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Chapter 11
The weather turned overnight, a thick cloud cover coming in from the sea, the air taking on a decided chill. Nevertheless, Daniel made his way to the side rose garden just as he and Margery had agreed on the night before. The conversation they were to have this morning was to mark the beginning of his earnest courting of one of the young women on the Isle, after all. And if there was anything he needed just then, it was to focus on one woman and one woman only. And preferably one who was not Margery.
The moment she appeared from a side door and began moving through the garden toward him, however, he could think of little else. How was it, he thought helplessly, that she could mesmerize him without even trying. There was nothing remotely seductive in the way she moved just then, after all. Her head was down, her step quick and efficient. Yet he could not tear his eyes away from the sway of her hips beneath her gown, or the determined set of her luscious mouth, or the way her curls bounced against that delicious curve where neck met shoulder.
Despite the briskness of the air, his body warmed considerably. Even more so when she raised her gaze to his and he found himself held captive by those incredible brown eyes of hers.
“Your Grace,” she said a bit breathlessly when she reached him.
“Mrs. Kitteridge. I hope you slept well?”
“I did, thank you.” She looked to the sky. “It looks as if it might rain.”
“Does it?” he managed, unable to look away from the sweep of her lashes, so dark against her porcelain skin, so long they nearly reached the gentle arch of her brows.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, flushed again, the pink in her cheeks darkening and spreading down her neck. “We’d best get to it, before those clouds open up.”
Ah, yes. The wife thing. “I agree,” he said, though, for some insane reason he could not comprehend, discussing the topic of choosing someone he might make his duchess was the very last thing he wanted just then. He motioned to the small stone bench nestled back in the hedges, that same bench they had shared his first morning on Synne. A veritable lifetime ago. “Shall we?”
She looked to the bench like it was a beast about to leap at her. “Ah, no, thank you. I think I’d rather stand.”
Which, now that he thought of it, was probably the wisest course of action. He had no wish to be in such forced proximity with her, after all.
“But let’s get to it, shall we?” She attempted a smile, but it was a weak thing. “Have you had time to decide who you would like to court?”
He blinked. Damnation, he hadn’t. Which was ridiculous, really, as that was the whole point of this meeting. But he had been so focused on Margery—again—that he had quite forgotten there was a decision to make.
But as she stared at him with a kind of guarded expectation, and he wracked his brain going over his options, he realized with horrible certainty that, though each young woman was wonderful in her own way, to him they all paled in comparison to Margery.
Which would not do. After all, she had stated clearly—very clearly—that she would not ever consider remarrying.
Yet his mind remained blank. Finally, desperate, he decided he would blurt out the very first name that came to him. “I choose—”
A bright flash, followed quickly by a loud crack, drowned out whatever it was he might have said. In the next instant the sky opened up, pouring a sheet of icy rain down on them.
They both gasped and started off for the house. But when Margery might have rushed to cover, she instead slowed her steps to stay by his side.
“Go,” he urged, even as he limped along as fast as he could muster. “Get yourself inside. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“I’m not leaving you, you silly man,” she declared.
There went that warmth in his chest again. And he realized as they trudged along, getting more soaked by the second, that he was beginning to care for this woman.
The realization stunned him nearly senseless. But he had no time to process it. They reached the side door just then and ducked inside. And he found himself in a small, dark sitting room. And much too close to Margery for any coherent thoughts to take shape.
He stared down at her in the gloom, his eyes drinking her in as she removed her bedraggled bonnet.
“Goodness me,” she said, laughter and surprise lighting up her face. “We’re soaked through, aren’t we? That was quite…unexpected…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze rose to meet his. Eyes widening, she licked her lips.
His entire body pulled tight as a bow. Ah, God, if she only knew what that small action did to him.
But perhaps she did. In the next instant her hands came up, resting like nervous birds on his shoulders. Before he quite knew what to make of it, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
The effect was instantaneous. His body, which should have been chilled to the bone from their drenching, exploded in heat. He groaned, wrapping his arms about her, crushing her to him. She gasped, and he took advantage, twining his tongue with hers. The taste of her was heady and all-consuming, driving him wild with need. He pressed his hand to the small of her back, reveling in the graceful arch of her spine beneath the dampened layers of clothing, bringing her even closer until he could feel every soft curve of her pressed against him.
But it wasn’t enough. He needed to taste more of her. Tearing his mouth away, he trailed his lips along her smooth cheek, down the long line of her neck, until he found that delicate spot just beneath her ear. She let her head fall back, and a low moan escaped her. She was so damn beautiful. How the hell was he supposed to think of who to marry when she took up his every thought?
Suddenly she stilled. And he realized in that horrifying moment that he had spoken aloud.
