Chapter Eight #3
“It isn’t. But you are a man who resists change, and I have somehow become a part of your familiar routine. I think you are also swayed by your sons and the obvious affection they have for me.”
“And what do you think of them?”
He was turning this around on her, but she wanted to give him an honest answer before pressing on with her opinion about their situation.
“I adore them. They are delightful boys and you ought to be so proud of them. They try their best to behave, but their curiosity and adventurous natures sometimes get the best of them.” She cleared her throat and continued.
“However, my liking them is not relevant to this conversation.”
He absently twirled the stem of his wine glass. “Are we having a conversation? Or are you about to lecture me on my matchmaking failures?”
“They aren’t failures,” she insisted, now blushing because she had hoped not to come across as a strict and humorless schoolmistress. “Well, some obviously were. But these next ladies do hold promise. You must not compare them to me.”
“Is this what you think I have been doing?”
“Yes, and this is why they are bound to fall short. How can they ever live up to me when you have mistakenly placed me on a pedestal?”
He took another sip of his wine, then once again began to lightly run his fingers along the stem of his glass when he set it down.
She tried not to stare at the sensual glide of his fingers along the elegant glass, but could not help herself. How would it feel if he ran his fingers along her spine?
She moaned softly and drank a little more of her Madeira.
“I can assure you, I am fully aware of your shortcomings, Gwen.”
“You are?” Her blush deepened, for she was now tingling because his fingers would feel magnificent against her skin.
Oh, this was wrong. So wrong.
She finished her second glass of port, set it down on the table with a light thunk, and then reached for the bottle and refilled her glass.
How had it emptied so fast?
“Um…what are my shortcomings?” she asked, leaning an elbow on the table to hold herself steady when the room suddenly tipped forward.
“You have very few,” he assured her, his gaze turning hot and assessing as his gentlemanly veneer slipped away just enough for her to feel a heightened awareness between them.
Awareness and heat.
Perhaps this was what had her gulping down her third glass of port. He was looking at her with an insatiable thirst.
Or was she the thirsty one?
What was happening to her? She refused to consider she was feeling a womanly desire for Milbury.
“We both have a tendency to hold on to the past and resist change,” he said, unaware of the torment coursing through her.
Or was he aware?
He leaned forward, making her heart beat faster. “Gwen, look at how a simple trip to Milbury Hill has unsettled you.”
She tipped her chin up. “I am not unsettled.”
“Seriously? I have never seen you take anything other than tea after supper. Here you are, working on your third glass of port.”
“Oh. Has it been three?” To her frustration, she could not accuse him of being wrong about this.
Leaving her past behind was proving quite difficult for her, just as he had accused. It seemed no one was more stuck in the past than she was.
“You love making lists,” he continued with a tender smile. “You are constantly making them, but I find that quite endearing.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “I like your practical nature. You are organized and efficient.”
“Because I find it easiest to note down whatever I must do each day. Is it not sensible? It serves to unclutter one’s brain and gives one less to think about. Nothing gets forgotten when it is staring back at you on paper. Then all one has to remember is to not lose the paper.”
He grinned. “I rarely bother to write things down but am constantly making lists in my head. You and I both like our lives fairly well structured and predictable.”
“That sounds painfully dull. I am not predictable at all,” she protested, and then drank more of her port. “In fact, I can be quite brazen at times.”
“Oh, Gwen. No. If you were brazen, you would be sitting on my lap right now and offering yourself to me, as several of your supposedly virginal prospects have already done.”
“But I kissed you. Was this not impossibly forward of me?”
“Gad, no,” he said with a rumbling chuckle. “You kissed me completely by accident, and you now blush and avert your eyes every time you think about it, which is fairly often.”
She gasped. “Do not be ridiculous. I do not think of it at all. In fact, our kiss has completely slipped from my memory.”
She needed more wine. Why was her glass already half empty? She finished it off.
“Anyway, we ought to be talking about you, not me,” she insisted. “I do not wish to sound haughty, but I think you are ensorcelled by me.”
He cast her a wickedly attractive grin. “Am I?”
She hiccuped. “Yes. Well, certainly too comfortable with me, and coupled with your propensity for resisting change, you have now fixed your attention too much on me and not enough on the prospective brides I have chosen for you.”
“All right, tell me about each of these four female paragons you have selected for our house party.”
