The Duke I'm Going to Marry(9)
She tried not to grin, but couldn’t hold back. “The sight of your naked backside as you rose from my bed is seared into my eyeballs. I’ll never forget it.” Her grin broadened. “Now I’m doomed to think of you whenever I look at a plate of firm and golden hot cross buns.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Firm and golden? I’ll accept that. Beats pale, wrinkled, and scrawny.”
He continued to gaze at her in a gentle, I’m-enjoying-your-company manner that made Dillie’s heart beat erratically fast again. She didn’t want Ian to like her. Nor did she wish to like him. She was used to his condescending arrogance, and found him easy to resist when he was his usual, irritating self. But a charming, attentive Ian was devastating to her composure. She wanted to climb onto his lap, put her arms around his neck, and kiss him senseless.
She cleared her throat as she reached for the pot of tea, struggling to concentrate on pouring the hot liquid into the delicate teacups and not all over her shaking hands. “I’ve given some thought to the Chipping Way curse. Quite a bit of thought to it actually,” she said, hoping to strike a casual tone.
“Have you now?” He eased into the chair beside hers and took the offered cup of tea, but he paid little attention to it as he waited for her to continue. What was he thinking? No matter, she preferred to do the talking.
“I have. And I’ve realized that you can’t possibly be the man I’m going to marry.” There, she’d said it. But his lingering silence began to put her on edge. “I’m sure you’re every bit as relieved as I am. Not that you believed in the superstition. Nor did I, not really. But one can never be too careful about such things.”
Still silent. Why wasn’t he pleased? Smiling in gratitude? She began to fuss over the refreshments, suddenly afraid to look him in the eye. Not that he was looking at her. He wasn’t. His gaze was now fixed on the fire blazing in the hearth.
“I see,” he said finally. “How did you come to that momentous conclusion?” He seemed tense as he spoke, but he couldn’t be. He’d made no secret of his thoughts on marriage. He didn’t wish to be tied to her any more than she wished to be tied to him.
“When my sisters met their husbands on Chipping Way... or rather, ran headlong into them on Chipping Way, it was their first meeting. It happened all four times. First Rose’s kiln exploded and Julian ran to her rescue. Then Laurel almost killed Graelem by running him down with her horse. Gabriel responded to Daisy’s cries for help and rescued our young cousin from a fast-moving carriage, and Lily met Ewan when his dog ran her over. These were all first meetings—love-at-first-sight sort of blinding bursts of attraction.”
“Like a brilliant show of fireworks.”
“Yes,” she said with a satisfied nod.
“And each first meeting was on Chipping Way.” Ian now turned to study her. “So that’s how you concluded that we’re not destined for each other. Because you and I have known each other for about two years now, so our encounter of a few days ago couldn’t possibly be a love-at-first-sight sort of thing. But what of our first encounter? Two years ago.”
She tipped her head, confused. “It was an unusual first meeting, I will admit.” They hadn’t been properly introduced. In truth, they’d never met before. He’d swept her into his arms that night in her neighbor’s garden, wrapped his strong arms about her waist and drawn her so close their bodies had melted into one. She remembered it as though it had happened only yesterday. The memory of his hard, sinewy body in direct contact with her softer curves was still vivid.
Her body warmed each time she thought of it, but not because Ian had been holding her. Or kissing her. Holy crumpets! What a kiss!
No, it was simply because she had been so surprised.
Yet, she would never forget the way he’d lowered his head and... oh, the feel of his firm, possessive mouth on hers. Exquisite. Nor could she forget that all his heat and passion were meant for another. He’d simply come upon the wrong girl. “We both know I wasn’t the lady you expected to find.”
“But we did first meet on Chipping Way. Right next door in Lady Dayne’s moonlit garden, to be precise. You were hiding behind the lilac trees, spying on her guests.”
She set down the slice of lemon cake she was about to pop into her mouth, and felt the warmth of a blush begin to spread across her cheeks. Even the tips of her ears were hot. So was her neck. “But I was in her garden. Not on the street.” Though Rose and Julian hadn’t met on the street either. Their first meeting was right here, in the garden attached to the Farthingale townhouse. “And I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Well, not very wrong. I was merely curious about the party. You make it sound as though I were up to no good.”