Page 50 of A Stroke of Luck
Thirteen
How could she have been so dreadfully, dreadfully stupid!
Zara stared for a moment longer at the unfinished drawing of the stone cherub, then snapped her sketchbook shut, suddenly unable to muster the least bit of interest in art. Setting aside her pencil, she pressed her palms to her cheeks, angry at how the recollection of what had occurred several nights ago still brought a rush of heat to her face.
Hell’s Bells.Had she really said such inane things about art and its power to inspire passion and … romance? She must have sounded worse than a giddy schoolroom chit, gushing on in such an idiotic manner, she thought, mortification screwing her mouth into a pained grimace.
At least the duke had been tactful enough on the few occasions that their paths had crossed to avoid all mention of the embarrassing interlude. She had no illusions that he had forgotten her outrageous behavior, but it appeared that he was willing to abide by her request and pretend …
“Zara!”
Perry’s shout was not an unwelcome interruption, given the rather depressing tenor of her musings.
“I thought I might find you back here.” Her brother skidded to a halt on the damp grass. “Nonny wishes to test his design of a new fishing lure, so we are going to walk down to the river. Won’t you come with us? Monsieur Henri has packed a picnic, including a large wedge of his special apple tart, so we need not hurry back for nuncheon.”
“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly.
Disappointment clouded his face. “What’s wrong? We’ve hardly seen you these past few days.”
“N-nothing is wrong,” she mumbled, realizing with a guilty start that she had indeed withdrawn into her own little world and become rather distant from her family. “I have been busy, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Perry looked from her pencils to her sketchbook. “I know you’ve not had a great deal of time for your drawing, what with all the distractions of late.”
She repressed a wince. That was putting it mildly.
“But you have always enjoyed our fishing expeditions,” he went on. “And there are lots of interesting things to draw along the water’s edge,” he offered. “Willows. Swans. The Abbey ruins.” He gave an impish grin. “Frogs.”
Zara laughed in spite of herself. Perhaps her brother was right and a change of scenery would be just the thing to lift her spirits out of the doldrums. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to dampen his enthusiasm for the outing. “How could I pass up the chance to immortalize our stalwart hero on paper,” she said dryly as she began to gather up her things. ”Very well. I’ll come.”
“Hooray! I shall tell Prestwick to bring an extra fishing pole.”
“Prestwick?” To her consternation, the pencils slipped through her fingers and scattered across the terraced stones.
“Why, yes. Actually it was his idea in the first place.” Perry eyed her strangely as he stooped to help her pick them up. “Are you sure you are all right? You have the same sort of white-gilledlook as when you ate poached camel brains in Cairo, and then was up half the night casting up your accounts.”
Drat the duke!Her stomach did feel a bit queasy, but not on account of any four-footed dromedary. However, she didn’t have the heart to disappoint her brother by crying off from the excursion. Nor, for that matter, did she wish to think of herself as too lily-livered to spend an afternoon in the duke’s presence, no matter what he thought of her morals.
“Well, theomelet au fromageI had this morning was quite agreeable, so there is no cause for concern,” she said tartly. “And don’t let Monsieur Henri hear you imply that his cuisine might be cause for internal distress. He might cut off your tongue with his cleaver.”
Perry sucked in his cheeks. “Or worse, cut off our supply of fresh croissants for breakfast! Prestwick would not thank me for that.”
There was a faint snap. “Since when have you taken the liberty of calling the duke by name?” she demanded as she jammed the broken pencil in her pocket.
Her brother colored slightly. “He said that I might, seeing as he is almost part of the family?—”
“He isnotfamily!” Zara caught herself on seeing his wounded expression and forced a more moderate tone. “It’s just that we’ve learned through bitter experience that the three of us are on our own, and the only ones we can truly depend on are each other.”
“But, Zara! Surely we can trust Prestwick. I mean, the King of Spades has long since proved his mettle.”
She didn’t answer directly. “The subject is great deal more complicated than mere mettle.”
His lower lip took on a defiant jut. “Then start talking. For if you mean to try and fob me off by saying I am too young to understand, it won’t fadge! I?—”
“Perrrrrrseus!” Nonny’s impatient call drowned out the low gurgling of the nearby fountain. “Come, let’s be off!”
“This is not the time or place to continue the discussion,” she said quickly, hoping the relief was not too apparent on her face.
“Very well.” Perry kicked at a clump of grass. “We shall put it off until later. But like the trout we mean to bring back for Monsieur Henri, I don’t intend to let you wriggle off the hook.”
