It Had to be the Duke - Christi Caldwell Page 0,13

forefinger, Geoffrey stared at Lydia where she lay. “Would that I could say it is unexpected to find you sprawled so…” Such had been the way he’d come upon her, all those years ago, at Almack’s, her ankles sticking out from under a settee. “A game of hide-and-seek?”

Her eyes went flying open, those pools of blue as round as they’d ever been. “You remember that.”

He remembered everything.

He stretched a hand out. Did she truly believe he could have forgotten that day… that moment… her? A man never forgot his first and only love. “Yes, I remember that,” he said instead.

A little glimmer twinkled in her eyes. “You always were a flirt, Geoffrey Meadows,” she said, placing her hand in his, and there was a warmth and rightness to the soft weight of her palm in his.

“Yes.” That had been the reputation he’d earned since his days at Oxford and one that had followed him all the way to this late juncture in his life. “But it was also always very different with you, Lydia,” he murmured. Those words left him before he could think to call them back.

Her eyes sparkled. “As I said, once a flirt, always a flirt.”

Yes, well, it was far better for her to assume his accidental admission had sprung from the mouth of the rogue whom her parents had found entirely unsuitable because of their familial animosity.

“Well?” she teased, lightly gripping his fingers and prompting him back to the moment.

Leaning down, Geoffrey curved a hand at her waist. Still trim, and yet, there was a generous flare to her hips that hadn’t been there during their youth. His fingers reflexively curled into her flesh, the frothy garment offering little barrier between his hand and the heat of her skin.

Except, the moment he set Lydia back on her feet and made to draw his hand back, he froze. Nay, they both froze. Standing as close as they were, with just a hairbreadth of distance separating them, he could see the like motionless of her form. He should release her. Except… their gazes locked, and the blues of her eyes froze the air in his lungs. In an instant, it was as if the hands upon the clock rewound, reversing time. Lydia was here. His Lydia. And more…they were together. He couldn’t compel himself to break that connection. Worse, her nearness called forward memories of the last time he’d held her in those detestable gardens. When he’d taken Lydia into his arms that evening, he’d not known it would be the last he’d hold her, though he’d known that the moment she committed herself to marrying another, he’d never touch her again, in any way.

Only to find now that he’d been wrong.

Lydia broke the connection. A blush on her cheeks, she stepped away, putting distance between them. But then, she’d always been the one to do so. With an almost embarrassing unaffectedness toward him, she darted around him and made a beeline for the door. He thought she intended to flee.

Instead, she turned the lock, shutting the two of them in, alone.

Clasping her hands behind her, Lydia laid her back against the door and exhaled a sigh that could never be mistaken for anything other than relief.

A sardonic smile curved his lips. There’d been a time when he’d managed to pull a different kind of breathy exhalation from the lady.

“Of all the places I’d think to run into you, Lydia,” he said, unable to prevent the wistful quality of that pondering.

“And as I said, I should expect to run into you here.”

His neck went hot. She was right to her opinion. After all, how many times had he attended affairs such as this very one? After her he’d buried himself in roguish pursuits.

“I’ll have you know I’m not one for these affairs,” he said.

Meandering away from her place at the paneled door, she picked up a mask and toyed with the blue and green feathers adorning the article. “You’ve intrigued me, Your Grace.”

At her words, a memory came whispering forward from a time long past, a lifetime ago…

“You’ve intrigued me, Geoffrey. Whyever would you suffer through the misery of Almack’s.”

Geoffrey glided closer towards her. “To be with you, love. I’d brave it all…”

“I have it on authority that you quite enjoy these scandalous affairs,” Lydia said, intruding on the past, bringing him back to their present.

“Not anymore,” he said, his words, spoken in truth. “They’ve gotten old.” He rubbed at his sore neck muscles. He’d gotten old. “I