Page 49 of Bargaining for the Barrister
Mr. Harwood lifted his fist to his mouth to cover his words, but Louisa caught them. “The footmen are seeing to his departure, and his valet will follow with his things.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul nod. He rested his hand in the small space between them, then quickly yanked it back to his lap. The tension between them was so thick, it nearly choked her. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. How could he push her away so easily when she could think of nothing but him?
Mr. Davies stood and crossed the room, stopping beside her. “Now that we’re all here, Lady Kellen suggested we set up for cards. You will partner me in whist, won’t you?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but Paul spoke first. “Partner you?” The two words came out in a low rumble, like he was threatening Mr. Davies to disagree.
Mr. Davies put his hand on the arm of the settee. “It’s just a game of cards, Mr. Sheldon. Nothing to become defensive about.”
Louisa didn’t dare glance at Paul, but she knew he would not take Mr. Davies’s words lightly.
However, Paul spoke in a natural tone that was at odds with what she’d expected of him. “Oh, cards. Excellent. I love a good competition.”
Was he really going to force her to partner with Mr. Davies? She hazarded a glance at Paul. His posture was relaxed, and he avoided her gaze as though he hadn’t just objected to Mr. Davies’s idea. Still, she waited. When he finally looked at her, it was for the briefest moment before turning to address Mr. Harwood again. Yes, it seemed he had abandoned her completely.
“If he wants a competition, he shall have it,” Mr. Davies said in a lowered voice to her. “I came all this way and have hardly seen a glimpse of you.”
She knew all about games. Everyone in the room was playing one. Mr. Turner had lost his and had been turned out of the house, but Mr. Davies still hoped to win. Even Paul was playing; she could tell. He thought he could withdraw from the game with his stoic nonsense after their kiss, but there had been a fire between them—delivered, unchecked, by him. But she did not make the rules for courtship games, nor could she force Paul to continue to participate. He had turned her away, and she had made a fool of herself. Even so, wallowing would do her no favors. She must play too—if only to keep her wits about her.
“Very well, Mr. Davies. Shall we ask Lady Kellen to have the footmen set up tables?” She avoided the eyes of the others in the room. Paul’s Rebel friends likely felt sorry for her already, and her only saving grace was that they did not yet know about her brazen kiss.
Chapter 22
Paul listened to Tom tellLisette and Jemma an embellished and comedic version of what had happened to Mr. Turner Saturday night. It was only Monday, but Paul had thought of little else since then. He stepped farther under the shade. The Rebels had decided on an archery competition instead of a formal meeting inside the Dome. For the end of June, it was far too hot to be inside. Thankfully, the small copse of trees at the base of the hill provided ample shade. The men had draped their coats in a pile on the other side of a great oak tree and were in their shirtsleeves and waistcoats. Jemma was taking her final shot while Lisette leaned against the bark of the great oak.
“So that’s what happened to you that night,” Lisette said with an airy laugh.
Jemma drew back her bow. “No wonder Miss Cox was not herself during the card games.” She aimed and released her arrow. It barely hit the edge of the target, which pleased her, as her score was tied with Miles’s, allowing her to remain in their competition.
Paul was next, so he stepped up and accepted the bow Miles still held. His mind, however, was not on their tournament but was circling the events from two nights before. There was more than one reason for Miss Cox’s quiet mood that evening, but Paul was not about to announce their kiss to the others. Those few glorious moments together had only left him more dissatisfied than ever. He’d been tortured by her presence and by Mr. Davies’s annoying flirtations.
“Poor dear,” Lisette said. “At least she will not be abused by Paul, or confused. I thought he did an excellent job of remaining kind but aloof.”
Miles chirped in from behind him, “From the way Miss Cox fell into his arms after Mr. Turner released her, I think she is likely half in love with him.”
Paul’s jaw clenched. He pulled back his bow, aimed, and missed the target completely.
“Rotten luck,” Ian said, reaching over to clap him on the back. Paul twisted away from him, and Ian dropped his hand sheepishly.
“Rotten luck is right,” Paul said, grinding his teeth. Guilt and irritation hovered over him worse than the gnats in the air.
“Speaking of luck,” Ian began. “Here comes your future bride.”
Paul jerked his head and discovered Ian was correct. Three riders on horseback—Mr. Davies, Miss Davies, and Louisa—approached them.
Lisette pushed away from the tree. “Oh, we should wave them over. Miss Cox could use a friend after what she endured.” She put up her hands and waved them widely.
Paul turned away from the view and fiddled with another arrow.
“Relax. She doesn’t bite,” Ian said under his breath so only Paul could hear him. “I know this is not easy, but in a few weeks, she’ll be gone.”
“It’s harder than you think.” Paul tossed the slightly crooked arrow into a pile with a few others. “She’s gotten to me.”
Ian sighed. “It was the same way for my mother when she was tied together with my father, so I hear. You cannot blame yourself entirely. But there’s only so much we can do to help if you let your heart start ruling your head again. Do try to remember Mrs. Hammond at times like this.”
Paul dusted his hands off on his breeches and reluctantly turned to face the riders. No matter how determined he was not to care for Louisa, he certainly couldn’t keep his eyes off her for long. Not Saturday night and apparently not today. She wore a blue riding habit with a matching hat sporting a white feather. There was no doubt of her comfortable seat on a horse as she smoothly brought the animal up alongside them while smiling at something Miss Davies said. How could she possibly be so blasted happy when he was so miserable?
“Good day,” Mr. Davies called as he rode up next to Tom.
