Georgia’s gaze lingered on him innocently, and yet Will was
certain there was more to what she was saying. And perhaps
she wasn’t quite as innocent as Marsdale would have him
believe. “Perhaps you can tutor me in the ways I might
capture his attention?”
She circled him, never removing her gaze from him. What
exactly was she asking? “I’m not quite sure what you mean,
Miss Duvall, but rest assured I’m here to help. I found the
perfect match for my sister, and I’ll do the same for you.”
“Yes, I understand, my lord. So I’m wondering how to pique
his interest. Can you answer that question, or should I ask
Oliver?”
He swallowed and narrowed his gaze. “No, no need to ask
Oliver. You could talk to the gentleman about the weather,
or ask after his health, or maybe you can ask if he...” Will
wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe he wasn’t up to the task of
procuring a match for someone other than his sister, after
all, because the way she looked at him seemed to spell
trouble. “If he has hounds, perhaps?”
She blinked several times, eyeing him oddly.
Everything about her said she was an innocent maid, but she
was American. Maybe women were different there, and he just
wasn’t used to their behavior. Most women—no not most,
no women—who were young and unmarried ever held his
gaze so long with such keen challenge punctuating a
seemingly guileless question.
Stopping directly in front of him, she peered up at him,
standing inappropriately close. “I’m to ask him if he has
hounds?”
“Yes, you could,” he blurted, then cleared his throat. He
took a step back, but he didn’t want her to know she
confused him, so he rounded the corner of the table instead.
“I was thinking more along the lines of flirting.” Her
delicate brow arched. “How do I flirt with him—that is how I
want to capture his attention.”
He gulped. “That wasn’t what I had in mind. I don’t think
it’s what Oliver had in mind either. Maybe we should sit
down?” He gestured toward the damask-covered sofa and
matching wingback chair. Even if she didn’t need to sit
down, he did.