levity in his tone, and momentarily wondered if he’d ever shared her feelings of unworthiness.
“Others would ascribe my marriage to you as my greatest achievement, despite the fact that I’m only one of a handful of female archeologists in history.”
“What is your assessment of the predicament you find yourself in, Doctor?” An ebony brow rose over his abruptly alert regard.
Now there was a dangerous question. One she was unprepared to answer. “Would you like to know what I think?” She idly drew light circles around the rim of her wineglass, not realizing what she was doing until his eyes drifted to the pad of her finger.
“My breath is bated,” he replied.
“I think…” She thought that this conversation in this setting with this man was perhaps the most exciting masculine interaction she’d had in some time. She’d thought she’d never be able to flirt with a man, let alone her husband. She thought that in the candlelight Redmayne was perhaps the most compelling, handsomest man she’d had the pleasure of knowing. Indeed, she thought about kissing him again. And more. She thought all manner of things she dared not say as her heart trilled against her ribs at the prospect of vocalizing any of her unruly speculations.
“I think … you dislike Dr. Forsythe so heartily because the two of you are so alike, and that tends to rankle a person,” she deflected.
His eyes narrowed. “Do tell.”
She shrugged, strangely enjoying the glint of danger in his eyes. He was like a caged panther, daring her to provoke him, and something about this wild night by the sea stirred a recklessness inside of her. She reveled in the feeling of this audacious part of her called forth by the wicked, boyish twinkle in his eye contrasting with his ever-sinister features. “In truth,” she said, “and I’ll thank you not to quote me on this, Dr. Forsythe is little better than an adequate scientist. But because of his other skill sets, he is often much sought after, especially in the more exotic camps in unstable locales.”
“What skills is he perceived to possess?” Redmayne asked with droll insouciance.
“He’s rather adept at keeping camps secure and protected,” she recounted. “And fed, as he is an accomplished hunter in his own right and skilled with all manner of firearms, languages, and even certain exotic combat techniques.”
“Is that so?” His eyes slid past her, as the musicians began to tune their instruments.
Alexandra thanked the maître d’ when their plates arrived. Redmayne’s glower was fixed on some point behind her.
“I would have predicted the two of you to get along splendidly, as you’re both such avid outdoorsmen,” she said as she tucked into her divine dish.
“We might have done.” He picked up his own utensils, holding his knife like a weapon as he speared her with a speaking look. “Were he not trying to seduce you from beneath my nose.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, my lord, there is absolutely nothing between Forsythe and me but a fond friendship.”
“As many times as I have to tell you you’re either blind, obtuse, or lying.”
A spurt of irritation chased away any flirtatious feelings. “That doesn’t cast me in a particularly pleasant light, does it?”
“You mean to tell me a handsome, accomplished, and, by your own assessment, masculine doctor has never once caught your notice as a desirable romantic entanglement?” he asked.
“I mean to say that until now, no man alive caught my notice as a desirable entanglement, romantic or otherwise. Full stop.”
He stared at her with a sort of aghast incomprehension, and Alexandra felt compelled to continue, rather than go back over what she’d just said to dissect what he might not understand.
“The only thing Forsythe has over you in my estimation, my lord, other than an avid intellectual curiosity, is the propensity to listen to me when I speak.”
He leaned forward, grinding at the succulent duck with distracting flexes of his jaw. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Do you mean to say, wife, that you or Forsythe are more intelligent than I am?”
“Not at all.” She took another bite, making him wait for her explanation. “As you said, there are many forms of intellects. You’ve certainly mastered a great deal of them, but you have to consider that Dr. Forsythe and I might be a bit more well read.”
“Well read!” he blustered. “What do you imagine one does in the wilds after the sun goes down? I’ve read every sort of thing.”
Alexandra smiled at the confounded offense collected