Page 62 of The Gentleman's Confession
Her cheeks colored, making her all the more beautiful to him. “You are fortunate to have so many young ladies vying for your hand to choose from.”
So, she had seen his flock of admirers. Those ladies did not even know him—or see the real him. He had no interest in any of them. Besides, not one of them was Jemma. If only he could help her understand. If she gave him a chance ...
She stepped back. “I only wanted to commend your batting this morning—onefriendto another. You played well, as always. Excuse me.”
Her rushed words almost made him forget the letter hiding in his pocket. “Jemma, wait.”
She faced him again, her entire person hesitant.
He stepped close to avoid others from seeing the exchange. “I thought we were not going to be awkward around each other. It seems there is more than one thing we need to practice.” He looked over his shoulder as he slipped the folded paper into her hand. He wanted to weave his fingers through hers and kiss her palm, but as soon as he felt her fingers grip the missive, he stepped past her and walked away.
He wished he could see her face when she read his words, but indiscretion was more appropriate. Weaving through the crowd of people, he barely restrained his grin. Sharing a secret together was exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. Desperate times required a bit of boldness. But with his letter delivered, it was time to forget her again.
CHAPTER 28
Jemma watched Miles walk awayfrom her, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, giving a fine display of his muscled forearms, and his coal-colored curls tousled. Fingers tingling, she hid the letter in the folds of her skirt. She shouldn’t read it. Not now. Not with Mr. Bentley only ten feet away.
It wouldn’t do. Her willpower was as weak as ever. If she hurried and slipped away, she could read it before the next inning began. She took a step toward Rivenwood.
Lisette gave a tug on her arm. “Come, Jemma. Louisa, Cassandra, and I are all going to make a fuss over Ian and embarrass him thoroughly.”
Jemma laughed at the idea, both relieved that she had not been caught with the letter and disappointed that it would have to wait. She wrapped her arm around Lisette’s. “This I must be a part of.”
Not twenty minutes later, they found themselves back in the tent for the third inning.
“How many overs are there again?” Lisette asked, taking her seat on one of the chairs Lord Felcroft had brought out for their group. Most of the crowd sat on blankets or in the grass. “Was it seventy? It has been too long since I have watched a match.”
“Ninety overs a day, if you can imagine. We have another three hours, at least.” Long enough for Jemma to be sufficiently tortured. For someone who loved the game, she had a letter burning in her reticule, driving her to distraction. Instead of sitting, she stood, leaning against the back of her chair. How could she endure another minute without reading Miles’s letter?“Come to think of it,” she said suddenly, “I will take a quick walk to stretch my legs before I sit again.”
“Do hurry,” Lisette said. “I believe Mr. Bentley is going in as the second batsman.”
“I will.” Jemma did not have to be told twice. She grabbed her reticule and weaved around the blankets. She hid herself a short distance away, behind a group of men standing and conversing.
She unfolded the paper, her hands shaking and read:You may try, but no chaperone could keep you from looking at me.
Jemma gasped. Of all the conceited, ridiculous things to say ...
She swallowed down her insult when she read the next line, and her heart set to pounding.As for me, I have no desire to look anywhere else.
An abundance of warmth flooded her limbs and chest.
That man. Did he not comprehend the meaning of her lessons? He was worse than a cricket ball falling just within the boundaries edge, teasing the crowd to no end. This would not do. She ripped the paper in half, leaving his words intact. She folded his letter back up and tucked it into her reticule, digging out a nub of a pencil she knew lay at the bottom from the last time she’d sketched out of doors. With the remaining blank piece, she scribbled her response. Just one line.
Lesson Three: Stop confusing unassuming women!
She did not like Miles’s newfound devil-may-care attitude. She folded her note up and searched for a little boy who could act as a messenger. There was no reason to wait to put Miles in his place, and it was not hard to find a young boy who accepted her coin and was off to do her bidding.
She folded her arms, watching him go. Her frustration only built. What did Miles mean by saying she couldn’t look away from him? Did he think her so weak? He was not thirty feet away from her, and she hadn’t even stolen a glance his way.
Ah, Mr. Bentley was up to bat.
She watched him miss an easy throw. “Protect the wicket, Mr. Bentley!” she called to him. He was a good bowler, but batting was not his strong point—no matter if he had played at Oxford.
Had her letter been delivered yet? Before realizing what she was doing, she glanced at Miles. He had her missive open in his hand, and he looked up at the exact moment, their eyes meeting.
Alarmed, she tore away her gaze. But not before she’d seen his impertinent, affirming grin. A small, humiliating whine escaped as she tore back through the crowd toward the tent. She’d wanted to put him in his place, not prove he was right!
Once back with her family and friends and seated next to Lisette, she could not concentrate to watch the rest of Mr. Bentley’s turn. In fact, the next two overs passed in a haze. This was not normal for her at all. The bowler changed, and a ruddy, large man with thick, strong arms stepped up to the pitch, digging his foot into the sawdust. With one fast pitch after the next, he bowled out the next two batsmen.
