Page 24 of The Duke’s Defiant Love

"I do not doubt it. Eventually." He studied her a moment longer, and something shifted in his expression, the teasing giving way to something more genuine, more careful.

“I did not come here to demand the papers back, though I do thank you for returning them” he added as she sheepishly handed them over. ”As it happens, I find I would rather hear the rest of your objections directly, from you. There is a meadow near Richmond I am fond of, quiet enough for a proper conversation. I should like you to join me there tomorrow, so that we might finish this argument over a picnic."

Her heart began beating considerably faster than the request seemed to warrant. "A picnic, Your Grace?"

"A continuation of an unfinished debate, which I am reliably informed is customarily conducted over food, should either party grow hungry partway through disagreeing." His eyes held hers, and something in them made the careful distance she'd been maintaining since the ballroom feel considerably harder to hold onto than it had a moment before. "Will you come?"

She knew, with perfect clarity, exactly what she ought to say. She knew what her father would counsel, what caution demanded, what every sensible instinct she possessed insisted was the wiser answer.

"Yes," she said instead, and watched something bright and unguarded cross his face before he could smooth it back into composure and found she did not regret the answer as much asa she should have.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The meadow beyond Richmond was prettier than Amelia had expected.

That was the first thought that occurred to her as the carriage rolled to a stop beneath the shade of an enormous oak. The second was that she had spent the entire journey reminding herself that this was not an assignation. It was a discussion.

Her mother descended after her, accepting the footman's hand and immediately turning her attention toward the meadow with the pleased expression of a woman who had been promised fresh air and had been given considerably more of it than London could provide.

Sebastian was already there.

He stood several yards away beside a blanket spread beneath the oak, one hand resting on the back of a folding chair while he spoke with a groom. He had dressed more simply than she had expected, though nothing about him could ever truly be called simple. His dark coat fit his broad shoulders perfectly, his waistcoat was a muted shade of blue, and his dark chestnut hair had been brushed back from his forehead.

"Miss Hartwell."

"Your Grace."

His gaze moved to her mother.

"Lady Hartwell."

"Your Grace." Her mother smiled. "I hope we have not kept you waiting."

"Not at all."

His eyes returned to Amelia.

Her mother settled herself beneath the tree with a book and a small basket of embroidery, close enough to satisfy propriety and sufficiently occupied to make it clear that she had no intention of listening to every word.

Sebastian gestured toward the blanket. "Shall we?"

She settled onto the blanket Sebastian's footman had spread beneath a wide oak near the river's edge while arranging her skirts, aware, with every fiber of her attention, of precisely how close he chose to sit. He was near enough for easy conversation, yet far enough that even her mother, watching from her own chair a discreet distance away with a book she had yet to open and an embroidery hoop that was used to receiving more attention than it was, could find nothing to object to.

"Your mother appears entirely absorbed in her needlework," he teased

"My mother has not moved that needle since we arrived. She has instead been watching us with the singular focus of a woman composing a very detailed account for my father's benefit later this evening. I would advise choosing your words with unusual care."

"I generally do." Something warm crossed his face, which he quickly restrained. "Though I confess I find myself less careful in your company than I am accustomed to being elsewhere, which I have not yet decided whether to consider a flaw or a virtue."

Do not let that land the way it wishes to land.

"You have brought your papers, I trust."

"I have. Along with rather extensive commentary I did not ask for and apparently received in full regardless." He produced the pages from a leather folio at his side, and she caught sight of her own handwriting crowding the margins. "You have terrible handwriting when you are annoyed, Miss Hartwell. It grows progressively smaller and more aggressive with each page. I found it rather illuminating."

He held them a moment before passing them over, studying her with an expression she could not read. "I confess I read your notes a third time last night. I found myself considerably more persuaded by your objection to my treatment of the Athenian sources than I expected to be."

"Only considerably more persuaded. Not completely."