“Our party? See, you are doing this again. Milbury Hill is your home and you are hosting this party.”
“And you have agreed to act as my hostess and plan every detail of this party with me. That makes it ours.”
She sighed. “You may have a point.”
He finished his first glass of port and cast her an amused look. “Tell me about those paragons, Gwen.”
“You are well acquainted with two of them. There’s Miss Pouty Mouth…I mean, Lady Eudora Blake. She’s a bluestocking, so this means she is naturally intelligent and serious. She also happens to be very pretty. Lovely blonde hair and green eyes.”
He shrugged. “She’s humorless.”
Ugh! Did he have to be so opinionated?
“Well, James…this house party is your chance to draw her out. I’m sure she is witty and will have you laughing until your sides split.”
He cast her another impossibly attractive smile, no doubt pleased she had used his given name and completely ignoring everything else she had just said. “Blithe and merry as a butterfly, is she? No, Gwen. I doubt she has even a thimbleful of your wit and charm.”
“Do not bring this around to me again. You cannot compare these ladies to me or you will always find them lacking.”
He leaned forward. “Which proves my point. You stand above all of them.”
“No. No. And again, no.”
“Yes, yes, and yes, Gwen. I know you have no interest in me, and I am not going to woo you.”
“You’re not?”
She hiccupped again.
Drat, did she sound dismayed? And had he noticed?
His smile turned seductive. “Unless you want me to.”
“I do not.” Although her insides warmed and her heart began to flutter once again with ridiculous abandon. “Absolutely not.”
He eased back in his chair. “Fine, you are now ruled out. But that will not change my mind about the ladies you have chosen for me. The one who rises above you in my estimation is the one I will marry. Think of yourself as a goalpost.”
Her eyes widened. “A goalpost?”
“Yes, and the lady who runs past you shall be declared the winner.”
“And claim you as the prize?”
He nodded. “Is that not entirely the point?”
Goodness, he was irritating. And being purposely annoying.
“Speaking of points,” she said, pouring herself another glass, one she promised herself would be her last because not just the room but everything in it was spinning, “promise me you will give Miss Pointy Nose a proper chance. Her name is Lady Millicent Hanford, by the way. I do hope you have not forgotten it already. Is there anything wrong with her other than her pointed nose?”
“I have no idea. I never got beyond the problem of her nose before dismissing her from contention.”
“In addition to being beautiful,” she said, for Millicent had a lovely head of chestnut hair and hazel eyes, “she speaks three languages fluently, adores traveling, is an excellent equestrienne, and sings like a nightingale.”
“All well and good, but she will still poke my eye out if I try to kiss her while we are frolicking in bed. No man will ‘rise to the occasion,’ so to speak, if he fears losing an eyeball whilst in the throes of passion.”
She should have ordered a steaming mint tea, because it was a safer drink to imbibe…and this man was certainly driving her to drink with his nonsensical babble. Since all she had in front of her was her freshly refilled glass, she grabbed it and took a healthy sip.
Oh dear. How many had she had? Why was he not stopping her?
Why was she not stopping herself?
Grumbling, she took another hefty sip before addressing him again. “You are beyond belief.”
“Slow down, sailor,” he said as she reached for the bottle again. “I’ll be carrying you out in my arms if you polish off another glass.”
She ignored him and licked the remaining droplets in her glass. He was not the only one who could be irritating and contrary.
“Oh, James.” She caught her head in her hands as it began to spin.
Her stomach, already in a roil since this morning, was now in full revolt. Between the glass or two of wine she’d had with her supper and now the Madeira that was much more potent than she’d realized, she had overdone it.
Good grief.
She tipped her chin up in a failed attempt to maintain her dignity. Was this what overindulging felt like? She wanted to drop her head to the table and leave it there until the morning.
Did Milbury know? Could he tell?
He rose and came to her side.
“Let me tell you about the other two ladies I’ve chosen for you,” she said as he helped her out of her seat and then wrapped his arms around her.
“Gwen, I think I had better take you back to your room now. You can describe them to me another time.”
“But this is important,” she insisted.
He sighed. “Fine, tell me as I walk you to your bedchamber.”
“Tell you what? Oh, yes. The other two prospects. Miss Eleanor Newquay, she’s the niece of the Marquess of Dedham.”
“That arse,” he muttered. “And the other?”