Page 55 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“No.” She found herself being honest with him. “It simply seemed like something you would do.” Not honest enough to tell him that she wanted it. Not here in broad daylight.
His hands tightened on her waist, and he pulled her toward him perhaps a fraction of an inch. She took a deep breath of bergamot, filling herself with him the only wayshe could. Every nerve ending had come alive with his nearness.
“I will not be kissing you now, Miss Crenshaw.”
Disappointment left her feeling heavy and flat. His smile had faded a bit, but it still lingered in his eyes, which had dropped to stare at her mouth. “In fact, I will not be kissing you anymore.”
“What?”
A hand came up to gently press against her cheek before his thumb caressed the fullness of her bottom lip. “I have had time to reflect on the deal we made, and I do not think it right and just to steal your kisses from you. They should be freely given.”
She was astonished. Even while knowing his kisses were devastating to her state of mind, she had been looking forward to them. Did he know? Was he somehow trying to use that as leverage against her?
He drew away and offered his arm, but the only thing she really wanted to do was have him in her arms with his lips on hers. No. More accurately, she wanted his mouth. The entire thing. She wanted his tongue licking at hers, and his teeth biting at her lips. She wanted her mouth at the mercy of his and whatever he wanted to show her. But nice, well-bred young women didn’t want such things, much less did they even think to ask for them.
At a loss for how to proceed, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her back to the house.
“Cook will have prepared a small luncheon,” he was saying. “After, we can meet with Hughes, my estate manager.”
She nodded her agreement and tried to appear very interested in what he was saying as she convinced herself that these urges toward him would go away.
Chapter 16
How little can be done under the spirit of fear.
Florence Nightingale
The afternoon meeting with the estate manager had left August feeling even more confused. Rothschild had been perfectly amicable to her, responding to her questions with appropriate interest and listening as she offered suggestions. His gaze had not once lingered on her lips, and he had made zero suggestive comments. She should feel relieved, because it must mean that he had given up his pursuit. Instead, she simply felt... empty, as if something was missing.
His entirely appropriate and slightly maddening behavior had continued during dinner. He had treated her as he had every other guest. The same man who had caressed her so indecently but so deliciously at Camille’s ball now seemed undisturbed by her presence. She did not know what to make of that.
Was it a trick? If so, it was a damn good one.
That question followed her into the music room where they had all retired after dinner. The twins were entertaining them with a performance ofRomeo and Julieton the piano. They took turns playing and were both very good. August tried her best to enjoy it, but she couldn’t help being distracted.
Her gaze kept drifting over to where he sat watching theperformance. The room was arranged so that two sofas were positioned facing the piano in an L-shape with an armchair on either end. He occupied the sofa with her father, while his mother and hers sat in the armchairs. An elderly couple who had been invited for dinner, Sir Henry and his wife, occupied the other sofa. From the settee near the window that she shared with Violet, August was treated to a view of his profile, a very classical and exceptional profile.
Violet hid her grin behind a glass of wine as she leaned over to whisper, “If you keep staring, everyone in this room will know how you really feel about him.”
“What do you mean? I’m watching the twins.”
A giggle was the only response to that. As they both knew she was lying, it was an appropriate response. “What happened between you this afternoon?” Violet asked after she had sobered.
Glancing at everyone to make certain their whispered conversation wasn’t overheard, she said, “It was glorious. We met with Mr. Hughes, and Rothschild allowed me to see everything. All of it. Every ledger with every line item recording every debt.”
“Is it terrible?”
“Oh yes, decidedly so.” Another glance to make certain they were not being observed. “He’s going to need an heiress to save him.”
They both laughed, drawing a disapproving glance from their mother. Straightening to show that she was contrite, she waited for her mother to face forward again before saying, “Truthfully, I feel a bit sad for him.”
“Sad?” Violet spoke a bit too loudly for comfort. Her brow furrowing, she pretended to smooth the ribbon on her bodice as she waited until the music worked its way toward a crescendo before continuing. “Sadness for the fortune-hunting aristocrat who wears custom suits and owns countless estates?”
“I know how it sounds, but he did nothing to cause his debt.”
“He did nothing tonotcause it,” said Violet.
Another glance from their mother sent August to her feet under the pretenses of refilling her wineglass. Violet followed her lead, and they both made their discreet exitfrom the room and out into the long gallery that held portraits of all the dukes of Rothschild and their progeny. A footman closed the door to the music room behind them.
