How to Fool a Duke (The Husband Dilemma #1) - Lancaster, Mary Page 0,39
lose your bet, Your Grace?”
The faintest flicker in his eyes betrayed his surprise, but he merely replied, “No, I have come to escort you. Again.”
Color crept into her cheeks, but she held up one hand. “Then keep your distance, now that I know what your escort consists of.”
“Come, now,” he said, holding her gaze as they walked side by side, “don’t you want to kiss me?”
She pretended to consider. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I want to win more.”
His fingers brushed hers, deliberately finding their way inside the cuff of her kid gloves and stroking. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes,” she said carelessly.
It was, she well knew, a challenge he could not resist. But quicker than she had bargained for, he tugged her off the path and behind the broad oak close by. He held her against him, his hands resting on her hips, his gaze on her lips.
“I don’t believe you,” he said huskily.
She arched one brow. “Do you accuse me of lying, Your Grace?”
“Leo,” he breathed.
“Do you accuse me of lying, Leo,” she said obediently.
“Yes, I do,” he said softly. “What can it hurt? One kiss, and I promise it will not feel like losing.”
His hands rested on her hips. He smelled of earth and the fresh sweat of recent labor. His lips hovered so close to hers, she could taste his breath. Her pulses racing, her whole being enveloped in heat, she had never been so tempted to close that tiny distance, to brush her mouth over his and cling. Desire was heady and made it impossible to think or hold on to a plan.
But surely, she was made of sterner stuff.
“I do not feel like losing,” she said, albeit not quite steadily. “Do you really want me to kiss you?”
“You know I do.”
“Why? To win?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But mainly to feel your lips on mine, to know you want me as I want you.”
“You may kiss me if you wish,” she offered. Oh yes, please kiss me, do it now…
His lips curved, and she found herself fascinated by their texture.
“I said last night, the next kiss must come from you.”
She came a fraction of an inch closer. “Then ask me to marry you,” she whispered. “And I will kiss you.”
His eyes only clouded further, like some tense, summer storm. “Kiss me and then I will ask.”
“Oh dear,” she said breathlessly. “It seems we are at an impasse. Let me know when you are ready to break it.”
He groaned. “Sarah, you are a minx.”
“Then what are you?”
“Desperate,” he said frankly.
With a breath of laughter, she slipped out of his arms and walked on. She turned to wave back at him as he stood now on the path side of the oak. “Let me know when you wish to talk!”
***
“Are you responsible for Hammy’s Mr. Granville?” Sarah asked Lady Whitmore.
“If you mean for inviting him here, then yes. She mentioned a man from whom she had parted when young, because neither had a feather to fly with. I made a few inquiries.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said warmly. “I believe it might answer very well. I left them reading poetry together. He is not married, is he?”
“Not even widowed. I believe he always carried a torch for your Hammy, even when he inherited a modest fortune from an uncle and several caps were set at him.”
“Hmm.” Doubts assailed Sarah. “Should he not then have had the gumption to find her?”
“I expect there was family interference,” Lady Whitmore said discreetly. “And then time, you know, runs away from us.”
“You are very good,” Sarah said curiously. “You are helping all of us all the time.” Remembering the odd conversation she had overheard last night, she added, “If there is anything I can ever do to help you, you must tell me.”
“I will,” Lady Whitmore replied with a sweet smile. “In fact, it would help me considerably if you would make up the quarrel with your parents.”
“Ah,” she said frowning. “You invited them, too.”
“Guilty as charged. But seriously, you must reach an understanding with them, for all your sakes.”
“Leo, that is the duke, said something similar.”
“Did he?”
Was that a trace of wistfulness in Lady Whitmore’s voice?
“He said he would give anything for just one hour in the company of his late parents.”
Lady Whitmore stood with unexpected speed. “He is a sweet boy.” Her voice was not entirely steady.
Sarah said, “I never thought of him as sweet.”
“I think you have. I also think it’s time you admitted to your feelings.”
“We have. Mostly. Not quite jokingly.”
Lady Whitmore