“Lillian told you,” Annabelle said grimly.

“Yes, and she and Evie and I are ever so grateful for the sacrifice that you’re going to make on our behalf.”

“Sacrifice,” Annabelle repeated, not liking the sound of the word. “That’s putting it a bit strongly, isn’t it? As Lillian said, ‘one pair of lips is like any other.’ “

“That’s what she told you,” Daisy said impishly. “But she told me and Evie that she would die before she would ever consent to kiss a man like Mr. Hunt.”

“What—” Annabelle began, but Daisy had already scuttled away, chortling.

Beginning to feel like a sacrificial virgin being tossed into the inferno, Annabelle started as she heard Simon Hunt’s deep voice close to her ear. The quiet jeer of his baritone seemed to resonate all the way down her spine. “Good evening, Miss Peyton. I see you’re fully clothed…for a change.”

Gritting her teeth, Annabelle turned to face him. “I must confess, Mr. Hunt, I was amazed by your restraint during dinner. I had expected a rash of insulting comments from you, and yet you managed to behave like a gentleman for a full hour.”

“It was a strain,” he acknowledged gravely. “But I thought that I would leave the shocking behavior to you…” He paused delicately before adding, “…since you seem to be doing so well at it of late.”

“My friends and I did nothing wrong!”

“Did I say that I disapproved of your playing Rounders in the altogether?” he asked innocently. “On the contrary—I endorse it wholeheartedly. In fact, I think you should do it every day.”

“I wasn’t in the ‘altogether,’ ” Annabelle retorted in a sharp whisper. “I was wearing undergarments.”

“Is that what they were?” he asked lazily.

She flushed bright red, mortified that he had noticed how ragged her underclothes were. “Have you told anyone about seeing us in the meadow?” she asked tensely.

Obviously, that was the question that he had been waiting for. A slow smile curved his lips. “Not yet.”

“Are you planning to tell anyone?”

Hunt considered the question with a thoughtful expression that didn’t begin to conceal his enjoyment of the situation. “Not planning to, no…” He shrugged regretfully. “But you know how it is. Sometimes these things have a way of slipping out during a conversation…”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What will it take to keep you quiet?”

Hunt pretended to be shocked by her bluntness. “Miss Peyton, you should learn to handle these matters with a bit more diplomacy, don’t you think? I would have assumed that a lady of your refinement would use some tact and delicacy—”

“I don’t have time for diplomacy,” she interrupted with a scowl. “And it’s obvious that you can’t be depended upon to keep silent unless you’re offered some kind of bribe.”

“The word ‘bribe’ has such negative connotations,” he mused. “I prefer to call it an inducement.”

“Call it what you like,” she said impatiently. “Let’s get on with the negotiations, shall we?”

“All right.” Hunt’s facade was sober, but laughter flickered in the coffee-colored depths of his eyes. “I suppose I could be persuaded to hold my silence about your scandalous cavorting, Miss Peyton. With sufficient inducement.”

Annabelle fell silent, her lashes lowering as she considered what she was about to say. Once the words were out, they couldn’t be taken back. Dear Lord, why had it fallen to her to buy Simon Hunt’s silence regarding a silly Rounders game that she hadn’t even wanted to play in the first place? “If you were a gentleman,” she muttered, “this wouldn’t be necessary.”

A wealth of suppressed laughter made his voice husky and uneven. “No, I’m not a gentleman. But I am compelled to remind you that I was not the one running half-naked through the meadow this afternoon.”

“Will you hush?” she whispered sharply. “Someone will overhear you.”

Hunt watched her with fascination, his eyes dark and heathen. “Make your best offer, Miss Peyton.”

Staring fixedly at a portion of the wall far beyond his shoulder, Annabelle spoke in a suffocated tone, while the rims of her ears turned so hot that her hair was nearly singed. “If you promise to keep quiet about the Rounders game…I’ll let you kiss me.”

The unaccountable silence that followed her statement was excruciating. Forcing her gaze upward, Annabelle saw that she had surprised Hunt. He was staring at her as if she had just spoken in a foreign language, and he was not quite certain of the translation.

“One kiss,” Annabelle said, her nerves shredded from the tension between them. “And don’t assume that because I let you do it once, that I would ever consent to it again.”

Hunt replied in an unusually guarded manner, seeming to choose his words with great care. “I had assumed that you would offer to dance with me. A waltz or a quadrille.”

“I had thought of that,” she said. “But a kiss is more expedient, not to mention much faster than a waltz.”

“Not the way I kiss.”

The soft statement caused her knees to quiver. “Don’t be absurd,” she replied shortly. “An ordinary waltz lasts for at least three minutes. You couldn’t possibly kiss someone for that long.”