'Then you lie!' she retorted, snatching another sheet for a song in more than one part off the pile and glaring at him. 'I am not quite stupid, despite your insinuation yesterday morning to the contrary.'
'No!' he said, his eyes laughing at her-he was making no attempt to look through the music himself. 'Did I do that? But why would I do something so ungentlemanly when the ghastly truth must have presented itself to the intelligence of everyone gathered around? It was rather a large gathering, was it not?'
Freyja was given the distinct impression that she might have met her match-something that rarely happened outside the members of her own family. She gave her attention to the music in her hands. It was all about cuckoos, and the songwriter appeared to have devised his whole piece so that the two voices-no, four-might deceive the audience into believing they were a flock of demented birds in a dither and unable to utter any sound but their own names. It was the sort of song most gatherings would exclaim over in delight and admiration. Freyja set it at the bottom of the pile.
'I feel compelled to defend my honor yet again,' the marquess continued. 'I was not about to steal a kiss, Lady Freyja. I was about to convey one and have one conveyed willingly in return. I cannot tell you how ill-timed your interruption was. She had lips like cherries and I was within moments of tasting their sweet nectar. Does one suck nectar from a cherry? But I daresay my meaning is clear enough anyway.'
If his eyes danced any more merrily, they would be in danger of dancing right out of his head. And he was wearing some perfume. Freyja despised men who wore perfume, but this was subtle and musky and wrapped enticingly about her senses. Her eyes dipped to his lips, which had come so close to kissing the maid in the park, found them as perfect as the rest of him, and dipped lower to the pile of music. She had just remembered that those lips had actually kissed her.
'You are supposed to be helping me select a duet to sing,' she said.
'I thought I would leave it to you,' he said. 'If you did not like my choice you would doubtless quarrel with it and with me and find some reason for punching me in the nose, and it is altogether possible that other people in the room might notice. And even if they did not, I derive no great pleasure from having my nose punched. Now why are you frowning so ferociously?'
'Nymphs and shepherds and Phyllises and Amaryllises,' she said, frowning down in disgust at the music in her hands. 'The last one was all about cuckoos.' She set the piece with the other discarded ones beneath the pile and found another duet.
'Are you always so cross?' he asked her.
'In disagreeable company, yes,' she said, looking coldly at him.
He grinned at her. 'Do you ever smile?'
'I have been smiling all evening,' she told him. 'Until, that is, I was forced into this tete-a-tete.'
'Almost, Lady Freyja,' he said softly, 'I am led to believe that you are trying to deliver me a resounding setdown.'
'Almost, Lord Hallmere,' she retorted, 'I am led to believe that you must have some intelligence.'
He chuckled softly, a sound that was drowned beneath the polite applause that succeeded Charlotte's playing. No one else took the instrument. Card tables were being set up and the guests were taking their places. No one attempted to include either of the two sitting on the window seat.
'Tonight,' the marquess said, 'you have been smiling what I suspect is your public Lady Freyja Bedwyn smile, the gracious expression that informs the world that you are someone of consequence and equal to any social situation. I have a mind to see your private Freyja smile, if there is such a thing.'
There were not many men who would dare to flirt with her. And this was definitely flirtation-he had deliberately lowered his voice. Mock flirtation, of course. His eyes were still laughing at her.
'I have what my brothers describe as my feline grin,' she told him, regarding him coldly. 'Shall I oblige you with a display of that?'
He chuckled again and reached across the pile between them to take the music from her hands.
'Hmm,' he said after examining it for a moment or two. ''Near to the silver Trent Sirena dwelleth.' I like the sound of her already. It gets better. 'She to whom nature lent all that excelleth.' The mind boggles, does it not?'
'Your mind obviously does,' she said.
He did something then that had her itching to curl her fingers into fists. He let his eyes roam slowly down her body, starting with the rather wide expanse of bosom showing above the fashionably low neckline of her gown and moving on downward, giving the impression that he saw every curve beneath the barrier of her high-waisted gown and its loose, flowing skirts. He pursed his lips.
''She to whom nature lent all that excelleth,' ' he murmured again. And then he smiled-it was definitely not his grin this time but an expression of great charm clearly designed to make women turn weak at the knees. 'Shall we move to the pianoforte bench, Lady Freyja, and try this one?'
She was weak at the knees with suppressed wrath, Freyja decided when she got to her feet. And then his hand came to rest against the hollow of her back. She looked haughtily over her shoulder at him.
'I am quite capable of crossing the distance between the window and the pianoforte without your guidance, I thank you, Lord Hallmere,' she said.
'But I felt compelled to test a theory,' he told her. ''She to whom nature lent . . .' Never mind.'
'I suppose,' she said, 'you realize that I am quite immune to your flatteries and attempts at flirtation. But of course you do. That is why you are doing it. I suppose you hope to provoke me into some public display of temper.'
'Better flirtation than courtship, I would think,' he said. 'My grandmother has suggested to me that I court you. She believes our marriage would be a dazzling match for both of us.'
She stared at him, speechless.
He grinned at her. 'We agree on one thing at least, sweetheart,' he murmured, and indicated the
