Chapter Five
B oudicca spent the morning reassuring herself that she, in fact, did not need to prepare for a second visit from the duke. She could, in reasonably good conscience, tell her sisters that she had snagged a duke, alas, he had gotten away. He was a slippery one, that silky-haired, steely-eyed duke with the strong, warm hands. A tingle crawled up her spine.
It had been far too long since a man had given her any masculine attention. She hadn’t flirted in…ages. Not that she was the flirting type. Yet she felt a rather uncanny urge to stay on her toes. But that wasn’t flirting.
When the butler came to announce a visitor, she knew it was the duke. What she didn’t know was how to accurately label the energy coursing through her body. And that heated blood pumping through her veins…she wasn’t quite sure what that was all about. Except, he had better have brought flowers this time. She would feel foolish claiming another megrim. By God, she would do it…but she would feel foolish.
Didn’t she have a right to have high standards? Some women waited until they were seventy before they asserted themselves and opined on every subject. Boudicca was not waiting until seventy. She had lived through enough of the Marriage Mart to hold sky-high standards, and she wasn’t about to drop them for anyone. Not even a duke.
If she was going to marry and compromise her plans of being a foil-wielding spinster, then it had damn well better be worth the compromise.
So yes, the man needed to prove his mettle.
Confident in her resolve, Boudicca made her way to the drawing room. But with each step she took, the tingling along her spine grew. The correlation between the decreasing distance and the increasing tingles was irrefutable. This was almost akin to…nerves. How very odd.
This, she needed to understand more.
In front of the closed drawing room door she paused and rallied herself one last time. Be yourself. Keep your standards high. Submit to no man. Trust no man. Be on your guard. Better yet, put him on his guard. Ah…there it was. She breathed in and exhaled some excess energy.
Entering the room, she noticed that the duke had again been standing dead center in the middle of the room. This time though, he had a small smirk on his face. The smirk of a man with ulterior motives, to be sure. If she had had feathers, they would already be ruffled.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” She drew out a curtsy, delaying the inevitable glance up at his face. When she finally did raise her head to meet his gaze, her breath caught in her throat. Damn his warm eyes, so at odds with his stony cold demeanor.
“It is lovely. I hope you’ve recovered from yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
Another smirk. “Your megrim.”
“Of course…” How could she have been caught off guard already? But those eyes of his. They were peering into her. If his eyes were feet they would have been standing en garde in the shape of an L. She dropped her gaze to his feet. No L. Just shoulder width apart. And then, regarding the status of her megrim, she responded, “Well, that is yet to be seen.”
He belted a short laugh. “I do hope it remains at bay.”
She didn’t want to hear his laugh. And she really didn’t want to continue staring at his angular face that had a smooth cut jaw, which she was quite sure had stubble on it at the dance. Why she recalled that, and how it did something to her insides vexed her immeasurably.
So she flicked her eyes down his body instead. And she observed his hands. Large, smooth hands clasped in front of him. She didn’t look further down, not much further anyway, as she could already feel a warmth creeping into her face. Her eyes began to steal their way back up his body, across those hands again. And that’s when she noticed it. Empty.
His hands were empty. No flowers? Botheration. What did the man think of her? That she forgot? That she would reconsider her requirement to visit with him? The man was galling.
He cleared his throat. “Perchance, are you looking for these?” He stepped to the side and behind him, on the table were—not one, but two—bouquets of flowers. One bouquet of various flowers and—heaven above—one bouquet of pale pink peonies.
She gasped.
Her feet lost their place, even though they were standing still. The world had surely shifted. How had he known? What the deuce kind of sign was this?
It was not a sign she was ready or willing to concede, that’s what kind of sign it was. He was an arrogant arse. A man far too high in the instep for her. Selfish. Greedy. Lavish. Deceitful. Though she knew none of these things to be true, she had to tell herself this. The alternative was too overwhelming. He couldn’t possibly know her and be interested in her.
“May we visit this morning?” His tone was silky. And…amused. How infuriating! He knew the effect of the flowers, though maybe not the full extent of it.
No, she would most certainly not visit with this man. He was dangerous. In ways she could not fully understand. So she made a point to keep looking around the room.
She walked over to the flowers. Even sniffed the fragrant peonies. Her favorite. She couldn’t resist. Also, she had to make a show of it, else she would lose her nerve.
“Lovely,” she murmured. Then, standing to her full height, and looking him dead in the eyes, she asked, “Did you not bring me chocolates?”
*
Chocolates?! Up until that point, he had her eating out of his hand. The visit was going to happen. He knew it. He felt it. He could sense it in his very being. But all that really meant was that he willed it. And he couldn’t really perceive anything beyond his will. If he wanted it desperately enough, then nothing could stand in his way. Not fate. Not dreams. And especially not a mercurial old spinster.
