Page 167

A drian finished the sketch and put it aside, along with several others.

That should give Miss Edwards a number of possibilities to consider, he thought with some satisfaction.

This last one he particularly liked, what with the way he had worked in the addition of several discreet grouping of rhododendrons in subtle salute to the Laird's preferences.

He tapped his pencil against the polished oak of his desk.

If only there had been a chance the previous evening to arrange a rendezvous with the young lady for this morning, he would have been able to show her his ideas without delay.

Instead, he would simply have to hope she would make an appearance at Playfair's musicale so that they would be able to set up a meeting.

Or perhaps he would simply bring the plans along and try to steal some time alone with her.

As his eyes strayed to the clock on the mantel, he even toyed with the idea of taking a stroll. A stroll that might take him past the McDare residence, so that he might?—

The pencil paused in mid air.

Something inside him warned that this was not exactly a direction in which he ought to allow his thoughts to stray.

And yet, the prospect of another encounter with the outspoken Miss Edwards, of watching the passion of ideas set fire to her expressive eyes, of seeing the way the sunlight danced across the errant ringlets that always seemed to escape from the confining hairpins made his pulse quicken.

He tossed the pencil down and pushed away from his desk.

Good Lord, this was madness!

He was the envy of London, what with his engagement to a reigning Diamond of the First Water.

Reason said that he should be thanking the Fates for his good fortune, rather than allowing his thoughts to dwell on a feisty country miss…

and what it might be like to press his lips to the alluring curves of her mouth.

With a muttered oath, he rose and stalked to the mullioned window. Outside, the gusting winds and scudding storm clouds looked as unsettled as his own emotions. It promised to be a wet time out on the links, but perhaps a good dousing would help dampen the strange heat coursing through him.

Through his own choice, he was bound to Lady Honoria and his honor as a gentleman demanded that he not stray from his commitment.

Not even in thought. It was too late for regrets, if that was what he was feeling, and so he must simply cease thinking of Miss Edwards as aught but a talented designer of gardens.

He would allow himself to look at her sketches, but he must not let his eyes—or his imagination—stray to her pert nose or sensuous lips. ..

His brow suddenly furrowed.

Those lips.

Something about them was nagging at the back of his mind. There was a familiarity about them, as if he had seen those exact curves somewhere else. Yet that was, of course, impossible. It was simply another sign of how addled his brain had become since leaving London.

He let out a harried sigh and went in search of an extra muffler. If the squall didn't blow through, it was going to be a stormy afternoon on the golf course.

"Come now, you can do better than that, sir," said Derry sharply as she slanted another quick glance at the viscount and wondered what was prompting such a look of preoccupation on his face.

If it was worry over the coming match, he would do well to pay more attention to the matter at hand, she thought.

But perhaps it was concern over other, more personal things that had his mind wandering. ..

She tugged the large tweed cap down a bit more firmly over her curls and ordered her own thoughts to keep from straying too far afield. "Try to concentrate! A lapse like that against Lord Hertford and you shall find yourself in a deep hole before the match has really begun."

Adrian tried to make out through the spitting rain just where his ball had landed. "I don't think it ended up too far to the right."

She gave a snort of impatience. "On this hole, anything to the right of the fairway is grave trouble, remember?"

"Errr… aye."

"Those are the sorts of things you must keep in your head, sir."

"Along with keeping my head down, my shoulders pointed at the target, my arms relaxed, my knees flexed and the clubface square on contact," he muttered under his breath.

She tried to repress a grin. "Aye, those things as well—although sometimes it's best not to think of anything at all when you go to hit the ball."

Adrian shot her a dark look before ducking his head to avoid another shower of raindrops. "Ah, that's really quite helpful, Master Derry," he replied with undisguised sarcasm. "Any other words of wisdom you have been holding back, seeing as the match is only four days away?"

So perhaps it was, after all, merely tension over the approaching wager that had him looking rather distracted.

She sought to help him relax. "I'm not entirely joking.

