Page 28 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
Good God, he was a fool, and yet he wanted to do it all over again. He longed to ask her if a gentleman had kissed her before.
Foolish.
“Do you disagree?” he asked quietly, looking down at her.
“Ye make it impossible for me to do so.”
“I doubt you ever find anything impossible.”
“Ye flatter me.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
For the first time, her eyes dipped. “Then ye think it’s the truth? I am not as bold as ye think, nor as daring.”
“Is that so? So, you didn’t come to my house in a storm and demand to see my mother, and insult me to my face when I refused?”
He’d intended the comment as a challenge but realized after the event that it sounded more like a compliment, followed on as it was from his last statement.
And perhaps, in many ways, itwasa compliment. He didn’t trust her, but he could respect her audacity and her courage in doing it.
“Will you tell me why you came to London?” he asked. “What happened with an English lord?”
Surprised, her eyes flashed to his. “What do ye mean?”
“You mentioned that you have met English lords before.” He drew her a little closer. It was addictive, the feeling of having her body so close to his. “It only follows that you have had an encounter with an English lord in Scotland. So, who was it? What happened?”
“Yer Grace, I?—”
“I realize you don’t trust me to be on your side, but I can’t do anything but mistrust you when you keep secrets.”
“And if the secret isn’t mine to give?”
“What sort of secret is so precious?”
Her lips tightened at the word ‘precious.’ He frowned, glancing across her face as though she would reveal her secrets to him that way—though he knew she wouldn’t.
Whatever her secrets were, she deemed them too precious for him.
Or precious was perhaps the wrong word. But what was the right one?
She was running from something, that much was for certain—but was she running from ruin? She had certainly been happy enough to kiss him the other night.
Had her virtue been compromised? Could she be with child? Surely she would not have risked traveling so far and certainly not throwing herself on his mother if she was. Unless she planned to marry before she showed. But if that was her plan, he could hardly imagine it would succeed. Her situation would be discovered all too quickly.
“Very well,” he said, letting the matter lie. “Let us discuss other things.”
“Miss Wentworth,” she said and cocked a challenging brow at him. “Ye don’t like her.”
“I do not find myself drawn to bullies.”
“Even if ye would be sometimes classed among them?”
His eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer.
“You are mistaken, Lady Isobel. I never pick on those weaker than me. If I choose to use my influence, it is for the better.”
“According to whom?” she shot back. “Ye?”
