Page 58 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
It was Alexander and Abigail’s turn again. Each pair was obliged to pick out a prompt from the hat – the same one which had held the names was now holding dozens of charades prompts to act out – and then act the prompt to their partner. If they guessed correctly before the minute-glass ran out, they would earn one point. If they were quick enough, they were permitted to choose another prompt, and earn the chance of another point.
So far, to her amazement, Abigail and Alexander were ahead.
It was Alexander’s turn to act, and he bounced up from his seat, snatching up a prompt. He read it quickly, eyes narrowing.
Abigail waited, the anticipation building inside her.
The Dowager had not been exaggerating when she said that Alexander was good at this game. He was happy to clown around and make the others laugh, but somehow, it was also easy to guess at what he was acting out. He was also good at guessing when it was his turn.
She could see Diana, paired with a man who had a bristling moustache and appeared to be half-asleep, sitting sourly beside Lord Donovan and his giggling debutante partner, a rather sweet young lady who thought everything an absolute joke, but could not guess or act to save her life.
Drawing in a breath, Alexander slipped the piece of paper into his pocket, nodding at Aunt Florence to start the minute-glass timer.
He placed his hands together, palm to palm, and opened them slowly.
“It is a book, then,” Abigail said.
There was a vigorous nod. Then Alexander threw out his arms in a circle around his hips, making a move as if splashing.
“Water? Water? No, no, but I’m close? River? Stream? Pond? No – Lake!”
There was another vigorous nod. The others were all watching in varying shades of amusement. The Dowager was beaming adoringly at her son.
The Duke, who was not playing, as there was an odd number, was sitting off to one side, on the armchair Abigail had vacated.
Next, Alexander pointed directly at Abigail. She frowned, a little confused.
“Me? No, no. Woman? Lake… Woman…”
He was still pointing urgently, then gestured to the rest of the gathering, specifically the…
“Ladies!” she gasped. “Lady… The Lady of the Lake, by Sir Walter Scott!”
“Correct!” Alexander laughed, whipping out the now-crumpled piece of paper to show them all.
There was applause, and Abigail allowed herself a wide grin. This victory would put them a full five points above the next highest scoring pair.
“Although, The Lady of the Lake is apoem,you wretch,” she said, laughing. Perhaps it was a little too familiar, but Alexander only bowed and grinned.
“And yet you guessed it anyway,” he said, glancing up at her with strangely glittering eyes. “We make quite the team, don’t we?”
“Enough chit-chat,” Aunt Florence interrupted. “Look, you have twenty or thirty seconds left on the timer! Get yourselves another prompt, and try and win another prompt.”
“Goodness, Lady Caldecott,” Diana remarked sourly. “Anyone would think you wantedthemto win, instead of your partner and yourself.”
“It is charades, Lady Lockwell,” Aunt Florence shot back, without missing a beat, “hardly a game upon which anyone’s life depends.”
Diana flushed at her sharp tone, throwing herself back against the sofa and folding her arms tight across her chest, disapproval evident.
Aunt Florence, of course, did not seem to care.
Snatching up another prompt, Alexander read it quickly, and glanced up at Abigail. There was a small smile on his face, something soft and fond, and she almost felt as though she ought not to be seeing it at all. Something tugged inside her, something that made her want to get up and go to Alexander and put her arms around him.
A shocking notion, of course. Lord Alexander Willenshire might be a rake, but he would never conduct himself poorly in public. No gentleman would, even a…
A crash echoed from outside, making the inhabitants flinch and turn around.
The Duke rose to his feet, a wary look on his face.
