There were two…shapes. One looked somewhat like an oddly formed bean. The other, from which the needle was still protruding, looked as though it might be half of a…hand? Were they both supposed to represent the same object, or was she on her second turn? No, she’d asked if this was better, which seemed to indicate she’d made more than one attempt.

“Is it a hand?” someone asked.

“It’s a leaf.” Susan tossed the needlework onto a table. “This is a terrible game.” Her gaze drifted toward Mrs. Renshaw. Was that because she’d suggested it? Or was she merely marking her target for when the game was dismissed, which would likely be now since the gentlemen had arrived.

“Well done, Lady Witney,” Mrs. Creighton said. “This game can be quite daunting the first time you play.” She looked to her husband, who came up beside her chair. “Shall we play cards instead?”

Gregory saw Susan’s eyes narrow at Mrs. Renshaw in a decidedly predatory manner. He didn’t hesitate. Moving swiftly to Mrs. Renshaw, he offered her his hand. “Shall we take that stroll on the terrace?” He spoke as if they’d planned it.

“Yes, thank you.” She placed her hand in his, and he relished the surge of anticipation that shot through him.

When she stood, he whispered, “Where is the terrace?”

“Just through here.” Taking his arm, she guided him to the next room and out the door to the terrace, where a brisk, cold breeze greeted them.

“It’s too cold,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “You don’t even have a wrap.”

“One moment.” She stepped back inside and returned with a thick shawl draped about her shoulders. “Heloise keeps a few shawls by the door for just this purpose. One never knows when the urge to go outside will strike.”

“Ingenious. We won’t linger too long. I don’t want you to catch cold.”

“I may pretend that I do so that I may retreat to my chamber in order to avoid Lady Witney.”

“That’s why I swept you out here. I recognized the predatory glint in her eyes.”

“I wondered.” Mrs. Renshaw shot him a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

They walked to the end of the terrace. He would have suggested they continue into the garden, but it had rained earlier, and the ground was likely quite soft. Instead, they turned and started back.

Gregory was right—he couldn’t keep her out here too long. It was now or some other time, and he still didn’t have a future engagement planned with her. “I hope you won’t think me too forward, but I have a proposition for you.”

She stiffened, and his nerve started to falter. “What sort of proposition?” Her voice sounded stilted.