Page 66 of The Secret of Flirting
A sigh escaped her as she climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber. He was such an enigma. He desired her, but his conscience resisted. She’d never met a man who would do that. And just when she thought she knew exactly who he was, he did or said something that reduced all her convictions about his character to rubble.
His mother’s tales rose in her mind. A prankster? The self-controlled Gregory? How could that be?
Then again, he had also enjoyed showing her a knot garden he’d known she would appreciate. Had roused her bodyandher mind, making her wish for what had never troubled her sleep before.
What was she to make of him?
Men! They were a plague upon women.
She reached the second floor, and as if to punctuate her very thoughts, Gregory stepped out of a room into the hallway. Had he been waiting for her? Why wasn’t he still in the dining room with the other gentlemen?
“In here,” he snapped, and pulled her into the room.
When he released her and moved away, she took the time to look around. It was clearly a study, done up in beautiful polished mahogany and brass accents. The study of a rich man, confident in his importance. In his wealth and power.
And yet... “Your curtains are lavender,” she said inanely.
He froze, then followed her gaze. “They’re purple,” he protested. “I like purple. Reminds me of royalty.”
She snorted. It was a verylightpurple—lavender or lilac. Hardly the color of royalty. It reminded her yet again that he had sides to him she couldn’t fathom, like a faceted gem with shimmering depths.
At her silence, he sharpened his tone. “It’s an appropriate color for entertainingyou, don’t you think, Your Serene Highness?”
“There’s no need to mock me,” she said, choking down her hurt at the pointed barb. “I didn’t choose this. Trust me, if I’d had a choice of roles, I wouldn’t have chosen that of an ingénue like Aurore.”
“No.” His eyes blazed at her. “The role of an artless, simple girl doesn’t suit you. You play the seductress much better. As Pontalba can attest.”
His bitter tone startled her. She strode right up to him. “Are you jealous?”
“Of that self-important scoundrel?” Contempt laced his words. “Hardly.”
“Then why did you insist on going with us tomorrow morning?”
He stared her down. “Have you forgotten that you’re in danger? Do you even knowhowto ride? It doesn’t seem like a skill an actress would acquire.”
“On the contrary. My grandmother could ride quite well, so she learned how to perform a few horse tricks with Grandpapa’s troupe. When I was a girl she incorporated me into her act, so yes, Idoknow how to ride, your lofty lordship.”
“Still, you shouldn’t risk your life to—”
“We’ve already established that the duke is an unlikely assassin. And you keep insisting that I’m safe on your estate.”
A sullen scowl knit his brow. “That doesn’t mean I trust the arse.”
She thrust her face up into his. “Admit it: Your insinuating yourself into the situation has nothing to do with concern for my safety. It’s about your not wanting me for yourself, but not wanting anyone else to have me, either.”
“What?” He caught her about the waist, his eyes alight. “You have no idea what I want.” His gaze scoured her a long moment, finally coming to rest on her mouth, and he lowered his voice to a ragged murmur. “No bloody idea at all.”
When he looked as if he might kiss her, she fought the swirling need that pooled in her belly at just being in his arms and wrenched free of him. “Oh, I think I do. You want to have your cake and eat it, too. You want me in your bed, but not in your life or your heart.”
“Do you thinkPontalbawants you in his life and his heart?”
The clear jealousy in his tone made her want to provoke him. “Perhaps.”
That didn’t seem to sit well with him. “Do you desire him?”
No, she thought.Fool that I am, I desireyou,you thickheaded dolt.But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
Strolling along the length of his desk, she ran a finger casually over the burnished wood the way she’d run her hand overhisburnished wood this afternoon.