When she had walked into the room, he had felt her restlessness. When he had stepped to the side, exposing the flowers, he felt that restlessness explode. And then her gasp had sealed it. He knew she loved them. They meant something more to her that he didn’t understand. And he had been thanking his dream for the hint. He wouldn’t have picked up the second bouquet that morning if it hadn’t been for the dream.
The flowers had been divined. There was no other explanation. Her response, on the other hand, was infernal.
He had brought flowers. And on all accounts, he had chosen the perfect bouquet. Her eyes had lit up. Her cheeks had drawn in as her lips formed the perfect circle. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he had picked her favorite flower. By chance. And if she was a woman that he was keen on, he would have done some digging to confirm that fact, as he was not one to rely on capricious things like dreams to lead his love life. She was not a woman he was pursuing for love, or even lust (that motivation triggered all kinds of effort from him).
And now the cursed chit wanted chocolates, as well? Unheard of. He hadn’t brought flowers, chocolates, and gifts all to any one woman. Flowers, here. Chocolates, there. The odd gift here and there (to a mistress or two), but never all at once to one lady. Who did she think she was?
But he had to tamp down his emotions. He needed to win this bet. Besting Samuel to prove that he was not a better judge of Wesley’s love life was paramount. If there was a bullseye somewhere representing this bet, Samuel’s smirking face was in the middle of it. So, although it was well within his prerogative to stand his ground against Boudicca, he wouldn’t win his bet by ranting at her. Though he might have to plunge forward through gritted teeth.
“Chocolates? Oh?”
And she had the nerve to remain silent.
His tone belied his internal stewings. “I didn’t realize that chocolates were a requirement.”
She merely nodded.
“So,” he pointed to the flowers, counting them in the air, “flowers are required. And…chocolates?” He drew out the sentence, just in case she wanted to interrupt him. She didn’t.
“Yes, of course they are.” She flicked her clear blue eyes up at him; a wisp of hair hung loosely against her jaw. He had the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Perhaps graze her cheek along the way. The urge was patently ridiculous.
“So, no visit today, I take it?”
And in a voice that he didn’t predict, she squeaked out, “Certainly not.” She cleared something, or nothing, from her throat. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
Proper? Hang it all. What this woman thought was proper was nothing more than her own ruminations. There was nothing proper about these requests. Let alone the fact that they were alone on both of the occasions he had visited. He hadn’t heard any gossip involving any scandal with her, but perhaps there was a reason for her being a spinster. It might all be making significantly more sense right now. Thinking of her requirements for a visit…it was laughable. Or it should have been, except it was exasperating.
“All right then,” he took a few strides toward the door, and he could hear her footsteps following close behind him. Likely to close the door on his behind.
Abruptly at the doorway, he stopped. She plowed right into him. Her head must have been down. But that wasn’t his first thought. His first thought was about her hands that had fumbled on his hips to steady herself. Followed closely by a second thought regarding the feel of her breasts pressed into his back. He would have admitted that he liked the feel of her hands on his hips and her breasts against his back, but he didn’t give himself time to evaluate the sensations.
Instead, he turned slowly. A slight blush had crept into her cheeks. Her hair should give up on the coiffure at this point. He leaned back and put one hand almost all the way up the doorframe. She was nearly tucked underneath him. If he was not irked just so, he might have felt…aroused. Towering over her he could picture his body covering her while she was strewn across his bed, subject to his every whim. But that had nothing to do with the bet. He narrowed his eyes at her, and battling his ducal proclivities, he maintained inquisitive rather than imperious eyebrows.
“Just to be sure, when I come back tomorrow. For a visit. With tea.” He felt compelled to clarify at least a couple of terms. “I shall bring flowers and chocolates.”
She nodded. Clear eyes with long lashes that she could have used to flutter at him, but didn’t. No, she was not communicating coquettishly. Rather, she was direct. Said what she wanted. Didn’t equivocate. Didn’t back down. It was almost respectable, if the vexatious aspect didn’t win out.
“Anything else?” he intoned.
“I’m sure you know which kinds of gifts are appropriate to give to a woman.” She was giving him a tip. Something that he could prepare for rather than react to. He made a note to himself that progress was being made with her, albeit in the most roundabout fashion.
“A gift?”
Her nod caused a few more blonde wisps to come loose. They were baiting him.
“Flowers. Chocolate. And a small gift.” He waited, watching her eyes, trying to read them, but they were closed off. “And then we shall visit?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” She said the words as if it were ridiculous that she should have to clarify these obscure requirements. For to be sure, they were the obscurest he had heard yet. And he had many experiences from which to draw upon.
“Fine. I shall see you tomorrow.” And he almost bent down to press a kiss to her temple. It was right there. Would that kiss have been perfunctory or a means to throw her off whatever game she was playing, he didn’t know. Thus he refrained.
As he pressed past her, he couldn’t help but notice the lingering scent of roses like a cloud following him out the door.