Page 17 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
Henry smiled and walked towards her. ‘I have come to fetch you. They are serving luncheon. You are like a mole buried away in here, Susan.’
Rebellious…A mole was far more like the names she expected him to call her. ‘The other day you called me rebellious. I cannot think of two greater extremes. I cannot imagine a rebellious mole.’ She picked up the rag and took the brush out of the water to wipe it.
‘You have been considering that, haven’t you? I mean, you have been thinking about the word rebellious.’ His voice mocked her, but then he smiled. ‘I said it because you like to hide in corners and pretend compliance when really you will walk away from what is expected of you at every chance and hole upsomewhere. You always have. So you see, the two are very compatible when they are combined in you.’
She had never thought walking away rebellious. She looked back down at her painting. ‘I will come.’
She expected him to acknowledge her answer and turn away, instead he leaned over the desk, as Samson nudged at her hip for attention. ‘Very pretty,’ he said.
His proximity sent discomfort spinning out into her nerves. The awkwardness it engendered pressured her to continue talking. ‘It is not rebellious to walk away or leave a room, though I admit to having little patience with conversations that do not interest me or?—’
‘People,’ he finished, as he straightened up.
She met his gaze, still wiping her brush although it must be clean. ‘People?’
‘Or people who do not interest you.’ One eyebrow rose, his implication saying,people like me…
Warmth touched her cheeks.
She looked away, concentrating on putting her paintbrush away and tidying the paints in her paintbox.
He leaned lower, studying her picture. ‘This is actually rather good.’
She glanced at him. ‘Thank you for such exuberant praise.’
His lips split into a smile. ‘There, see, you are a secret hellion. You taunt me horrendously.’
She made an intolerant, impatient face and shook her head at him. ‘I am hardly a hellion. I am painting orchids, not racing curricles. You are speaking of yourself.’ She closed her paintbox.
‘I have never hidden my nature. But you… You and I have more in common than you think. I would gamble high odds that Uncle Casper despairs of you as much as my father despairs of me. You do not behave in the ways expected of women. The only reason you do not race curricles is that a woman is not given one to be able to race. If you were a man you would race.’
‘I am not like you. I would not race. There is a vast chasm of difference between us. For a start, I think of others not just myself. I would not race because I would not wish to harm another traveller on the road.’
He huffed at her, dismissing her argument.
It riled her more. ‘And I do not behave in unacceptable ways.’
‘You are not sitting in the drawing room, sewing and talking with the others.’
‘I like doing different things, that is all.’
‘Rebellious.’ He taunted.
She would have walked around him, but he moved in front of her.
She could not win the argument. Her hand lifted instinctively and swiped out at him as her frustration became anger. She struck his poorly arm. ‘Oh, Henry!’ She regretted it immediately as he winced with pain.
‘Bloody hell!’ He covered his arm and pulled away. Then more calmly, ‘You damned hellion.’ Even in pain he was mocking her.
‘I am sorry.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I do not think I am.’
She did not understand the jest. ‘Stop teasing me, Henry.’
He laughed. ‘It is quite inspiring to see you in a temper.’
Her hand lifted once more. He stepped back with his good hand still protecting his injured arm. ‘Did I say you are a match for any man with verbal fencing? I might be persuaded to include physical fencing. Please, no more violence, Miss Forth. You will have people think my bruises were delivered by your hand, and God forbid my friends heard such a rumour.’
