawing back her chair.
Facing the door, her back to him, she stepped out from the table.
Into the hard palm he’d raised, ostensibly to steady her.
In reality to shake her.
He succeeded, his touch searing through layers of fine silk to set fires flickering on her skin.