Page 40 of Anything But a Duke
The man was quite brawny. She wondered if he spent time at sport. Visits to Gentleman Jackson’s salon perhaps?
Images flashed in her mind. Visions of Aidan Iverson sparring in a boxing ring, his muscles flexing as he moved. She imagined the feel of him, the hard plane of his chest, the sculpted muscles of his arms. If she touched him after such exertion, he’d be warm, probably breathless.
Footsteps crunched on the pebbled path, and she looked up just in time to avoid bumping into the man whose half-naked physique still lingered in her mind’s eye.
She reached out to keep from tumbling and her palm landed on his waistcoat, plastered against fabric heated from his body and snugged within an inch of its life against his broad chest.
“Mr. Iverson.”
“Have you been researching me again, Miss Ashby?” He stared down at the sheet of foolscap crumpled between her fingers and trapped against his stomach.
His given name was printed on one creased edge of the paper.
Diana stepped back, flattened the page against her skirt, and handed him the notes.
He kept his gaze fixed on hers as he took the paper, then glanced down quickly before looking up again. “You’re wrong about one thing. I hate the opera.”
Diana narrowed an eye at him. When he attempted to hand the notes back to her, she indicated the other list. “You may wish to review a few details about Lady Sophie.”
Diana started toward Sophie and he followed, his head bowed to read her notes.
“Hmm, she’s fond of botany, I see.”
“Do you like botany?” This might be easier than she’d imagined.
“No, not at all.”
Diana glanced at him, pointlessly noting how a strand of reddish-gold hair had fallen over his brow. “Do you see anything else there that might assist you?”
“Assist me?”
“To woo Lady Sophie.” Sophie wasn’t too far ahead of them and Diana lowered her voice lest her friend overhear.
“I have my own methods for wooing, Miss Ashby.”
“Do you?” His claim stoked her curiosity.
“Of course I do.”
“How well do they work?”
He didn’t answer, just cast her one intense glance that she felt like the sweep of his fingers against her face that night in Belgravia.
She fought the urge to ask him to detail his methods, but she lost the battle. “Which did you try on Lady Alice Ponsonby?”
“You mention her so often, Miss Ashby. Perhaps you’d like me to introduce you?”
Diana let out a surprised chuckle. “That won’t be necessary. I merely mean to point out that the methods used on her didn’t work, Mr. Iverson. You’ll need others to woo Sophie.”
He made a little grumbling sound. His jaw was set and a muscle ticked near the sharp, clean-shaven edge.
“I merely wish to see our arrangement to a successful end,” Diana told him. “Perhaps you could pretend to like botany.”
“Why on earth would I?”
“To be more appealing to Lady Sophie, of course.” Diana had lowered her voice to a whisper. Sophie sat on a bench and seemed thoroughly engaged with her sketchbook, but she preferred her friend didn’t hear them scheming behind her back.
Mr. Iverson shocked her by stepping off the path and into the shade of a leafy maple tree. He reached out, hooked a hand around her arm, and gave a gentle tug until she stepped closer.
