Flirtation by rote. She couldn’t manage Elinor’s icy smile either, though she could try. “There’s no need to pretend you have any interest in me, Mr. Reading. I realize I’m not to your particular taste, though you say all the right things. I do assure you there’s no need to accompany me—I’ve been to the market on my own or with Jacobs any number of times and nothing untoward has happened. If you’ll release my hand…”
She tugged, but he tightened his grip, and beneath the brim of his hat she could see his smile. “Does everyone fall at your feet, Mi
ss Lydia?”
“In truth, everyone but you, Mr. Reading,” she said ruefully. “Nanny says I’m vain, but I’m not. It’s simply an accident of birth that I’m pretty. It’s no great accomplishment on my part. My mother was pretty, and knowing her, I expect my father was as well. So people smile on me, and men flirt with me. Except for you, Mr. Reading. ”
He tucked her hand under his arm, starting forward, and she had no choice but to fall into step beside him. “I flirt with you, Miss Lydia,” he said easily. “If you haven’t recognized it as such I must have become suddenly gauche, and I do beg your pardon. I will endeavor to improve my skills. Shall I tell you how exquisite your golden curls are? Your delicate British complexion? That you move so gracefully angels would weep in jealousy, that your smile brightens every encounter? A sonnet, perhaps?
‘Miss Lydia’s eyes
Are something divine
A delicate prize
’Twill never be mine. ’”
“I don’t think much of that,” she said frankly. “It sounds as if you want my eyes gouged from my head and placed on a pillow. Or a plate,” she added.
Reading made a muffled sound, which in someone else she might have thought was a laugh smothered by a cough. “I’m afraid that most of my instant poetic efforts tend toward deliberately obscene doggerel, composed for the entertainment of one’s drinking partners. If you want a true sonnet you’ll have to wait while I write it down. I wouldn’t want to give you less than your due. ”
Each flirtatious remark seemed forced, but he still kept her arm captured, his hand on hers, pressing against his forearm, and for some reason she still felt as if she were dancing on air. She tilted her face up to the sunshine, drinking it in. “I give you leave to stop flirting, Mr. Reading. I still don’t believe you. Tell me about Lord Rohan. Is he in much pain?”
She could feel the tension in the muscles beneath her hand. “I would suggest, Miss Lydia, that you cast your gaze elsewhere. Lord Rohan is naught but trouble, and he’s moved his gaze beyond pretty virgins such as you. ”
Author: Anne Stuart
“He’s interested in my sister, is he not? Isn’t she a pretty virgin?” If he disparaged Elinor she would happily hit him with her empty basket.
“You know as well as I do that your sister is far more than pretty. ”
“Indeed she is,” she said, pleased with him after all. “And I do assure you, I’m not as shallow and vain as you appear to think me. ”
“I do not think you shallow or vain,” he said in a low voice. “I find you exquisite, delightful, a wondrous…”
“Oh, be quiet,” she said crossly. “You think I’m—”
He stopped, and one gloved finger haltered her in midsentence. They were on the edge of the market now, beneath the shadows of an overhanging building, and she could see his face now, see his eyes, no longer covered by drooping lids.
“I find you exquisite, delightful, a wondrous temptation and most definitely not for me,” he said in a slow, deliberate voice. “You have everyone else at your feet, Miss Lydia. Why should you need me as well?”
For a moment she couldn’t speak, mesmerized by the torment she saw in the dark depths of his eyes. “Because you’re the one I want,” she said in a hushed voice, shocked at herself. Shocked at the simple truth of it.
He stared down at her for a long moment. And then his head moved, and she knew he was going to kiss her, here in this marketplace full of people, he was going to put his scarred mouth on hers, and she was going to throw her arms around him and kiss him back.
“There you are, Miss Lydia!” Jacobs’s voice broke the moment, and Reading released her arm. She turned, feeling the heat flood her cheeks.
“I thought I’d lost you, Jacobs,” she said in a determinedly cheerful voice, as if she hadn’t just lost her only chance for the best kiss of her life. “Mr. Reading was kind enough to escort me in your place. ” She turned back to him, ready to say all the polite things. And then the words, the breath left her, as she finally looked into his eyes and saw the truth.
A moment later it was gone, and he bowed over her hand. “Your servant, Miss Lydia,” he murmured, and a moment later he was gone, swallowed up by the crowds.
She stood motionless, watching him until he disappeared, her heart hammering. It was no wonder she hadn’t been able to read his thoughts, his feelings in his dark, shaded eyes. They were deeper, more powerful than she’d ever imagined. Too powerful to put into words. All she knew was she wanted to run after him, throwing caution, throwing everything to the winds. He’d said she wasn’t for the likes of him. She didn’t care. She’d follow him anywhere, she’d…
“Miss Lydia?” Jacobs broke through her momentary dream, bringing her back to reality with a thud. “We need to finish the marketing and get back home. The doctor is due this afternoon, and he was going to take you to the park for a picnic. ” He made it sound like an operation.
Etienne, she thought miserably. The man she was going to marry. The right man for her. If she learned to stop dreaming. “I think we need tripe,” she said. “Come along, Jacobs. You’re right, we’d best hurry. ”
She told herself to stop thinking about Mr. Reading’s eyes, immediately. And she almost succeeded.