Page 27 of If the Duke Demands

“Yes,” Sebastian answered, the finality of the single word indicating that he wished to share nothing more about Lady Jane Sheridan, the daughter of the Earl of Bentham and the woman whom retiring room gossip claimed was in the running to be that season’s Incomparable. And whom Miranda knew had sparked Sebastian’s interest.

Miranda watched her across the park, walking so smoothly as to almost glide over the grass, her face carefully shielded from the sun by a large bonnet and lace parasol, while Miranda’s own bonnet sat unused by her side. Unable to resist the warmth of the afternoon sun, she’d removed the stiff, stuffy thing, even though the sun would certainly dot more freckles across her nose. Miranda doubted that Lady Jane had ever suffered a freckle in her life.

She sniffed and looked away. “She’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as Diana,” Robert put in, and his unwitting words felt like a knife to her chest. “I’ll put in a good word for you, Seb.”

“Don’t you dare,” Sebastian warned.

Robert laughed away the threat and gave Miranda a nod as he departed.

She stared after him, utterly at a loss. How did women like Miss Morgan and Lady Jane so easily capture men’s attentions, while she struggled to make them notice that she was even in the room? Were ladies like that born with skills of seduction, or did they learn them? And if they’d learned them, then Miranda dearly wished someone would take pity on her and tell her how.

She watched Robert saunter up to the two women, who held their parasols daintily over their shoulders like porcelain dolls—

Another tug at her foot stole back her attention.

She turned to find Sebastian’s blue eyes studying her curiously.

“Salmon fishing?” he repeated gently. She was grateful that he had the decency to interject surprise into his voice rather than pity.

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. “Well, I had to try something.”

After two weeks in London, she was having a grand time, almost as if living in a fairy tale, and all of it was so much more thrilling and exciting than she’d ever imagined.

Except for Robert.

He still treated her as nothing more than a younger sister, and she had yet to capture his interest. Or his attention. Annoyingly, she froze up whenever she was around him or said such inane things that he must have thought she was a goose.Salmon fishing…Oh, what a nick-ninny she was!

“What’s the matter, Miranda?” Bewildered curiosity laced his voice. “Why can’t you manage a conversation with him?”

She turned away, disheartened, as unshed tears stung her eyes. He made it sound so simple. As if she could just open her lips and enrapture Robert with her charm and wit. The way Miss Morgan did. Sebastian had no idea how difficult that was for her.

Difficult?Impossible.

“Because I’m always too nervous,” she admitted quietly. “I want him to believe that I’m…That is, I—I don’t think…If I could just…” She tossed up her hands in frustration. She couldn’t even talkabouthim without tongue-tying herself. How was she ever supposed to be able to talk directlytothe man? “With Robert, there’s too much pressure to be…” She shrugged as her voice drifted off.

“Be what?” he prompted.

Then she sighed heavily, confessing to her deficiencies with a sag of her shoulders. “Someone interesting.”

“You are,” he assured gently.

She rolled her eyes. He was lying, she was certain of it. Sebastian Carlisle found her to be a lot of things—annoying, pestering, far too boisterous for her own good—but she was certain that interesting was not one of them. Still, it was sweet of him to say so.

“But not to Robert.” She grimaced at herself, the past three weeks proving how truly dismal she was when it came to engaging him in stimulating conversation. Or any conversation at all. “I just can’ttalkto him.”

Sebastian reached for a grape from the fruit plate, his eyes lowering away from her. “You don’t have that problem with me.”

“That’s because you don’t signify.”

“Thank you,” he drawled sarcastically, popping the grape into his mouth.

“You know what I mean,” she scolded. “There’s nothing to be nervous about with you because I don’t want to impress you.”

“Thank you,” he repeated in the same sarcastic drawl.

Then she laughed, both at the sardonic expression on his face and at her own silliness, and pressed her hand against her mouth as she shook with laughter.