Bemused, she watched as his expression softened. He even smiled. Well, almost. There was a slight shift at the corner of his mouth. But it was just enough for her heart to flutter with the hope that something had altered in him as well. That, perhaps, he realized there was something more between them than just a book.
“It will be late again when we arrive at our next lodgings,” he continued. “However, the day after, I wonder if you would like to join me on a tour of the village. Through research, I’ve learned that they have an exceptional market, as well as many architecturally pleasing churches and estates that you might enjoy sketching.”
A rush of warmth filled her chest, his suggestion indicating that he recalled her penchant for drawing. “I would have to speak with the aunts.”
“I’ve already invited your companions, and they are amenable.”
Oh, the aunts were likely more than just amenable. No doubt they were bursting with wedding-breakfast plans. Meg would have to remind them, again, that this was a holiday flirtation.
And yet, even to her, it was starting to feel like more.
“I look forward to it, then,” she said.
He inclined his head. “In the meantime, I’ve asked the kitchens to prepare a wide variety of scones for our picnic on the boat this afternoon.”
“Heavy on the arsenic?”
His elusive dimple flashed. “But of course.”
* * *
Over the next few days, their peace treaty continued. They drifted along the river, picnicked and visited markets, all the while enjoying each other’s company.
There were no more tense discussions about the book or their family legends. Their exchanges usually revolved around their current likes and dislikes, scientific observations and questions about each other’s childhoods and daily life.
However, Meg’s responses were carefully edited, leaving out the details that would reveal her family name. And Lucien’s were brief, as though it pained him to speak of his past. So she tended to keep far afield of those topics. Her primary desire was to be with the man he was in that moment. Nothing more.
While they were usually in view of her chaperones, there were times when Maeve and Myrtle needed to pilfer a new recipe. The aunts would make their excuses, citing old age and a need to rest, while they encouraged the duke and the viscount to escort their charge to the next shop. And sometimes Pell would wander off, too, leaving her alone with Lucien.
Meg liked being alone with him. It felt so natural. She didn’t even mind his pet name for her any longer. There was something fond in the way he called her ma petite louve.
Her designs had altered, as well. Instead of putting on a pretense of employing the three Fs, she was flirting in earnest and hoping to gain every possible foothold into the duke’s affections.
Yet, for some reason, the more she flirted, the more he began keeping his distance. It was thoroughly disconcerting. Not only that, but her inner Lady Avalon didn’t utter a single syllable of advice.
Meg’s outings with Lucien always began with ease and playfulness. But the more time they spent together, especially alone, the grumpier he would become.
Countless times, she’d caught him looking at her in a way that made her breath quicken, his eyes dark and hungry. She’d been almost certain that he wanted to kiss her . . . but he never did.
Meg decided to take matters into her own hands.
However, when she attempted an embrace—by way of polishing his spectacles and replacing them on his countenance—he’d remained perfectly still, as if he’d turned to stone. He hadn’t even reached out to steady her as she’d teetered forward and accidentally pressed her torso against his. Instead, as the heated rush of his breath tangled with hers, he slowly drew her hands away from the nape of his neck. Then he stepped apart, cleared his throat and growled a good-night.
Clearly, she was doing something wrong.
“I do not believe the three Fs are working for me,” she’d complained to the aunts on the morning of their final day in Germany. “Just when I think the day has been absolutely perfect, he turns quite unexpectedly surly. Is there another F I should be employing?”
The sisters exchanged a look, a dusting of color saturating their powder-soft cheeks. The question seemed to render Maeve mute.
“I’m sure you’re doing everything splendidly,” Myrtle said with a conciliatory pat on her shoulder. “The only advice I can offer is this. When I was a girl, the vicar’s son took a fancy to me and I to him. On Sundays, when the congregation gathered to picnic on the village green, we would slip away to take a turn around the park. I remember when he became particularly cross, and the only thing that would set his mood to rights was to”—she hesitated with a faraway look in her eyes and drew a breath as if to hold onto the memory—“press my hand to his. Without any gloves between us. It was quite thrilling.” She expelled a wistful sigh, then smiled. “Perhaps that would set matters aright with your duke.”
Now it was Meg’s turn to blush.
Since she had already kissed him and, in retaliation, he’d done more than simply hold her bare hand, she wasn’t certain that was the answer. But she was willing to try anything to be in his arms again.
* * *
That afternoon, Lucien and Pell escorted her to a local carnival. The aunts decided to remain at the hotel and assist the maids with packing their trunks.
The village square was host to circus performers in brightly colored garb, juggling, spinning plates and performing acrobatics on the cobblestones. Merrymakers visited the half-timbered shops and the clock-tower tavern, along with huts and tents filled with various foods and games.
Beyond the fountain, Meg saw a stall where a burly, bearded man was challenging others to prove their skill by knocking the cuckoo from its perch.
“Let’s try that one next,” she said, tugging on Lucien’s arm.
Thus far, he’d proven that there was no such thing as chance in the games of chance, his sense of logic besting the puzzles set before him. He’d received angry glowers from the carnival men, but proud and beaming smiles from her.
“Your aunts are correct—you are far too exuberant today. No wonder they begged Pell and myself to escort you here. You’re a veritable Volta battery.”
He looked down at her with a falsely disapproving expression. But he couldn’t fool her. She knew the exact dimension of his true frown, and this was only a paltry imitation.
She stopped and shrugged. “Very well. Take me back to the inn if you cannot handle my enthusiasm. I’m sure to find a younger man who’ll escort me and prove his manliness in these tests of skill.”
His brows rose dubiously above the brass rims. “Knocking a tiny wooden cuckoo from a perch with a little wooden ball is your notion of proving manliness?”
“Oh, it most definitely is,” she said with unquestionable sincerity. “I would likely reward him with a kiss, as well. Therefore, you may deliver me back to the inn without delay so that I can find this masculine specimen.”
When she turned and took a step, he held fast to the arm curled around his, cinching her to his side.
He growled, “I accept your challenge.”
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as he hauled her to the game.
After three attempts, however, Lucien was unsuccessful. Even though the ball had struck the cuckoo, the bird never fell from its perch.