The Heart of a Duke(16)
Surprised, he raised a brow. Soon thereafter, he was too busy thanking his change in fortunes to ponder Emily’s enigmatic comment. Jonathan and Lord Taunton had departed to observe an archery competition, and Emily’s commitment to judge a flower show had her making her excuses as well. In a desperate ploy to escape him, Julia was quick to offer her assistance with the judging.
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Emily looked rueful. “Mistress Turner has declared your gardening talents both dangerous and deadly—her words, not mine—so I fear she wouldn’t hear of it either. Really, Julia, Father would be most upset if you left Lord Bryant here bereft of an escort so soon after his return home.” Emily’s pitiful look in Daniel’s direction had him biting his tongue to suppress his smile. She cleverly played to her sister’s weaknesses. He would have to remember to guard his.
“Well, I—” Julia stammered.
He needed no further encouragement than Emily’s what are you waiting for? look. “Yes, I would be quite lost without Lady Julia’s company. So now that that is settled, I think we should be off before the day is lost.” Or Julia escaped. He caught her arm and, ignoring her tug of resistance, looped it securely through his, clasping his hand over hers and trapping her by his side.
He bowed to Emily, swung Julia around, and ventured forward. As if he had won a coveted prize and he had no intention of losing her.
“What are you doing?” Julia asked, looking pink-cheeked and flustered as she removed her arm from his.
He admired the color on her fair features. “Enjoying the fair, the day, and the company of a beautiful woman.” He tossed a coin to a village girl who braced a basket brimming with floral bouquets against her broad hip. He extracted one and offered it to Julia, inclining his head. “For a fair damsel.”
She hesitated, then grabbed the flowers, frowning when the girl scurried away, her trill of laughter floating behind her. “I cannot fathom why after ten years away, without word or warning, you have decided to return home. But—”
“I wrote. I wrote to Robbie. I would have visited sooner had I known I was missed. Emily said—”
“That is enough.” Seeing curious stares turn their way, she closed her mouth and caught his arm. “Please, come with me. There are matters that need to be settled.”
Surprised, he found himself towed in her wake.
She drew him down an alley separating the jugglers’ tent from one showcasing a fortune-teller. She must be a bit of a bluestocking, for a young lady did not touch, let alone drag, a gentleman anywhere. Another admirable character trait; for after his years in America, he was finding England a bit straightlaced, like a stiff-backed old woman, set in her ways and resistant to change.
She released his arm and faced him. “Please, you have to stop giving me flowers. I am betrothed to your brother. More importantly, I do not know what you and Emily were whispering about earlier, but you need to promise me that you will stay away from her. Emily’s been through too much already, and—”
“You cannot be serious,” he cut her off, a choked laugh escaping him. “I have no designs on Emily.”
Instead of his response placating her, she reeled back as if stricken. “And why not? What is wrong with my sister? She is perfect, gentle and kind. Everyone loves Emily.”
“Just like a woman.” He shook his head. “Condemned both ways. What makes you think I have any designs on your sister? After all, it was you that I kissed. It is you whom I—”
“Please,” she cut him off, casting a furtive glance around the empty alley. Rumbles of laughter carried to them, and an occasional shout rose from a satisfied patron. “Please, let us not bring that up again. I told you, it was a mistake, a minor indiscretion that a gentleman would not keep—”
“I am beginning to think you have never been kissed before.” He crossed his arms, amused.
“Excuse me?” she breathed, the color draining from her face.
“To classify that kiss as minor reveals your ignorance of the matter.” He shrugged. “A peck on the cheek or lips pressed to a gloved hand is minor, but what we did was explosive. Smoldering. It lit—”
“Stop! It may not . . . ah, did you say explosive? Really?” She paused, her annoyance forgotten, replaced by wide-eyed intrigue.
Delighted, he inclined his head toward her and lowered his voice to a husky timbre. “And smoldering. I have never—”
“Enough,” she cried. She had been leaning toward him as well, his soft words reeling her in, but sudden awareness of her actions caused her to straighten like a poker. “If I agree with you that it was . . . well, it was done rather well, you must agree with me that it was dangerous and more important, a mistake.” She pressed a hand against her temple. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you. It is ridiculous. I do not do ridiculous, am far too old for it.”