It's all very well to think between shots, but when you step up to the ball, it is better to clear your thoughts of anything specific.

Just... well, just trust yourself and swing. "

"Hmmph."

They located his ball by a cart rut, resting on a patch of gravel with a large stone less than a foot behind it. The viscount stared at it for several moments, his lips pursed in consternation.

"What are you going to try?" demanded Derry.

His eyes went from the ball to the fairway, then back again. "Well, it's possible that with the long spoon I could knock it over that bunker and end up in a good position on the fairway."

"It's possible—that is, if you managed to avoid breaking your wrist on that rock and then were able to hit the best shot of your life off the graveled lie. What do you think the odds are of that?"

He kicked at a loose stone. "Not great, I suppose."

"Aye, not great." She put one hand on her hip. "Come now, sir. Imagine that we are playing for real. What is the best decision?"

Adrian studied the lie of his ball once more, then heaved a sigh.

"I suppose I should take a lofted iron and knock it sideways rather than trying to advance it straight ahead.

That way, I should avoid the chance of injury, as well as of ending up in the water or the tangle of rough, and be certain of regaining the fairway. "

With a brisk nod of approval, Derry thrust the club into his hands and signaled for him to hit away.

The result was as anticipated, eliciting another nod.

"There, you see! At most you have lost one stroke, and if you hit a good third shot you might still make par.

There was no need to take a risky gamble, especially on the third hole. "

The viscount's jaw set. "Ah, but you are forgetting that I'm said to be a reckless fellow."

Though it was said half in jest, she didn't fail to note the rough edge to his voice and couldn't help but wonder again what thoughts were causing such an odd mood.

Rather than reply with her customary bite, she gave a ghost of a smile.

"That's why you have me here. For a hardened gambler, you seem uncommonly willing to listen to advice. "

Her comment finally caused some of the grimness to ebb from his face and he gave a reluctant chuckle. "Usually it should work the other way around—the recklessness of youth tempered by the wisdom of age."

"It may not make much sense, but somehow, we seem to make a good team, sir."

"Yes," he said rather thoughtfully. "We do at that."

For some reason, Derry felt an unaccountable flutter inside her chest.

He stepped up, and after waiting for a moment for a gust of wind to die down, hit his next shot.

It landed a bit short of the flag, but even Derry had to admit it was not a bad effort.

And though his putt did not find the hole, he finished up with only a bogey rather than the disastrous score that might have resulted from trying to make a near-impossible shot.

As though in harmony with his efforts, the weather began to clear a bit during the short stroll to where Adrian was to hit his next drive. The blustery wind died down to a gentle breeze and the thick clouds thinned enough to allow a faint wash of sunlight to wink over the rain-soaked grass.

The ball sailed straight through the rising mist, coming to earth in the middle of the fairway, a good distance from where it had been struck.

It appeared the viscount's thoughts were finally focused on the task at hand, so they played the next few holes with little conversation other than an occasional exchange over distance and choice of clubs.

The lengthy silences had none of the overt tension of their previous outings but were of a much more companionable sort, the result of a certain hard-won camaraderie winning out over the initial combativeness.

Her experience as a caddie told Derry to do nothing to break such a mood, but as they turned to play the inward nine she couldn't help but blurt out a question that had been dogging her thoughts for longer that she cared to admit.

"It's, er, said you are engaged to a... beautiful lady, sir. You must be—well, you must like her very much."

Adrian looked up. For an instant he appeared taken aback, then his expression changed into one of unholy amusement. "So, lad," he said with a slow smile. "You have an interest in the opposite sex after all? I was beginning to fear that your thoughts never strayed beyond the links."

Derry felt her cheeks go very crimson.

"No need to look embarrassed, Master Derry. At your age, it would be most unnatural of you not to show a healthy curiosity. Is there something specific you wish to ask?"

The sound she made came out as a strangled squeak.

He chuckled. "I imagine that a well-favored lad like you has no need for explanations as to what takes place between a man and a woman who have a certain attraction for each other?"