Part 16 (1/2)

Dahlia'd just bent her knee in a curtsy, but at his words, she froze and then slowly straightened. ”I beg your pardon, but did you just announce that I'm late?”

Kirk opened his mouth to answer, but the flash in Dahlia's gaze made him pause. He'd arrived in the library a good half hour early, as eager for their meeting as a callow youth waiting for his first tryst. He'd spent the time imagining how he wished the events to play out, what her reaction might be, how he might best draw her to him-every thought lighting his already heightened awareness. But none of his imagining had included Dahlia staring at him with such a martial light in her eyes.

He slipped his watch back into his pocket. ”I was merely commenting on the time. It's ten after.”

Her gaze narrowed.

He hurried to add, ”Not that it matters, of course.”

”No, it doesn't. Kirk, before you say anything more, I must inform you that I'm not here because you commanded me to be.”

Kirk frowned. ”Commanded?”

”Your note-if I can even call it that-was as rude and insensitive as the remark you just made about my being late.”

”I merely gave you the time and place. It was as all notes should be-informative and to the point.”

”It was informative, for it allowed me to see that this”-she waved a hand in a circle-”scheme of yours, or whatever you wish to call it, is a waste of time. My time.”

Ah. So she's getting cold feet, is she? I should have expected as much. ”Fine. If you feel that way, then there is nothing more to be said.”

His capitulation seemed to surprise her, for she frowned. ”So you think it is the case as well?”

”No, but-” He shrugged. ”If you are decided, you are decided. I would never-” He narrowed his gaze. ”You are rubbing your arms. Are you chilled?”

”A little,” she admitted. ”As large as this castle is, I daresay it is impossible to keep it warm in the winter.”

”It's cold outside, and getting more so, and you can feel it. Here, let me stir the fire.” He grasped his cane and started to turn.

”No, no. There's no need.”

”Don't be foolish.” He made his way to the fireplace. When he bent to pick up the log, he had to hide a grimace caused by his aching leg. His morning sessions with MacCreedy were more painful than he'd expected, despite the warnings the valet had given him. He tossed in the log and straightened. ”There.”

”Thank you. That is very kind.”

”It's not kindness to do what should be done.” Dusting his clothing, he turned to face her. ”That should warm the room up soon enough.”

”I can already feel it.”

”Move closer to the fire and you'll feel it even more.”

She glanced toward the door as if it called her.

”Come, Dahlia. We know each other too well to leave things unsaid. If we do so, we'll only mull it over until we can't sleep. We're the sort of people who think, often too much. A good conversation now could give us both a better night's sleep later on.”

She smiled. ”My father has accused me of over-thinking.”

”Many, many people have said the same of me. So we must talk.”

”I suppose you're right.” She walked around the settee and came to stand near the fire. ”I've no wish to cause you to lose any sleep.”

”Good.” He watched as she held her hands out to the flames. Such delicate hands, too. Hands he'd seen caress a book as if it were human. His body tightened at the thought, and he had to put his weight on his aching leg to refocus his wayward imagination. ”Let me make this easier: you no longer wish to partic.i.p.ate in my 'scheme,' as you put it.”

She flushed. ”You are going to speak very baldly, aren't you?”

”You would have me speak through a filter of politeness?”

”No, not at all. Pray continue.”

”Thank you. I did make a suggestion, but it was no scheme. I'd no wish to experience that sort of awkwardness again, and I a.s.sumed that neither did you. Or don't you want to find a mate?”

She grimaced. ”I hate it when you use the term 'mate.' It sounds so vulgar.”

”Isn't that what we're doing? Two peac.o.c.ks preening before the opposite s.e.x, hoping one or another will notice us?” He flapped his arms as he talked.

Her lips twitched, but she said in a severe tone, ”That's not any better.”

”The truth is rarely pretty. Not in this case, anyway.” He limped back to his chair and sat. When he noticed her lifted eyebrows he said, ”I should stand? My leg hurts.”

”You could have invited me to take a seat, as well.”

”But you were cold and wished to be near the fire.”

”Kirk, when you're being polite, you sometimes ask things even though you know the answer.”

”That sounds like a d.a.m.n waste of time.”

”And you shouldn't curs-” She sighed. ”Oh, never mind.”

She turned and moved closer still to the fire, the amber light warming her skin, bringing out the faintest hint of red in her brown curls, and catching the red light of the garnet earrings that hung from her delicate earlobes. The earrings must hold special meaning, for she rarely wore any others.

They're pretty, but garnets aren't good enough. She deserves rubies. Rich, red, bold rubies.

Kirk smiled to himself at the thought. She really was a pretty woman, his Dahlia. Beautiful, even, if not in the showy manner preferred by the shallow-hearted followers of fas.h.i.+on. No, her beauty consisted of a purity of line of nose and jaw, and the ripe curve of her lips. Her skin, not the colorless white so favored by the maidens here, seemed fresh and young, dusted with a smattering of freckles that begged a man to trace them with his lips.

She lifted her skirts the tiniest bit and extended one daintily slippered foot toward the fire. As she did so, she moved to one side and suddenly, the light from the fire silhouetted her slender legs through the material of her gown.

His heart slammed an extra beat and he found himself unable to look away. G.o.d, but she's gracefully shaped, with rounded calves and thighs that beg for a man's hand. She has none of this scrawny thinness that's so fas.h.i.+onable. Who could even think of such bone-baggery when faced with such generous, lush curves?

She turned her head and met his gaze, catching him in midstare. His face heated and he blurted out, ”You are standing too close to the flames. You'll catch your skirts afire.” His voice was harsh, rude even, and she flushed, but after a stilted moment she moved away and he was spared the torment of seeing her fair form outlined before the flames.

He examined the line of her mouth and knew he'd angered her once more. ”I'm sorry if I spoke too harshly, but the thought of you bursting into flames is untenable.” Actually, I'm the one who's the most likely to burst into flames.

”I wish you'd regulate your tone. You always sound so angry.”

”I'm not angry.”

She didn't look convinced.

”Really, I'm not. I was merely concerned.” And aroused beyond all belief. ”So about my 'scheme,' as you call it.”