Hannah contemplated him for a moment. She knew that he was annoyed with her for placing such importance on the loss of a small item of china that would make no difference in the scheme of things. But it had been the boorish gesture of a rich man, deliberately destroying something for no reason.

Bowman was rightHannah was indeed strongly tempted to cancel the proposed walk. On the other hand, the cool defiance in his eyes actually touched her. He had looked, for just a moment, like a recalcitrant schoolboy who’d been caught in an act of mischief and was now awaiting punishment.

“Not at all,” she told him. “I am still willing to walk with you. But I wish you would refrain from smashing anything else along the way.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing that she had surprised him. Something softened in his face, and he looked at her with a kindling interest that caused a mysterious quickening inside her.

“No more smashing things,” he promised.

“Well, then.” She pulled up the hood of her short cloak and headed to the stairs that led to the terraced gardens.

In a few long strides Bowman had caught up with her. “Take my arm,” he advised. “The steps might be slippery.”

Hannah hesitated before complying, her bare hand slipping over his sleeve and coming to rest lightly on the bed of muscle beneath. In her efforts to keep from waking Natalie earlier, she had forgotten to fetch her gloves.

“Would Lady Natalie have been upset?” Bowman asked.

“About the broken teacup?” Hannah considered that for a moment. “I don’t think so. She probably would have laughed, to flatter you.”

He sent her a sideways smile. “There’s nothing wrong with flattering me, Miss Appleton. It makes me quite happy and manageable.”

“I have no desire to manage you, Mr. Bowman. I’m not at all certain you’re worth the effort.”

His smile vanished and his jaw tautened, as if she had touched an unpleasant nerve. “We’ll leave it to Lady Natalie, then.”

They crossed an opening in an ancient yew hedge and began along a graveled path. The carefully trimmed bushes and mounded vegetation resembled giant iced cakes. High-pitched calls of nuthatches floated from the nearby woodland. A hen harrier skimmed close to the ground, its wings tensed in a wide V as it searched for prey.

Although it was rather pleasant to hold on to Bowman’s strong, steady arm, Hannah reluctantly withdrew her hand.

“Now,” Bowman said quietly, “tell me what you assume my opinion of Lady Natalie is.”

“I’ve no doubt you like her. I think you’re willing to marry her because she suits your needs. It is obvious that she will smooth your path in society and bear you fair-haired children, and she’ll be sufficiently well bred to look the other way when you stray from her.”

“Why are you so certain I’ll stray?” Bowman asked, sounding curious rather than indignant.

“Everything I’ve seen of you so far confirms that you are not capable of fidelity.”

“I might be, if I found the right woman.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said with crisp certainty. “Whether or not you’re faithful has nothing to do with the woman. It depends entirely upon your own character.”

“My God, you’re opinionated. You must terrify nearly every man you meet.”

“I don’t meet many men.”

“That explains it, then.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you’ve never been kissed before.”

Hannah stopped in her tracks and whirled to face him.

“Why do you…how did you …”

“The more experience a man has,” he said, “the more easily he can detect the lack of it in someone else.”

They had reached a little clearing. In the center of it stood a mermaid fountain, surrounded by a circle of low stone benches. Hannah climbed onto one of the benches and walked its length slowly, and hopped over the little space to the next bench.

Bowman followed at once, walking beside the benches as she made a circle around them. “So your Mr. Clark has never made an advance to you?”

Hannah shook her head, hoping he would ascribe her rising color to the cold temperature. “He’s not my Mr. Clark. As for making an advance…I’m not altogether certain. One time he …” Realizing what she had been about to confess, she closed her mouth with a snap.

“Oh, no. You can’t leave that dangling out there. Tell me what you were going to say.” Bowman’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric belt of her dress and he tugged firmly, forcing her to stop.

“Don’t,” she said breathlessly, scowling from her superior vantage on the bench.

Bowman put his hands at her waist and swung her to the ground. He kept her standing before him, his hands lightly gripping her sides. “What did he do? Say something lewd? Try to look down your bodice?”

“Mr. Bowman,” she protested with a helpless scowl. “Approximately a month ago, Mr. Clark was studying a book of phrenology, and he asked if he could feel my …”

Bowman had gone still, the spice-colored eyes widening ever so slightly. “Your what?”

“My cranium.” Seeing his blank expression, Hannah went on to explain. “Phrenology is the science of analyzing the shape of someone’s skull and.”

“Yes, I know. Every measurement and indentation is supposed to mean something.”

“Yes. So I allowed him to evaluate my head and make a chart of any shapings that would reveal my character traits.”