Page 46 of The Gentleman's Confession
“You?”
The disbelief in his eyes made her choke back her words. “As a young,very young, girl. There are no women’s teams here, so I, uh, was a good substitute when not enough players could be found.” She laughed sheepishly. Not everyone thought it appropriate for grown women to play cricket. She had managed to keep from causing any accidents, but now her tongue wasmaking blunders. Reaching for her lemonade, she took a long drink.
He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “What sort of pastimes do you prefer besides cricket?”
She opened her mouth to tell him, but no words came out. She had to give him a proper pastime, not a Rebel one. It would be better to ease him into her bluestocking ways. Most men would not find her charities a favorable attribute. “I like to draw,” she finally said.
He seemed relieved by her answer. “I have always wished for such a skill. Do you prefer nature or people as your subject?”
“Clothes, actually.” She winced.
“Clothes?”
“I like to predict upcoming fashions and sometimes even create my own.” She pointed to the cape-like collar buttoned at her neck and draped just over the top of her shoulders. “The French wear their pelerine with tight ruffles around the neck, but I adapted the design for a looser ruffle around the neck and a fringe at the hem.”
She had no expectation of him knowing about the intricacies of women’s fashion, but it was important to her. He gave a slight smile and nodded in feigned interest before reaching for another strawberry.
Her shoulders dropped. This wasn’t going well at all. Mr. Bentley wasn’t trying to find her lacking, she knew he wasn’t. Even so, their personalities were not melding together. Feeling frustrated and quite desperate, she recalled Miles’s most recent lesson. The bonus one that had worked quite well on her.
It was time for sparks to fly. She squeezed her hands together tightly in her lap and cleared her throat. “What shade of blue would you say your eyes are?”
Mr. Bentley looked up, his eyes wide. “Uh ... I have not thought on it before.”
She purposefully leaned forward, intent on falling into his gaze and staying there as long as it took. His blue eyes were indeed an interesting shade darker on the edge and quite light at the center. Why had she never noticed them before? “They are quite a nice color, Mr. Bentley.” She studied them longer than necessary, searching for his soul, as Miles had instructed.
While he came across as a man of experience, his eyes were surprisingly innocent. They were also honorable and kind. She waited for the sparks. She waited to fall. She would wait all day if she had to.
Mr. Bentley wiped at his face. “Do I have strawberry juice all over me?”
Jemma did not see anything. “No, not at all.”
“But you keep staring at me.”
She forced a grin, albeit a lopsided one. “I know. Is it not wonderful?”
“I, uh . . .”
“Oh, I do not mind if you stare at me in return. You might even see ... something.” She tilted her head, trying to assume her best angle.
“Why? Did you get something in your eye?”
She batted her lashes, not because she wanted to look pretty but out of frustration. The man was not getting it. But if Miles could turn eye connection into an intimate moment, the principle must work for others. “Never mind, my eyes are fine.” She tilted her head at a different angle. “Look to your heart’s content, Mr. Bentley. We have all afternoon.”
In fact, they had a lifetime.
Mr. Bentley blinked a few times, the tops of his ears reddening. He turned away suddenly. “I think I might pick a few more strawberries.” He climbed to his feet and took long strides toward the patch.
Her jaw slackened. Had she just scared him away? A confident, grown man? How could they possibly get married if he could not endure her looking at him? She pushed aside her frustrations, refusing to let this be a sign of failure. Besides, the afternoon was still young.
She jumped to her feet and chased after him.
But try as she may, the next few hours passed without her being able to salvage a friendly mood between them. If Jemma came too close, Mr. Bentley acted like she might bite. And if it would have helped, she might have tried. Her desperation turned into annoyance. She even took eye connection to a whole new level, attempting to pin him in one place with her glare.
Lisette took note of Mr. Bentley’s avoidance and Jemma’s agitation and attempted to make herself a middleman, but the atmosphere felt entirely too awkward. What had Jemma done wrong?
With Miles, everything was natural. Love was as simple as breathing.
After Mr. Bentley left, Jemma took a walk, having missed her earlier exercise and feeling desperate for a moment alone. Her half boots crunched against the rocky road while her hand trailed against the smooth stone half wall running along the perimeter. Her thoughts were circling faster than the crows above the field beside her. The sound of a horse galloping nearer drew her attention. She looked up.
