Page 27 of Dukes for Dessert

“He is already interested, if he is giving the problem this much thought. You must see that. But we will be careful, as you insist.”

“I see you’ve already decided.” Hart lifted Eleanor’s hand, scattering her thoughts by kissing her fingertips. “What do you want me to do?”

Eleanor blinked. “I must say, you agreed very quickly. I thought I’d have to do much more persuading.”

Hart’s relaxed manner vanished, and the dangerous man she’d fallen in love with surged to the surface. “I never said I’d not command a price.”

“Ah.” Eleanor sank into agreeable warmth. “When will I have to pay this price?”

“Not when. For how long.” Hart’s golden eyes glittered. “We are starting now.”

“We?” Eleanor slanted him a coy look.

Hart growled. He came off the chair, Eleanor in his arms, his strength breathtaking. Eleanor knew they would not make it to their bedchamber, but the rug before the fire was plenty soft. Plans, and photography, could wait.

Sophie wasn’t speaking to him, David concluded. At least, not in the easy, friendly way she had before.

She was furious, and David felt it with every glance. The February chill the next day as he returned to the dig with them was nothing to her coolness.

What had he expected? David chided himself as he shoved his spade into the earth. For her to swoon into his arms?

Sophie had entreated with him not to interfere, and he’d ignored her plea. For a good cause, David told himself. He wanted to save her from humiliation and utter ruin.

In London, his choice had been clear. Here at the vicarage, David had to face himself with honesty. Had he put plans in motion to unselfishly help Sophie or did he have visions of her melting before him in undying gratitude?

Damnation. The problem with being friends with a vicar was that his ethical ideas started rubbing off, no matter how hard David tried to avoid such things.

Yesterday, when Sophie had stuffed the profiterole into her mouth, cream exploding across her lips, his entire body had gone hard. Even more so when she’d nibbled the second bite. Droplets of cream had clung to her lips, begging David to kiss them away.

When she’d sucked the cream from her forefinger, he’d been swamped by a vision of her in a fire-lit bedchamber, delicately catching cream from the pastry on the tip of her tongue. In this vision, Sophie hadn’t been wearing a stitch of clothing, a coyly draped bedsheet making her all the more enticing.

Fleeing into the cold garden had been his only choice.

David pulled up his shovel and turned to Sophie, the iciness emanating from her nettling. She knelt on hands and knees on a tarp, skirts primly hiding her ankles as she skimmed her trowel through the dirt, utterly ignoring him.

“You were angry when I left for London,” he said to the hat that obscured her face. “It seems my return has made you even more so.” He waited, but there was no response. “Would you like me to leave again?” His voice was a touch louder. “Or would that also irk you?”

Sophie lifted her head, her face chiseled beauty in the shade of her hat. “I have no interest in what you do one way or another, Mr. Fleming.”

David rammed his spade into the ground. “So you say, but your eyes are shouting at me to go to hell.”

“Truly? I had no idea my eyes were so loud.”

David held up his hands, palms facing her. “I have offended you, enraged you, annoyed you, infuriated you—I know that. But I had the best of intentions, I promise.”

Sophie climbed to her feet, hand tight on the trowel. “I dare say you did, but you likely have made things worse. My husband will never agree to an annulment. And now that he knows the notorious David Fleming has a friendship with me, he will be all the more vicious.” She waved the trowel as she spoke, scattering dribbles of dirt.

“You could trust me to know what I am doing,” David said impatiently.

“Why should I? I know so very little about you. My uncle is fond of you, which, so far, is the only point in your favor.”

To hide his sudden hurt, David pressed a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Ah, lady, you grieve me. Have I not behaved like a perfect gentleman?”

“No.” Sophie folded her arms. “You’ve flirted with me, kissed me, confused me, gone behind my back to do precisely what I asked you not to, and enticed me with a profiterole.”

David’s laughter bubbled up along with his treacherous imagination. “Fickle woman, you have kissed me and plunged me into the deepest bewilderment. You are furious with me no matter which way I turn, and I believe you tried to confound me with a profiterole. Most alarming when you nearly choked on it.”

Sophie’s face reddened, and she pointed with her trowel. “I believe you ought to dig in another part of the field, Mr. Fleming.”

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