the same as when he’d looked at the importuning trio. Forbidding, protective…possessive.
She blinked, looked for one last instant, then faced forward.
Protesting that he didn’t have the right to behave so over her was, she suspected, no longer even an option.
She was, absolutely and definitely, in much deeper trouble than she’d thought.
Chapter 4
Two evenings later, Madeline followed Muriel into Lady Porthleven’s drawing room. By an exercise of will she kept her gaze on her ladyship’s face, waiting while Muriel greeted their hostess.
She’d had two days to recover her equilibrium. On leaving the vicarage, Gervase had ridden alongside her gig until she’d reached the lane; she’d deftly turned into it, flourished her whip in farewell and escaped at a good clip, leaving him to ride on to the castle. She hadn’t looked back.
In the intervening hours, knowing she’d come face-to-face with him tonight, she’d endeavored to recall what their previous relationship had been-how they’d interacted, addressed each other; as far as she could remember she’d always treated him just as she did the other local gentlemen.
She’d come here tonight girded for battle, determined to get their interaction back on its previous tack, well away from the increasingly personal, increasingly intimate level they’d been broaching.
“Madeline.” Turning from Muriel, Lady Porthleven clasped her hand warmly. Her ladyship’s protuberant eyes widened as she took in Madeline’s gown. “That’s a delightful shade, my dear.” Raising her quizzing glass, she examined the rich, bronzed silk. “It matches your hair wonderfully, and does very nice things for your skin. You should wear it more often.”
Madeline smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.” With a nod, she started to move on to make way for the Entwhistles.
Mrs. Entwhistle reached forward and tapped her arm. “Lovely gown, Madeline, dear.”
Acknowledging the compliment with a confident smile, head high, she swept into the room. The compliments were welcome; she rarely paid much attention to her gowns-where was the point?-but it appeared she hadn’t forgotten how to shine when she wished.
Still smiling, still confident, she made for the circle of older gentlemen she customarily joined before dinner; as usual they stood before the French doors, tonight open to the terrace and the balmy night beyond. At no point did she glance around. She was not going to look to see if Gervase was present; he was just another gentleman to her.
Stationed inside the door chatting with Mrs. Juliard, Gervase saw Madeline sweep by. He blinked, looked again, then had to stop himself from staring, from turning to track her progress as she swept across the room.
With her back to the door, Mrs. Juliard hadn’t noticed the Valkyrie like vision. “We’ll definitely need a tent for the embroidery displays.”
“I’ll make a note of it the instant I reach home.” Gervase clung to his politely interested expression, although the urge to follow Madeline was a tangible thing. “If you’ll excuse me, I must have a word with Ridley about the contests he’s organizing.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Juliard patted his arm. “It’s so wonderful that the festival will be back at the castle this year. There’s a great deal of excitement brewing, I assure you.”
Gervase smiled, bowed and moved away. He hadn’t liked the glint in Mrs. Juliard’s eyes. Making a mental note to ask Sybil if there was a daughter or niece he should know about, so he could avoid same, he slowly made his way around the room toward Squire Ridley.
Madeline was standing by Ridley’s side.
Taking his time, Gervase pondered the blatantly apparent. She had gone on the offensive. He’d expected something-some reaction-but had had no real idea what tack she might take. Even now, with the evidence before him-stunning his senses-he was far too wise to take the message at face value.
She’d clearly made some decision, although he had no clue as to what. Regardless, he had his own agenda for the evening. After those revealing moments in the vicarage shrubbery, learning what made them incompatible was no longer the dominant thought in his mind.
“Madeline.” He halted beside her as the other men shifted to give him room.
She’d been speaking animatedly to Ridley; as she turned his way, Gervase captured her hand without waiting for her to offer it. He held the slim digits securely as he nodded a genial greeting around the circle, both felt and sensed the tension that gripped her as she waited, wondering if he would dare…
Bringing his gaze back to her eyes, he smiled. For one instant he considered doing what she feared and raising her hand to his lips; instead, he lightly squeezed her fingers and released them.
Her eyes on his, she drew breath, then smiled a fraction tightly and inclined her head. “Gervase. Gerald was just saying his lads have suggested a horseshoe competition.”
“Is that so?” Gervase looked at Ridley.
“We’ll need an area marked, and a peg of course, but it should be easy enough to manage.”
“There’s an area near the stable arch that should do,” Gervase replied. “I’ll have my grooms mark it out.”
He turned to Madeline.
She looked across the circle. “Mr. Juliard wanted to ask about the treasure hunt.”
Juliard cleared his throat. “I did hear some talk about a hunt for the younger children. I could help with that.”
“I believe Sybil and my sisters have that in hand-I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have your aid.”
And so it went. Every time he so much as glanced at Madeline, she directed the conversation-and his attention-in some other direction. They covered a host of topics, from aspects of the festival to crops and mining, even touching on the weather.
Initially amused, as the minutes ticked by, he felt frustration bloom.
Madeline sensed it-how, she didn’t know-but she knew he was getting her message. Buoyed, she stuck to her plan.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Lady Porthleven swept up. “Dinner is served. Crowhurst, if you would take Madeline in? And Gerald, come with me. Mr. Juliard, if you take Mrs. Canterbury? And…”
Madeline didn’t take in the other table assignments; the first had made her mind seize. What had possessed her ladyship…?
She shot a sharp glance at Gervase.
He met her gaze and smiled-intently. “No, I didn’t arrange it, but it seems fate is on my side.”
He’d spoken quietly, just for her; the low purr of his voice slid along her skin; she fought to quell a shiver.
“Shall we?” Eyes still on hers, he offered his arm.
She reminded herself of her aim, her determined course-and smiled, equally intently, back. “Thank you, my lord.” Placing her hand on his arm, she let him lead her to join the procession to the dining room.
“I meant to ask.” Gervase caught her eye. “Have you any particular interest at the festival-embroidery, knitting…saddlery, perhaps?”
The last surprised a laugh from her. “No. I’m usually so involved in the organization of the day I barely have time to think of the activities.”
“A pity. At least, this year, you’ll have time to wander and enjoy.”
She raised her brows. “I suppose I will.”
The thought distracted her; he guided her down the table to her place, then took the chair beside hers.
Conversation was general as the dinner commenced, but gradually became more specific as partners turned to each other and applied themselves to being entertaining. Madeline should have felt relieved when Gervase divided his time equally between her and Lady Moreston on his other side; instead, she viewed his amiability with suspicion.
The tiger’s stripes were there, concealed beneath his elegantly cut black coat, disguised by the precisely tied cravat and ivory linen perhaps, but he hadn’t lost them.
Yet every time he turned to her, he seemed perfectly content to toe the line she’d drawn, and interact with her
