Meg closed her eyes briefly. He had no idea.
“That bad?” He asked with a smile.
“Worse,” she said. “Worse even than toddlers after too much cake. Peevish, obsessed. Tyrannical. And those are the ones I love.”
His eyebrows rose. “I stand corrected.”
“I hope we can avert the crisis before it begins.” Honestly, she wasn’t convinced.
There was a hamper at their feet, packed with sandwiches, pears, and hard cheese. And those little buns stuffed with apples and raisins that she liked so much. She wondered if it was too soon to start eating. She’d barely glanced at the basket and Dougal was already lifting the lid. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
He pulled the paper off one of the sandwiches. “Apple slices, cheese, and butter? That’s different.”
“It’s my favorite,” she confessed. And unlike her uncle’s cook, Pendleton’s cook adored every one of his goddaughters.
Dougal passed her the paper-wrapped parcel and dug deeper. “A bottle of lemonade, another of wine. And jumbles.” He grinned. “I admit, these are my favorite.”
He bit into a sugar-dusted biscuit shaped like a Celtic knot. She eyed one consideringly. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not gentlemanly, I’m sure, but I would fight the queen herself for these biscuits.”
“Would you now?”
Sometimes, a dare was as delicious as any sugar biscuit.
And she was fast.
He was faster.
She’d barely nicked one out of the hamper before his hand closed around her wrist. “Tsk,” he clicked his tongue admonishingly. “Best stick to almonds, I think,” he suggested mildly. The gleam of humor in his eye was wicked and every bit as appealing as the sculpted line of his jaw.
They grappled playfully. His fingers were warm, utterly unbreakable but also careful not to bruise her. She tumbled forward, caught off balance. His free hand settled on her hip, his leg sliding between her. The motion was intimate, private. Heat raced along the back of her thighs.
The moment lengthened, quiet and close. His breath stirred the hair at her temples. The blue of his eyes was arresting. She felt ensnared, but deliciously so. His gaze dipped to her mouth. She licked her lower lip. The air was suddenly charged, a soft moment gone electric. It tingled through her.
And then the carriage bumped over a hole in the road, jostling them in a most unromantic way. Dougal steadied her so she didn’t pitch forward and accidentally break his nose with the crown of her head. He eased her back onto the seat. She liked to think there was some regret in him as he released her. When the moment dissolved, she sat back, smiling smugly.
He was immediately suspicious. “What’s that smile for?”
“A good pickpocket always knows how to use a distraction to her advantage.” She waggled her other hand, the one he hadn’t bothered securing. In it, she held a perfectly baked jumble. She took a big, triumphant bite, ladylike manners be damned.
Dougal blinked for a startled moment. Then he burst into laughter. The sound of it awakened a response in her chest. It was such a happy sound. “I see I will have to keep on my toes with you.”
It was strange pleasure to be able to show off a little, to demonstrate an odd, not to mention illegal, talent that she generally kept secret. He wasn’t shocked, or disgusted. And he wasn’t judging her when he asked, “Never mind a treasure hunter, how does a viscount’s daughter become such a knuckles?”
“A knuckles?” She asked, charmed. “Is that what I am?”
“So they’d call you in Manchester, and in London, I imagine. And with your proficiency you’d be a Dead Nail as well.”
Her smile widened. “I much prefer those titles to thief and family embarrassment.”
“Punishment is the same, I imagine.”
Her smile slipped. “I suppose so.”
“So why risk it?” he asked quietly.
She tried for a light-hearted tone, the kind a lady who danced all night and stole golden almonds for entertainment might affect. “Balls are terribly boring, aren’t they?”
“Hmm.”