"You could have chosen my profile," a quiet, measured voice said beside her.
Marian did not startle, though her grip on her reticule tightened. She turned to find Richard standing at a perfectly respectable distance. He was looking at the orchid, not at her.
"My posture, my coat, the architecture of the terrace," he continued smoothly. "Why the laugh, Miss Elwood?"
Marian studied him. He was back in his armor today—impeccably dressed, his expression a study in aristocratic courtesy. But the question itself was a breach in the wall.
"Everyone notices when the Duke of Rentham enters a room, Your Grace," Marian said, her tone matching his quiet composure. "I found it much more interesting to see what happens just before you remember that you are the Duke of Rentham."
Richard finally looked at her. For a moment, the guarded politeness in his eyes fractured, replaced by a sharp, arrested stillness. He was struck, she realized, by the sheer precision of the answer.
"Do you observe everyone in this manner?" he asked softly.
Marian offered a faint, acknowledging smile. "Only when they are interesting enough."
It was the first time she had ever flirted, if one could even call such a quiet truth a flirtation. The corner of Richard's mouth twitched upward.
"Do you intend to draw me again?"
"I might," Marian replied. "But there is a problem now."
"Oh?"