From beneath her lashes she watched as the gentleman swept his gaze over her slender form, lingering a long moment on the swell of her breasts.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he murmured, polite enough to have his attention fully on her face as she straightened.
A part of her regretted the need to deceive Thomas Harper. He was a good and decent man who was simply doing his duty. Perhaps under different circumstances they might even have become friends.
Unfortunately, her loyalty to her father ensured they would be enemies. At least for this night.
Placing her hand on his extended arm, Raine led her companion toward the drawing room.
“I hope you do not mind if we dine informally? Father and I live so quietly that we have become quite dull, some might claim dismal, in our habits.”
“No dinner with you present, Miss Wimbourne, could ever be considered dismal,” he said smoothly.
Raine smiled, inwardly appreciating his understated charm. He was a man who effortlessly inspired a sense of trust in others. If he had not become a magistrate he would no doubt have made a perfect criminal.
“Such flattery will quite turn my head, sir,” she said lightly.
“It would be nice to think so.” His lips twisted in a faint smile. “Unfortunately, I am quite certain that the only head to be turned tonight will be my own. A knowledge that should trouble me, of course, but when in the presence of such beauty I find it difficult to recall why.”
She gave a lift of her brows. “Do you have any Irish blood in you, Mr. Harper?”
He gave a startled laugh. “Perhaps a drop or two,” he conceded as they stepped into the small drawing room.
“Then you will appreciate a fine whiskey.” Josiah stepped forward to press a small glass into Harper’s hand.
Raine stepped back for a better view of the two gentlemen. She knew it would be like watching two master
fencers as they each battled to best the other.
Harper took a sip of the whiskey. “Ah, fine, indeed.”
Josiah leaned against the faded paneling. “And entirely legal, I assure you.”
If the magistrate was caught off guard by the direct attack he was able to hide it behind a bland smile.
“My interest does not lie in smugglers.”
Josiah gave a lift of his whiskey glass. “I hope your interest lies in chess. Raine has no patience for the game and poor Foster simply cannot manage to offer any competition.”
“I cannot claim to be a master, but I do enjoy the game,” Harper slowly confessed, no doubt searching for some hidden trap.
“Good, then we shall match our wits after dinner,” Josiah said.
Hearing her cue, Raine stepped forward to wrap her arm through her father’s. “Do not allow him to bully you into a match you do not wish, Mr. Harper. My father has even less compassion than the ancient gladiators when mauling his opponent.”
Josiah gave a lift of his brows. “What is the use in playing if it is not for blood?”
“You see?” Raine gave a mournful shake of her head. “I urge you to deny him the pleasure, sir. He possesses no shame and will boast of his conquest throughout the village.”
Harper sipped his whiskey, his expression hardening as Raine and her father deliberately riled his pride. No matter what his duty he could not turn away from a direct challenge.
“If it is a conquest,” he said.
Josiah smiled. “Ah, a man of courage.”
“Let us say a man who enjoys matching his wits against another,” Harper corrected.
“My favorite sort,” Josiah murmured.