Part 16 (2/2)

”Yes. I've changed my mind about partic.i.p.ating because it wouldn't be wise. Besides, perfecting such a skill with you wouldn't necessarily transfer to another man.”

That was a very good point, for kissing someone else wouldn't be at all like kissing Dahlia. For one thing, he couldn't give a d.a.m.n about anyone else he'd met, and didn't expect to.

But Dahlia . . . she was a different matter altogether. Not that he was-as so many emotionalists seemed to think necessary-”in love,” for he wasn't. He was too mature for such nonsense now, but he was far from dead and had to admit that, besides their compatibility, he was beginning to recognize that a certain physical attraction flowed between them as well-which convinced him even more that they should pursue their former relations.h.i.+p.

He regarded her from under his lashes. ”I worry for us both should we b.u.mp foreheads and teeth while trying to attract someone.”

”It won't happen again. Next time, I shall be more cautious.”

The thought of her ”next time” not being with him made him want to leap to his feet and roar, but he forced himself to shrug. ”That may satisfy you, but I've no wish to appear foolish and am determined to overcome my awkwardness in this area. I suppose if you don't wish to a.s.sist me, then I will just have to ask someone else.”

It had been a shot in the dark, but her gaze instantly locked with his. ”Who?”

”I don't know. I hadn't thought about it, since you and I had our agreement, but I'm sure I'll find someone.” He held his breath and waited.

But instead of recanting her decision, she sent him a blazing look and marched past him, moving so quickly that her skirts swirled about her ankles.

”Wait!” He climbed to his feet and limped forward. ”Dahlia, please, just- We had a purpose in meeting today. I cannot allow you to walk away.”

At his words, she stopped. Her head bent and he could see where her thick brown hair had been swept up to reveal the delicate nape of her neck. G.o.d, but he longed to press his mouth to that tantalizing spot. She would s.h.i.+ver with longing, and then- ”Dahlia, please. I'm trying-” He sighed heavily.

Dahlia pressed a hand to her forehead. His sigh tugged at her heart, although she knew it shouldn't. Not everyone at the d.u.c.h.ess's understood his abrupt ways, and already there were those who mocked him. Her hand curled into a fist. He'd been through so much already, losing his wife and fighting the injuries that had maimed and scarred him. At the very least, he deserved respect and politeness, but he would get neither unless someone a.s.sisted him.

She took a deep breath, and then turned to face him. ”If we are going to continue to be friends, then you must stop-” She spread her hands. ”You must stop all of this.”

”All of what?”

”To begin with, you cannot order me about as if I'm one of the footmen you had standing guard.”

”I didn't order them; I bribed them.”

”Then you've paid them more courtesy than you have me.”

He raked a hand through his hair. ”I'm making a d.a.m.ned mull of this, aren't I?”

Despite herself, she was caught by the bewildered look in his eyes. ”Yes, but it wouldn't matter if you weren't, for I'd already decided not to continue with this improper plan of yours. We should not be alone even now.”

”The door is open.”

”True. That saves us a bit, although someone could come along and a.s.sume that . . .” She gestured with a hand.

”I see.” He rubbed the scar on his cheek.

Dahlia wondered if he even knew he did it. She'd noticed months ago that whenever he was perplexed by something, his fingers traced his scar, as if in doing so, it might clear his thoughts.

Her heart softened the tiniest bit more. He was trying so hard, and he'd already made so many changes-his clothing, his hair. And rough as they still were, his manners were vastly improved. Even the fact that he'd noticed she was chilled was a step forward from the totally self-absorbed man she'd known before, one who'd lived alone for so long that it never dawned on him that other people might feel cold, or hunger, or-well, anything, unless he was feeling it, too.

He is trying. That's worth a lot from someone who has never made an effort.

She sighed. ”Kirk, please try to understand.”

”I only want success-for both of us.”

”Sadly, your idea of practicing a kiss can only lead to disaster, whomever you decide to practice with.” For some reason, that last bit left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Humor glinted in his dark eyes. ”Kisses can lead to many places, my dear. A disaster is but one.” His voice deepened. ”'When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past-For years fleet away with the wings of the dove-The dearest remembrance will still be the last-'” He lifted his brows.

”'-our sweetest memorial, the first kiss.'” She was unable to keep from smiling. ”While I can easily resist you, I'm no match for Byron.”

”He is one of your weaknesses. Personally-” He curled his nose.

She sent him a rueful look. ”As you've told me many times before. You must want to win this argument very, very badly to quote a poet you don't even like.”

”I must. A first kiss is of the utmost importance in building a relations.h.i.+p.”

”Sadly, with your manners, you'll never get close enough to any woman to offer a kiss.”

To her surprise, his grin merely became more wolfish. ”It would surprise you, what pa.s.ses as flirtation among the romantic of your s.e.x.”

What does that mean?

Before she could consider it, he stepped forward and said, ”Come, Dahlia, let's start this conversation over.” When she hesitated, he added, ”Here. I'll begin.” He came to stand before her and bowed. ”Good morning, Miss Balfour. How are you?”

His tone and manner were perfect, but so . . . odd and unlike him that while she knew she should be complimentary about them, a small part of her sighed as if she'd lost something.

Don't be ridiculous. She curtsied. ”Good morning, my lord.” As she stood, she leaned forward and said in an undertone, ”Your bow is perfect.”

”I have a good teacher. My new valet was once in the Duke of Wellington's employ.”

”Was he? How did you come by him?”

”The d.u.c.h.ess, of course. Our G.o.dmother is a woman of many resources.”

”So he's been instructing you in-” She gestured lamely.

”I believe the phrase you are searching for is 'the gentlemanly arts.' That's what Lady Charlotte would call it.”

”Ah. And for how long have you been receiving this tutelage?”

”For two months now, although apparently it wasn't long enough.”

She had to smile. ”No, no. You're much better than you were.”

He grimaced. ”Ouch.”

”I didn't mean it that way.”

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