Justin would forget himself and do something stupid. Wes felt every one of the eleven years he had on Justin.
“I apologize again for intruding on the party,” he told his companion, watching as the young people continued their game.
Her cheeks were the most entrancing shade of pink. “Please don’t think of it as an intrusion! I feel certain that if the duke were here, he would have urged you to stay. And I must say, your arrival was very welcome to the young ladies, especially Lady Bridget.”
“Yes, she seems very cheerful.”
To prove his point, the girl in question let out a shout of laughter, clutching her belly as she did so. “Bravo,” called Lady Sophronia, sitting on a sofa nearby.
Wes ducked his head closer to Mrs. Cavendish. “What game are they playing?” he murmured. The bright scent of lemon was driving him to distraction. He wanted to breathe her in forever.
“One of Bridget’s inventions, I believe.” She wore a slightly apologetic expression. “I’m not certain I can explain all the rules very well—or at all—but the main point is that the blind man”—she nodded at Justin, who still wore the blindfold and a beaming grin—“is presented several clues, and must guess the mystery subject.”
“How does one win?”
“By guessing correctly on the fewest clues.”
“Ah.” He glanced at his nephew. It was clear to see that Justin was enjoying being the center of so much attention. He sat with his hands on his knees, his elbows out, making his shoulders as wide as possible. As Wes watched, Lady Alexandra came up to him and placed her palm against his cheek. Justin flinched, but his smile grew wider than ever.
“Sleigh riding,” he said, and the young ladies erupted in applause and giggles.
“Well done,” declared Bridget. “Although we should deduct points after Alexandra cheated.”
“It’s not cheating,” protested her sister. “My hands were cold! The clue was cold!”
Justin peeled off the blindfold. “It was the best clue of all,” he assured her in his strangely deeper voice. Alexandra smiled, and Bridget rolled her eyes.
“Who shall be next?” She scanned the room. They had clearly been playing a while. “Cousin Viola!”
“No,” said the woman next to Wes. “Absolutely not.”
“Spoken like a chaperone,” he murmured.
“As I am,” was her low reply. “Perhaps you should play.”
She hadn’t said it loudly, but Lady Bridget heard. “Oh yes! Please do, Lord Winterton. We’ve all had a turn and it’s still a quarter hour until dinner.”
“Do, Uncle,” added Justin with a fiendish gleam in his eye.
Wes glanced at Mrs. Cavendish. Her eyes had widened in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “It won’t hurt,” she whispered with a rueful little smile. “If you feel adventurous.”
God. The blood roared in his ears. That smile did him in, captivating and intimate. Wes heard himself agree before he could think twice. “If it will amuse you.” He couldn’t resist leaning closer and adding a quiet plea. “But you must give me some hint of what to do.”
Bridget hurried over to thrust the blindfold into Mrs. Cavendish’s hands. “We’ll be sure to choose something clever this time,” she said. “Sleigh riding! We can do better . . .” She darted back across the room to huddle with the other young people.
Wes caught the gleeful look Justin sent his way. He turned to Mrs. Cavendish. “Help me,” he whispered.
She laughed as they crossed the room to the chair. “It’s not difficult.” Wes took a seat and she lifted the blindfold, settling it gently over his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as she moved behind him, her fingers stirring his hair as she knotted the cloth. “They will give you clues to the word or saying they’ve thought of,” she said, her voice soft and very near his ear. Wes’s imagination began to wander dangerously, conjuring up other ways she could be behind him, her lips near his ear and her hands in his hair. He wondered if the scent of lemons came from her hair or from her skin.
“After each clue you make a guess,” Mrs. Cavendish went on. “Lord Newton required nine clues to reach the correct answer, which is the best so far tonight.”
“So to win, I need to guess after eight or fewer clues.”
“Yes.” Now blind, he could still tell she was smiling. “The wittier or more ridiculous the guess, the better.”
“Ridiculous?” He turned his head toward her voice. “What do you mean?”
“Lady Bridget thrives on the ridiculous,” she murmured.
He would have asked more, but a querulous voice snapped,