Page 18 of The Earl and Miss Muffet
She shrugged. “Blissfully, ecstatically happy. If I loved him, of course.”
Anton smiled. “And would you want to tell the whole world?”
“I think I would burst with desire to tell, but I rarely trust my deepest thoughts with anyone.”
“Trust is important to any relationship. When I first met you, I thought you were merely shy. Now I wonder if you are just more guarded.”
“I am guilty of both. Smaller groups are easier for me. And I must say, being here at Banbury has allowed me to be more open than ever before.”
“Then you are growing more trusting of us?”
She shook her head, amused. “If I answer yes, you will surely keep prying at all my dark secrets.”
Anton stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “Dark secrets? This I must hear.”
She shook her head again. “The only thing I have to recommend of myself is the air of mystery I carry about my person.”
Instead of laughing like she thought he would, his lips drooped into a frown.
“Why would you think that? You possess many exceptional qualities. You do not simper and play games like other debutantes. That alone raises you in my book. You are intelligent, patient—especially with my family—and a terribly good listener. Look at me spouting on and on. You never even seem remotely bored with my conversation when I know I am the least entertaining person in this house.”
“How can you say that? I am more comfortable in this room with you than anywhere else in the world. I don’t think entertaining is as important as being safe or caring.” She tensed after her admission. Her tongue, usually so disciplined, had a mind of its own today.
He sat up and leaned forward over his knees, bringing his person ever closer to hers, his eyes glinting from the dancingfire. “I have never received a greater compliment. Surely, it’s the library and not me that entices you to this room.”
“Perhaps,” she lied, knowing that if she did not change the subject, that she might confess her heart. “Books are rather magical. I would wager my greatest talent is to glean hidden gems from even the most boring text.”
He stared at her, as if he could see right through her useless attempt to throw boundaries around their conversation. Right when the mood between them sizzled as hot as the fire behind the grate, he sat back in his seat dousing it with needed air between them.
“You spoke of wagers and texts. I declare you prove your ability to me.”
Elena sputtered. “Prove?”
“Shall we play a little game? We both select a few books and have a quarter of an hour to find something diverting, something inspiring, and something dreadfully boring in which to share with the other person.”
“How will we determine the winner?” Elena asked.
“I think we are adult enough to vote between ourselves.”
She loved the idea of spending more time with Anton, and it seemed that he wanted to spend more time with her as well. “And what is at stake if I should lose? Or is there an enticement to win?”
“Hmm . . . I overheard cook speaking with my mother this morning. She is making soup for dinner. The loser must slurp their soup very loudly.”
“I couldn’t.” Elena laughed. “I fear you are used to making wagers with your brother and Mr. Gunther. What about a token? The winner must give up something precious to them.”
“Like a dark secret?” his brow rose to an exaggerated height.
“Or a special button?” She lifted her own brows equally high.
“I could never take your prized buttons,” Anton shook his head. “How about a swift kick to someone vexing? Or a kiss to someone undeserving? Yes, I think that’s a valid consequence. The loser must give up a kiss to someone, and the winner chooses who that someone will be.”
She scoffed. “This is your brilliant idea? I fear it is worse than the soup. I could be kissing a pig this time tomorrow.”
“Or Mr. Gunther’s grandfather . . .”
“Stop!” Elena giggled. “Your mischievousness is very un-earl-like.”
“I have never been fond of gambling, but I do think the higher the stakes in this case, the better.”
