Page 474 of From Rakes to Riches

She peered up at him. “Yes?”

He offered her a hand. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“I have something to show you,” he said, and he reached out to pull her up, willy-nilly, then dragged her after him, giving her no time to protest.

9

It was all Margaret could do not to trip over her own feet in her attempt to keep up with him. Over the morning, she’d come to realize who he was.

Of course, she’d suspected last night, when he’d called her brat while playing that game, and she was now hoping to prompt him into a confession. Only he seemed so intent upon continuing this farce. What did he want from her?

“Just a bit further,” he urged.

“Whereare we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, tormenting her with his evasiveness.

“I must be mad,” Margaret said. It had been years since she’d ventured this far into their parklands—not since she’d been a child—with Gabriel.

He brought her to the crest of a hill, then laid down the pasteboard he carried in his hand.

“Now sit,” he demanded.

“Sit?”

He pointed at the pasteboard. “On it.”

Margaret stared at him in disbelief. “I mean to say, I thinkyoumust be mad. Why should I wish to sit onthat?”

Gabriel winked at her, grinning. “Only humor me,” he suggested. And then persisted, “Sit down, please?”

Margaret frowned. She could scarce refuse him when he looked at her so... so... longingly. The sun glinted off his hair, and the scent of wildflowers filled her senses.

“Very well,” she relented, if grudgingly, tiring of this ruse. She sat down on the pasteboard, feeling like a silly goose. “Now what?”

He began to laugh.

Margaret peered up at him in sheer exasperation, her hands going to her hips in outrage. “Did you drag me all this way to force me sit upon your piece of cardboard, only to snicker at me like an ungracious oaf?”

To her dismay, he continued to cackle, and Margaret decided she’d had enough. She made to rise. “I thought I heard you say you wished to show me something,” she said. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

“No.” he said, thrusting out a hand, urging her to remain seated. “Ah, but Maggie. Tis that you look...” He shook his head. “So….” He laughed again. “You have no idea what good it does my heart to see you.”

“You mean to say I look a merry-Andrew,” Margaret countered, wholly vexed with his amusement at her expense. “Look at you,” she said, waving a hand at him. “I did not laugh at you, sirrah, when you came to me looking like...that.”She waved a hand in disgust and made again to rise. But, for the first time, she noticed his feet. “You’re not wearing shoes,” she said. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

He knelt down beside her, chortling, as he placed a hand on her shoulder to soothe her. “Hold still,” he said, and groped about her, feeling for the pasteboard at her back.

He moved his hand to her sides, and Margaret slapped his hand in scandalized horror. “I beg pardon,” she said, pinning hishand under her own and glaring defiantly. “What is it you think you are doing?”

His grin was infectious, but Margaret had no intention of allowing it to disarm her.“Isimply need to see how much room is left on the pasteboard.”

“Why?”

His eyes twinkled with a devilish light. “You’ll see.” He tilted his head, once again giving her that little-boy glance and smile that melted her will. “Trust me,” he said.

He wasn’t playing fair, Margaret decided. How could she refuse him when he begged so sweetly? She lifted her hand, freeing him, but gave him a warning glare. “Very well,” she relented. “Do what you will.”

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