“Do you like ducks?” he asked.
Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Ducks,” he repeated. Her face became more confused than before. “Birds,” he clarified. Nothing. “Animals that fly, and people shoot them for sport and—”
She put up a gloved hand and smiled weakly. “I know what a duck is, Renwick.”
He ignored her. “I find that ducks make me feel better when I’m upset.”
“Because you shoot them?” she retorted.
“No, I don’t shoot ducks. I must admit I’m a terrible shot. I am actually quite good with a sword, but guns always seemed too inhumane, not sporting at all.” He shook his head as if to protest more. “Ducks, however, make me feel better because they are beautiful. Their feathers are made perfectly to deal with water, and it naturally runs right off their backs.” He noticed the interest pique in her eyes. He smiled and knocked twice on the carriage door. “Off you go.” He hopped out and held his hand for Sai to take. She snubbed him but tripped over her own dress, falling directly into his arms with a loud yelp.
Those who were walking through Hyde Park at the time laughed at the obvious lover’s quarrel. Nicholas, of course, couldn't hear their exact words, but he could guess accurately because he had been around the ton long enough to know how the gossip worked.
“Next time, accept my help, or I can’t promise I will catch you.” He put her on her feet and watched her straighten her skirts. “What a terrible situation to be in if your skirts suddenly flew over your head.”
“You would know,” she snapped.
He winced. “Touché. Shall we go see the ducks?”
“Does water run off your back as well, my lord?”
He rolled his eyes. “It's Nicholas, and no. It used to. I hadn’t a care in the world, but when I realized what harm my actions caused, it seemed water never stayed on my back, but penetrated deep into my soul, making me the blackest creature alive, drowning in my own misery.”
Sai stopped walking and looked into his eyes. Her gaze was enough to send men to their knees in worship; instead he merely wanted to fall in adoration. She smiled and kissed his hand. “None of us is perfect, my lord. You should remember that before you are so quick to condemn yourself.”
“Was that a compliment?” he pried.
She laughed. “You’ve been given compliments all your life. Compliments are merely pretty words thrown at pretty people to make them feel better about their lot in life. No, Nicholas. It was not a compliment; it was a truth.”
She stepped past him, picking up her skirts, and went to sit directly in front of the small duck pond. For the third time in this woman’s presence, he was speechless. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t care.
He took his seat next to her and sighed. “Usually there are more ducks.”
Her smile lifted to her cheeks, making him want to spend his life staring.
“You mean there are usually more ducks than this one sad little fellow?” She pointed to a short squatty duck which had just lay down next to the water's edge. He seemed unbothered by their intrusion.
Nicholas reddened. “Yes."
“I guess that means you owe me,” she teased.
“Owe you?” His voice cracked. “And just exactly what do I owe you, Mademoiselle?” He fought to keep his voice even and light.
“Ducks,” she answered. “Lots and lots of ducks.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “I promise you, I will find you more ducks. Next time you feel like crying, let me know, and we’ll go hunting for ducks together—without pistols, naturally,” he added.
Her smile wavered, reminding him once again that he was the one reason for her sadness. Fear gripped his chest just as a heavy weight of agony pressed down on him, paralyzing his thoughts. Would he never be rid of the guilt? Just watching Sai brought back all the sweeping memories of last night. He’d never felt bad about a kiss before. In fact, he hadn’t even felt like a terrible person for kissing married women, so why did it now feel like the guilt was eating him alive?
She picked a flower next to her and twisted it between her fingers. He was going insane, because in that moment he even felt jealousy for the tiny flower. What would it feel like for her fingers to twist into his hair during an embrace? His body warmed at the inappropriate thoughts swarming around in his head.
The old Nicholas Renwick would have laughed in his face; he was aroused by a flower. A flower! He really was going mad. He had done and seen it all, yet the way this woman held the particular flower between her hands was enough to inspire him to write sonnets. He cursed himself silently and took a deep cleansing breath.