Page 95 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
They reminded him too much of vague memories of his stepmother when her plans were thwarted.
Later that afternoon, walking down the path to the front door of Rose Tree Cottage, he was immediately aware that Barbara had arrived first.
He forced himself not to hurry. He had no wish to give any hint that he was anxious to see her again. To give her the wrong impression. To raise expectations.
He was merely looking forward to getting their farewell over and done.
He found her on the terrace looking out at the river.
She looked beautiful in a delicate muslin gown of pale blue. Calm. Stately. A wide-brimmed straw hat framed her lovely face, and a knowing smile curved her lips and lit her cat-like eyes as she turned to face him.
His heart seemed to jolt and then pick up speed. Hot blood coursed through his veins.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said, taking her hand, trying to ignore the rush of desire.
Yes, he would be well rid of this sort of emotional upheaval.
He kissed the back of her hand and turned it over, tracing the delicate blue line on her wrist with his gaze, feeling the pulse beat of her heart beneath his thumb.
He kissed her palm, inhaling the scent of her, wild, yet delicate and heady to his senses.
Her soft gasp made his body tighten.
‘I wasn’t sure you would come today,’ she said in a soft murmur.
He gazed into her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and full of passion. Long lashes swept down and up, hiding her thoughts.
‘Why would you think I would not?’ he asked.
She reached up to cup his cheek in the palm he had kissed. ‘After your encounter with my father, I thought you might be inclined to cut and run.’
He stiffened. ‘I have never cut and run from anything in my life.’ Inwardly, he shook his head at his words. Was not that what he intended? Was not severing their relationship cutting and running? But he wouldn’t be doing so without letting her know. Not like some cowardly thief sneaking away in the dead of night.
She wound her arms around his neck and offered her lips to his.
He kissed her, hard, deeply, and let his body feel the pleasure of her softness melding against him.
She arched into him, sighing and moaning as their tongues tangled and nothing existing butthe two of them.
When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. She stared into his face, long and hard. Her thumbs ran along his cheekbones, and the faint twinge from an old bruise made him blink.
All his recent bruises were on his body.
‘It is goodbye then?’ she said softly.
What? How did she know? He had wanted to shield her from the pain of parting, somehow, and yet he could not. He must be honest.
‘After today,’ he agreed, trying to keep his voice gentle. He wanted to explain, but she touched his lips as if she did not want him to speak.
‘Then today we will make memories.’ Her eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. She was not going to be upset, or angry, or throw things.
‘Yes.’ Memories. But memories were often painful things.
‘I want to show you something,’ she said. She took his hand and to his surprise lead him not into the house but into the garden.
Along the flagstones towards the river.
