Page 20 of Enticing the Devil

“Aye, but it’s still verra exciting to be in the lead. Even if it’s only for a wee bit of time,” the girl argued. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Anne?”

“Ah, yes. Yes, it is exciting.”

The lady’s blue-green gaze flickered briefly to his before dropping it to where his hand held the empty glass. A faint furrow of consternation tugged at her elegant eyebrows.

No doubt she’d noticed his callouses and the many small scars that came from a life of physical work. His fingers involuntarily tightened around the glass and she quickly shifted her gaze to something else.

Irritation sat like a burning lump of coal in his stomach as he forced his attention elsewhere as well and noted that Colin and Ainsworth were engaged in a separate conversation. Their lowered voices and the way they leaned into each other indicated he wouldn’t find a proper distraction there.

“The afternoon event should be interesting,” his sister continued, clearly intent on discussing the games. “Are you looking forward to it, Beynon?”

He turned to Caillie with flash of annoyance. By her unabashed grin, he could see she was fully aware of his mood and was utterly unconcerned by it. For some reason, she’d decided to drag him into the conversation and didn’t care much at all what he thought about it. Unfortunately, he’d only glanced at the schedule and couldn’t recall what painful trial he’d be expected to endure next.

He mumbled a noncommittal, “Not particularly.”

Caillie grinned, obviously suspecting his ignorance, as she turned to Lady Anne. “I think it’ll be lovely.” Then her eyes widened with a flash of excitement. “Oh, maybe it will give me a chance to practice floriography.”

Lady Anne tilted her head. “Have you taken an interest in the French pastime, Miss Claybourne?”

“Aye,” the girl exclaimed then slid a glance to Beynon. “Are you familiar with floriography, brother?” Caillie pressed.

Not happy at being pulled back into the conversation, he remarked, “Am I familiar with what?”

“The language of flowers,” Lady Anne replied in a voice that wasn’t exactly condescending but wasn’t not condescending, either.

Still annoyed, he gave the lady beside him a dark look as he replied with intentional obtuseness. “No. I can’t say I’ve ever heard flowers speak.”

Caillie laughed and he swore he saw just a twitch of amusement at the corner of Lady Anne’s mouth as she explained, “It’s the practice of using the symbolism associated with certain flora to communicate a particular message.”

“I read a wonderful book about it, Le language des Fleurs,” Caillie added in a wistful tone.

“You can read French?” Beynon asked, a bit surprised.

The girl shrugged. “Passably.”

“You’d love Joseph Hammer-Purgstall’s Dictionnaire du language des fleurs. I can lend you my copy if you’d like,” Lady Anne offered. “But we’ll have to wait until we return to London.”

“Thank you. That’d be lovely,” the girl effused before turning to Beynon. “Too bad you won’t have a chance to read up on it yourself before the next competition.”

“I assume we’re expected to do something with flowers,” he noted with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Caillie just grinned and decided that was a good time to turn her attention back to her meal. Assuming he was finally getting a reprieve, Beynon did the same.

But as Lady Anne leaned forward to select a buttered roll from the basket set in the center of the blanket, Beynon’s gaze wandered to the straight line of her spine and the gentle flare of her hips. The woman’s posture and poise were flawless. No one should have so much grace and elegance white seated on the ground.

When she leaned back again to reclaim her seat at the corner of the blanket, he didn’t miss the subtle stiffening in her body.

Following the direction of her gaze, he noted where the flounced hem of her skirts had shifted to nestle against his boot. For a moment, the pristine pink lay in stark contrast to the worn black leather. It was oddly entrancing.

But then the lady shifted position, tucking her skirts more securely about her legs.

Something dark and dangerous flowed through his bloodstream as he acknowledged her actions. Did she find him so distasteful she couldn’t tolerate even that casual contact?

He didn’t bother to hide the acrimony flowing through him when he looked up and met the lady’s tempestuous gaze. Despite the strict stillness of her person, the blue-green of her eyes swirled with a quiet, mystifying light. A fervent—carefully guarded—intensity.

It was utterly unexpected and it struck him like a kick to the sternum.

In a rush, he rose to his feet, nearly upending one of the platters.

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