To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

They continued along the path; he grasped her elbow to steady her over an exposed root. “Because of my peculiar knowledge and the fact that I speak fluent French and could pass myself off as, if not French, then from one of France’s far-flung colonies, I was a natural to infiltrate that arm of French business crucially involved in keeping Fran

ce—the state—afloat.”

He glanced at her and saw she was truly interested. “For instance, it’s difficult to keep an army supplied with rifles if pig iron doesn’t arrive at the ports that serve the foundries. Disrupting vital cargoes at critical times can cause significant damage to any war effort.”

“How…enthralling. It must have been so—” She broke off, a frown tangling her brows. After a moment, she said, “I was going to say it must have been exciting, and I suspect in one way it was, but it must also have been very dangerous.” She looked at him. “Ten years is a long time.”

Nodding, he looked down, remembering every one of those years. “One had to be very careful, always on guard against giving yourself away.”

The path curved around and up the hill, spiraling about the nearly conical mound. Here and there clumps of trees shaded the way, providing cool spots in which to linger and appreciate the vistas that opened up as they climbed ever higher.

Phoebe paused in one such spot, looking out across the patchwork of fields dappling the downs; he halted beside her. At this elevation, a light breeze skipped and swooped, flirting with tendrils of her hair that had slid from the knot on the top of her head to caress her exposed nape.

His gaze rested on that sensitive skin; as if she felt it, she turned and met his eyes. Her own had widened; once again, he knew she’d stopped breathing.

After a moment, she said, “I’ve heard that your cattle are prime ’uns, from which I infer that now you’re back on this side of the Channel, you’ve taken up the reins of the life you would have led had the war not intervened.”

He laughed, shortly, as they started walking again. “Would that that were so, but the unexpected acquisition of both title and large estate changed my destiny.” He thought, then shrugged. “Truth be known, even if my distant cousin hadn’t unexpectedly died, I doubt I could have settled back to fashionable life. Ten years of tension and action tend to alter one’s tastes.”

Even without looking, he sensed he’d puzzled her, that he wasn’t fitting the mold she’d imagined he would.

“What do you think of the Regent? Have you met him?”

“Prinny? Yes. I can’t say I’m enamored.”

That made her smile. She continued peppering him with questions, outwardly random, yet he sensed she was searching for some level of understanding, of comprehension, some framework within which she could place, measure and judge him. Nothing loath, he played her game, admitting, when she pressed him on what other horses he owned, that collecting prime horseflesh was one of the fashionable vices in which he indulged.

He waited for her to ask which other fashionable vices he was prey to, but while the thought definitely occurred, she shied from being quite so impertinently direct.

A pity. He’d had an excellent answer prepared.

Despite outward appearances, he wasn’t like others of his kind. Phoebe couldn’t escape that conclusion, or the fact that learning more about him had done nothing to lessen her infuriating infatuation. Quite the opposite. She now felt an entirely unhelpful curiosity about him—about what was important to a man like him, one with his peculiar history, about what drove him.

At least curiosity was a great deal more manageable than infatuation, and much easier to own to and excuse.

By the time they reached the folly, a small circular lookout perched on the hilltop, she’d learned enough to accept that she’d do well to wipe her mental slate clean of all preconceived notions where he was concerned. That, of course, left her wondering about his words on the terrace—had he meant them as she’d interpreted them? If so…

Deverell followed her onto the circular wooden platform beneath the fanciful carousel-like roof. Painted white, the structure was in good repair. Phoebe walked to one side; gripping the railing, she looked out.

Halting in the center of the floor, he grasped the moment to observe her—her stance, the way she moved—and what that told him. In one way, she was easy to read; characteristically direct and decisive, she projected her intentions clearly. Yet her motives, the reasons behind her decisions and the actions that flowed from them, remained largely hidden. Despite his facility for reading others, what Phoebe was thinking remained a mystery.

And she was sufficiently unusual to make relying on extrapolating from his extensive experience of other ladies unwise.

For one of his ilk, that was a trifle disconcerting. Managing—manipulating—a woman whose thought processes were screened from him was a significantly more difficult task. One fraught with the potential for failure, yet with Phoebe he didn’t intend to fail.

But with her he was reduced to guessing. He didn’t think she’d changed her mind over entertaining any marriage proposal. He didn’t think she’d yet decided to take up his alternative approach to persuading her into matrimony, his suggestion of an informal relationship, but he thought—hoped—she was considering it.

He stirred and walked to her, halting with just a foot between them, behind her and to one side. The view before them was magnificent; they looked down on the manor in its grounds, and far beyond to field and river, to gently undulating hills that stretched away to the purple-tinged horizon.

Dipping his head, he glanced at her face. He hid a smile at the light frown etched between her brows; she wasn’t thinking of the fields and river.

They were very much alone yet theoretically in public, the perfect setting in which to indulge in a little persuasion.

His lips curved; straightening, he gave in to temptation. Lifting one hand, with one finger he touched—just touched—the fine curls caressing her nape. The silky curls brushed her skin; he didn’t.

She shuddered. Her hands gripped the rail more tightly, then she dragged in a breath and shot him an irritated glance. “Stop that!”

He met her gaze only briefly, then returned his attention to her nape. “Why?” Before she could answer, he looked back and trapped her gaze. “Didn’t you like it?”