So, yes, he found her physically attractive. And perhaps he had decided to label that sense of attraction asadmirationin the wake of their near-drowning.
But a rather sizable part of her doubted that a man could change so quickly. Worse, who knew what version she would wake to of a morning—the hateful or the loving one?
She would prefer he despise her continually rather than have him murmur beautiful promises one day and then devolve back into haughty Kendall the next.
That would crush her . . . imagining what might have been.
No. She was not ready to kiss him. Not yet.
She leaned back into the curve of his arm around her waist.
“I hesitate and now ye won’t even look at me?” she asked.
“Too tempting.”
“Because of . . . kissing?”
“The topic currently occupies a rather alarming portion of my brain matter.”
“Tristan.” His name emerged half chuckle, half reproach. “Now, ye are being ridicul—”
“Please can we speak ofanythingelse?” he growled, eyes still closed.
“Anything?”
“Yes!”
Well, when he gave her such an opening . . .
Might as well spur him back into his Kendall persona. A test, of sorts.
She was forever conducting experiments with this man.
“Why do ye hate my father so? The true reason, if you please.”
Those chocolate-brown eyes flared open, his thumb frozen on her leg.
“Hadley?” he frowned.
“Yes. He is my father, in case you have conveniently erased that fact from your memory,” she said dryly.
He grimaced and returned to staring at the coals glowing in the grate.
“Come now,” she prodded. “Surely there is more tae the tale than his ill-advised investments with Jarvis.”
“Must there be?” His arm tensed behind her.
“Ye saw my father impeached,” Isolde scoffed. “Ye hired investigators, hounded him in the newspapers, and courted votes in Commons, ensuring all and sundry understood the depths of your low opinion. No man goes tae such lengths merely to see justice served.”
“Isolde—”
“In all honesty, I expected more gloating from yourself over your victories.”
“Gloating?” He finally returned his turbulent gaze to hers.
His thumb began its leisurely trail over her thigh once more.
“Aye. Gloating. Ye have a history of it with myself.” She continued to press the topic. “Ye said upon our marriage that ye would cease prosecuting my father. Will ye recuse yourself now that he has been impeached?”
