The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(63)

“Along with the flies and the snails.”

“I thought you liked the outdoors. You ride all the time.”

“Yes. Going neck-or-nothing with the wind in my face. Not sitting on the damp ground, surrounded by spiderwebs and squawking crows while I eat cold ham from a basket.”

“I had no idea you were so missish, Edwin.”

He scowled. “I am not missish. I just prefer my comfortable house to the vagaries of a forest.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go by myself.”

“You will not! Durand might be skulking about somewhere.”

She eyed him askance.

“Very well.” He sighed. “We’ll go on your ‘picnic.’ Though it seems rather silly to me.”

Nonetheless, a short time later, he was tramping through his land with a basket on one arm and his wife on the other. And surprisingly, he was enjoying himself. The sun brightened the barley fields, the sparrows were chirping, and every beech was in bud.

After a while, he found himself telling her about the various parts of the estate and the roe deer that lived in the park. She mustn’t have found it too boring, for she listened and nodded and asked questions.

It wasn’t long before three very enjoyable hours had passed. They headed to the stream to have their picnic, which he was still rather skeptical about. But when he saw her spread out a blanket, it cheered him. Blankets could double as beds, after all.

While she began to unpack the basket, he scanned their surroundings. To keep from dwelling on how lovely she looked beneath the dappled light of the trees, he said, “It seems that the flies and snails are absent just now.”

“You know perfectly well that it’s too early in the season for either.” She shifted to look out at the water and grew pensive. “I’ve always loved this stream. At this time of day, it glistens like a fairy highway leading to a magical realm.”

He snorted.

Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “So you have no sense of adventure and no sense of whimsy.”

“Neither one, I’m afraid.” He peered at the impressive number of chicken sandwiches, the wedge of Stilton, the jar of pickles, and what appeared to be apple tarts wrapped in paper. “What I have is a prodigious appetite. And it looks as if Cook has packed all my favorites. I suppose that was your doing?”

She laughed. “As if Cook doesn’t know every single one of your preferences. That woman is a jewel.”

“We certainly agree on that.”

Some time later, after they’d both eaten their fill, he lay back on the blanket Clarissa had spread for them and crossed his arms beneath his head while she tidied up. It really was rather nice here. That was a surprise.

She glanced over at him, and mischief sparked in her eyes. “My, my, do I detect a smile?”

He tried to stifle it, but it was too late. “Perhaps.”

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“I was sure you would.” Beaming her triumph, she stretched out on the blanket beside him. “I know you better than you think.”

“I doubt that. I daresay I know far more about you than you do about me.”

She turned on her side to look at him. “Really? That sounds like a challenge to me. And as I recall, I won our last challenge.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Very well, a challenge, then. Same terms as before. If you win, you get another automaton. You can even dictate what type and watch me make it. But if I win, you have to wear breeches at dinner.”

“Why do men love to see a woman in breeches?”

“I’ll explain it to you when you do it.”

She sniffed. “If I do it, which is by no means certain since I plan to win this challenge. Though it would help if we had some rules.”

“How about this? We take turns asking each other questions about our own likes and dislikes, and the first one to answer wrong loses.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “All right. Since you laid down the challenge, I’ll start. Which do I prefer—prawns or fish?”

“Prawns. Which do I prefer?”

“Neither. You don’t like to eat anything that swims.”

He scowled. “That shouldn’t count. You’ve been consulting with Cook over dinner every night. I’d be surprised if you didn’t know of my dislike of seafood.”

“Hah! You simply can’t stand losing.” She tapped her chin. “Let me see, what else can I ask . . . What sort of jewelry do I like—gold or pearls?”

“Since I’ve never seen you wear a pearl in your life, I’ll have to say gold.” When she chuckled, he said flippantly, “What sort of jewelry do I like—gold or pearls?”

“If you start wearing pearls, I shall leave you,” she said with a laugh. “And you like blue sapphires and gold. I’ve only ever seen you wear a sapphire stickpin. With gold cuff links.”

He smiled. “I ought to have realized you would notice such a thing, given your love of fashion. But here’s a hard one. What political party do I support? Tell me that, if you can.”

“You’re an ardent supporter of the Tories.” When he frowned, she said gleefully, “I’m right, aren’t I? And I’ll bet you don’t know which party I support.”