But he had his own agenda and had no intention of allowing her to divert him from it.
The need for control, to remain in control, especially in this game, and even more especially with her, came to his rescue.
With adamantine will, he set her down and stepped back—away.
He ignored his howling demons, but the best retort he could muster as he all but peeled his fingers from her waist was “We don’t want to be late for luncheon.”
Her eyes widened, then she looked down and obliged by turning toward the house.
At least she didn’t laugh.
He swallowed his hunger and strode sedately—distinctly stiffly—beside her.
After several paces, she glanced up at him.
He didn’t meet her gaze but felt the quality of it—pure female curiosity.
“I wanted you to kiss me, you know.”
Damned impertinent and overbold female. “I know.”
His tone should have been enough to end that discussion, yet he was rather surprised when she didn’t reply.
They arrived at the side door. She paused, waiting as he reached out to open it.
Before he did, her gaze once more on his face, she murmured, “So what now?”
He faced her and narrowed his eyes on hers. Deliberately ambiguous or…was she referring to both endeavors on which they were, apparently, now mutually engaged?
He gripped the door handle and, reminding himself of the propensity of females in his and her family to act on their own initiative, repressively replied, “Now we join the others for lunch, then check in with the inspector, and then we concentrate on locating the gunpowder.”
Chapter 7
Antonia hurried upstairs to change out of her riding habit into a walking gown suitable for the afternoon. Sebastian waited impatiently in the front hall, then together they walked into the dining room.
As they joined the others already seated about the luncheon table, Antonia wasn’t sure what she felt. Decidedly smug on the one hand—not victorious, but against Sebastian, she’d held her own, which, against him, was as good as winning. Yet she also felt distinctly puzzled.
Why hadn’t he kissed her?
She’d wanted him to—and had told him so, an invitation impossible to mistake—and he had definitely wanted to, or she’d eat her best bonnet. She’d given him the perfect opportunity—not in the stable yard but outside the side door. There’d been no one near, a fact she was sure he’d known. He could have kissed her then.
Why hadn’t he?
As she pretended interest in the various viands on her plate, she assessed, evaluated, and wondered.
Control was important to men like him—being in control and not ceding it, not even sharing it.
Would he seek to control their interaction?
Silly question. Of course he would.
She permitted herself a small smile; he would learn soon enough that she was his equal in all ways.
She was about to relegate the interlude to the back of her mind when a rather less comforting thought impinged.
Yes, he liked control. So how far would he go to retain it?
Might he, iron willed as he was, decide she posed too much of a threat to his vaunted and much-prized control and draw back from engaging with her? What if he thought to ignore the attraction welling between them?
She didn’t like that prospect at all.
“Lucky you being allowed out for a ride.” Melissa leaned forward, peering around Filbury, who was seated between Melissa and Antonia. “How far did you go?” Speculation glowed in Melissa’s eyes.
Noting it, Antonia quashed the impulse to glance at Sebastian and dismissively replied, “Just around the grounds and surrounding fields, but with the constables watching, and having to keep close to the house, we may as well have remained indoors.”
Filbury humphed. “Dashed inconvenient having those blighters lurking. One never knows where they might be.”
“So what did the rest of you do with your morning?” Sebastian asked.
A series of rather desultory replies suggested that most of the guests had mooched about the house.
“After you two,” Mr. Parrish said, “Sir Humphrey and the inspector spoke to each of us alone.” He glanced at his wife and Mrs. McGibbin, seated side by side along the board. “Even the ladies.”
“Can’t see the point in it,” Mr. McGibbin stated. “If they have questions, why not just gather us together and ask? No need for all this rigmarole. It’s not as if any of us did for Ennis.”
There were murmurs of agreement from all around, but Sebastian noticed several of the younger men glancing assessingly at each other, and at Parrish and McGibbin, as if they were no longer quite so certain.
Sebastian wondered what questions Crawford and Sir Humphrey had asked. Clearly, something had opened the men’s minds to the likelihood that, despite their hopes, the murderer walked among them.