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.