Page 16 of No One's Bride
The lord smiled, the sight stealing her breath. His eyes met hers, and her heart thumped with nerves, not frustration. It took every effort to banish the memory of being held tight against his solid body. To forget she’d felt something thick and hard pushing against her bottom.
Mother mercy!
Seeing the spell book today had played havoc with her mind. Was she suffering from delusions? Had she taken to inventing things, concocting erotic fantasies?
Lord Denton must be afflicted by the same fallacy because he stood gawping like a lovesick fool. “Your hair is much like your character, a wild burst of flames amid a bleak darkness. You should wear it in a softer style.”
Ailsa clutched her throat, eager for an explanation but too scared to ask. She’d rather tackle the intruder than address his comment.
“My lord, ye will think I’m fit for Bedlam when I tell ye this, but I fear we’ve both fallen under a spell.” Why else would she feel these unwanted stirrings?
She expected Lord Denton to scoff, but a deep furrow appeared between his brows. “A spell? What makes you say that?”
How might she explain without revealing the mystic’s prediction?
“Before the auctioneer’s assistant read the few lines from the love spell today, we couldnae abide one another.”
“That’s not entirely true. Yes, we have different opinions, and you enjoy making me angry, but a mutual respect flows between us. We both love books, both have the courage of our convictions.”
Good Lord! It was worse than she thought.
He was utterly delirious.
“Ye never compliment me. Now ye cannae seem to stop.”
Lord Denton threw his hands up. “What do you want me to do? Berate you for standing there in a thin nightgown? Call you a harlot for letting me gaze upon your silky locks and pert nipples?”
Ailsa almost choked. She cupped her breasts, which only roused a hunger in the man’s eyes the likes of which she had never seen.
“Stop this!”Argue with me. Cut me to shreds with your sharp tongue and razor-edged wit.“’Tis the spell. That’s why ye dragged yer coachman from his bed and made him come here.”
“No. I was visiting someone in King Street and made a slight detour.” He seemed desperate to prove her wrong, which was a positive move in the right direction.
“Aye, and ye stink of her perfume.”
“Rest assured. I’ll notstinkof it again.” Sniffing his coat, he shrugged out of the garment and stood there in his shirtsleeves.
Her traitorous gaze flew to the material plastered to his muscular shoulders and biceps. “Put it back on!” She screwed her eyes tight. “Hurry. I dinnae want the servants thinking we’ve been intimate.”
“Do I strike you as a man who’s swayed by a servant’s opinion?”
“Nae, ye’re a grouch and as stubborn as an ox.”
“Damnation! Open your eyes, woman. Anyone would think it’smynipples pushing against the fine lawn. A man would need a saint’s restraint not to notice.”
Her eyes flew open. “A gentleman shouldnae speak like that in the presence of a lady. Does that nae prove the devil is at work?”
“It proves we’re so open and honest with each other I can say what the hell I please. Few women have your mettle.”
Anger burst forth. “On the graves of my slain kin, ye better button yer mouth before ye say something ye’ll regret.” Keen to have him focus on any woman but her, she said, “Now, perhaps we should return to the subject of yer mistress.”
“I don’t have a mistress.”
“Then what were ye doing in King Street? And why do ye smell like ye’ve bathed in a vat of lavender oil?”
“Visiting a friend, though we’ve decided we’re incompatible.”
Ailsa was no fool. Besides, this was the perfect subject to banish all thoughts of a love spell. “And while in her bed, ye decided it would be a good idea to come to Pall Mall and spy on me? The woman who riles yer temper? The woman ye chastise for having an opinion?”
