He sighed inside, the only indication of weariness an ever so slight roll of his eyes. He probably should have danced attendance on Lady Amelia when he’d seen her in the drawing room. Hell, he probably should have spoken to her before addressing Grace. In fact, he knew he should have done, but the scene with the painting had been so farcical, he had to tell someone about it, and it wasn’t as if Lady Amelia would have understood.
Still, he had kissed her last night, and even if he had a perfect right to do so, he supposed that required a bit of postencounter finesse. “I trust your journey home last evening went without incident,” he said, deciding that was as good a conversational introduction as any.
Her eyes remained focused on the trees ahead. “We were not accosted by highwaymen,” she confirmed.
He glanced over at her, attempting to gauge her tone. There had been a hint of irony in her voice, but her face was magnificently placid.
She caught him looking at her and murmured, “I thank you for your concern.”
He could not help wondering if she thought she was mocking him. “Lovely weather this morning,” he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say to needle her. He wasn’t sure why. And he wasn’t sure why he wanted to.
“It’s very pleasant,” she agreed.
“And you are feeling improved?”
“Since last night?” she asked, blinking with surprise.
He looked down at her pinking cheeks with some amusement. “I’d thought since five minutes ago, but last night will do just as well.”
It was good to know he still knew how to kiss a blush onto a woman’s cheeks.
“I am much better now,” she said crisply, batting at her hair, which, unconfined by a bonnet, was now blowing about in the breeze. It kept getting caught in the corner of her mouth. He would have found that vastly annoying. How did women tolerate it?
“I was feeling overly closed-in in the drawing room,” she added.
“Ah yes,” he murmured. “The drawing room is a bit confined.”
It could seat forty.
“The company was stifling,” she said pointedly.
He smiled to himself. “I had no idea you were on such uncomfortable terms with your sister.”
She’d been directing her barbs at the trees down the hill, but at this she snapped her head in his direction. “I wasn’t talking about my sister.”
“I was aware,” he murmured.
Her skin flushed even deeper, and he wondered which was the cause-anger or embarrassment. Both, probably. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
He paused to consider this. “I live here.”
“With me.” This, between her teeth.
“Unless I am mistaken, you are to be my wife.”
She stopped walking, turned, and looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t like me.”
She didn’t sound particularly saddened by this, more exasperated than anything. Which he found curious. “That’s not true,” he replied. Because it wasn’t. There was a huge difference between dislike and disregard.
“You don’t,” she persisted.
“Why would you think so?”
“How could I not?”
He offered her a sultry gaze. “I believe I liked you quite well last night.”
She said nothing, but her body was so tense, and her face such a picture of concentration, that he could almost hear her counting to ten before grinding out, “I am a duty to you.”
“True,” he agreed, “but possibly a pleasant one.”
Her face moved with charming intensity. He had no idea what she was thinking; any man who said he could read females was a fool or a liar. But he found it rather entertaining to watch her think, to see her expressions shift and sway as she tried to figure out how best to deal with him.
“Do you ever think about me?” she finally asked.
It was such a typically female question; he felt as if he were defending mankind everywhere when he promptly answered, “I’m thinking about you right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
He thought about lying. It was, most likely, the kind thing to do. But he’d recently discovered that this creature he was meant to marry was far more intelligent than she’d originally let on, and he didn’t think she would be appeased by platitudes. And so he told the truth.
“No.”
She blinked. And then again. And then several more times. Clearly, this was not what she had been expecting. “No?” she finally echoed.
“You should consider it a compliment,” he instructed. “If I thought less of you, I’d lie.”
“If you thought more of me, I’d not have to ask you this question right now.”
He felt his patience begin to drip away. He was here, wasn’t he, escorting her across the fields, when the truth was, all he really wanted to do was…
Something, he thought crossly. He wasn’t sure what, but the truth was, he had at least a dozen matters that required his attention, and if he didn’t particularly want to do them, he dearly wanted to have them done.
Did she think herself his only responsibility? Did she think he had time to sit about, composing poems to a woman he hadn’t even chosen for a wife? She’d been assigned to him, for God’s sake. In the bloody cradle.
He turned to her, his eyes piercing hers. “Very well, Lady Amelia. What are your expectations of me?”
She seemed flummoxed by the question, stammering some sort of nonsense he doubted even she understood. Good God, he didn’t have time for this. He’d got no sleep the night before, his grandmother was even more of an aggravation than usual, and now his affianced bride, who had heretofore never uttered a peep beyond the usual claptrap about the weather, was suddenly acting as if he had obligations toward her.
Beyond marrying her, of course. Which he fully intended to do. But good Lord, not this afternoon.
He rubbed his brow with his thumb and middle finger. His head had started to ache.
“Are you all right?” Lady Amelia inquired.
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
“At least as well as I was in the drawing room,” he heard her mutter.
And really, that was too much. He lifted his head, pinned her with a stare. “Shall I kiss you again?”
She said nothing. But her eyes grew round.
He let his gaze fall upon her lips and murmured, “It seemed to make the both of us far more agreeable.”
Still she said nothing. He decided to take that as a yes.
Chapter 5
No!” Amelia exclaimed, jumping back a step.
And if she hadn’t been so discombobulated by his sudden swerve into amorous territory, she would have greatly enjoyed his discombobulation when he stumbled forward, his lips finding nothing but air.
“Really?” he drawled, once he’d regained his footing.
“You don’t even want to kiss me,” she said, backing up another step. He was starting to look dangerous.
“Indeed,” he murmured, eyes glittering. “Just as I don’t like you.”
Her heart dropped about a foot. “You don’t?” she echoed.
“According to you,” he reminded her.
She felt her skin burn with embarrassment-the sort only possible when one’s own words were being tossed in one’s face. “I don’t want you to kiss me,” she stammered.
“Don’t you?” he asked, and she wasn’t sure how he managed it, but they weren’t quite so far apart any longer.
“No,” she said, fighting to maintain her equilibrium. “I don’t, because…because…” She thought about this-thought frantically about it, because there was no way her thoughts could be anything approaching calm and rational in such a position.
And then it was clear.
“No,” she said again. “I don’t. Because you don’t.”
He froze, but just for a moment. “You think I don’t wish to kiss you?”
“I know you don’t,” she replied, in what had to be the bravest moment of her life. Because in that moment he was everything ducal.