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“Lord Blakeborough!” Lady Maribella exclaimed before he could say a word. “Isn’t this just the prettiest little garden you ever saw?”

Clarissa snorted. The woman clearly had a fondness for hyperbole and inane observations. She would sorely tax Edwin’s patience.

“It is quite a little garden, yes,” he said. “It suits you.”

Hmm. Should Clarissa count that? The trace of irony in his voice said it wasn’tentirelya compliment.

But Lady Maribella took it as one, for she giggled and blushed and said, “Oh, you are such a charmer, sir.”

When the ridiculous claim made Clarissa choke on her negus, Edwin’s gleaming gaze shot to her over the heads of his companions. “It’s easy to be a charmer with such fine inspiration standing before me.”

Clarissa froze. He clearly didnotmean Lady Maribella and Lady Jane, so the compliment shouldn’t count one whit. Yet the rough thrum with which he said it, and the heat in his expression before he returned his gaze to the other two ladies, made her weak in the knees. If that didn’t suffice to prove himcapableof flattering a woman, she didn’t know what would.

Then Lady Jane said, “Which flowers do you like best, sir? I like the jonquils because they remind me of Mama. She used to love them so.”

A lump caught in Clarissa’s throat. Much as her own mother taxed her patience, she couldn’t imagine losing her at as young an age as Lady Jane had lost hers.

Edwin smiled softly at the girl. “I’m sure she didn’t love them half as much as that smile of yours. It would brighten any sickroom.”

He clearly meant it, and that only thickened the lump in Clarissa’s throat. Whenever Edwin showed the kindly side he generally kept deeply buried, it made her question her assumptions about him.

Until he spoke again. “Ah, I see Miss Trevor over there. Forgive me, but I must speak to her.” Then he was off again, striding across the garden.

What was this, a race? As usual, the devious fellow was accomplishing his task with the least amount of time and bother, which wasnotwhat she meant for him to do at all. She followed at a distance, rather eager to see what he would come up with as a compliment for the intrepid young woman.

Without even a preamble, he said, “Miss Trevor, I couldn’t help noticing that you have an excellent sense of humor.”

“Why, thank you, my lord. So do you.” Miss Trevor cast a speculative glance past him to Clarissa, who smiled and then turned and pretended to be admiring a plant. A rather ugly one. With spikes. Which she wished she could use on Miss Trevor.

Heavens, where hadthatcome from?

Well, perhaps Miss Trevor would suit.

Oh, yes, that must be where. But only because Clarissa hated to see Edwin marry someone so obviously wrong for him. Not because she was jealous of any woman who actually garnered Edwin’s interest. Not. One. Bit.

“As soon as we can be alone, I mean to claim my reward.”

She jumped, then scowled at Edwin. “Good Lord, don’t surprise me like that. I thought you were still talking to Miss Trevor.”

“No need. I complimented her already.”

Clarissa looked over to see Miss Trevor now wandering over to Lady Anne, probably to discuss the very abrupt Lord Blakeborough. She lowered her voice. “That wasnotthe point of the exercise. You were supposed to engage in polite chitchat and bury the compliment in it.”

There was a decided glint of humor in his eyes. “You didn’t say that. You said to offer four genuine compliments. So I did.”

“But—”

“Are you reneging on your offer of a reward?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow.

Hewouldsee it that way. “Of course not,” she mumbled.

“Good. Because I’ve decided what I want. Later, when we get a chance to be alone, I want to kiss the inside of your bare arm.”

Her stomach flipped over. “That’s a very odd request.”

“You said ‘anything.’”

“But . . . but whythat?”