He could hardly tell her the truth. That he both liked and loathed her in equal measure, just as Allie had observed.
He had to push her away. Because if Kendall let Lady Isolde too close,he feared he would toss all good sense—his hopes and aspirations—to the wind and chase after her like a stag in rut.
In particular, a conversation such as this was rather high on the list ofThings to Avoid with Lady Isolde.
“Ye won’t be answering that question either, will ye?”
Kendall grinned at the exasperation in her voice.
“Och, and now ye be smiling, Your Grace. I can see your fine teeth glinting even in the dark.”
He only smiled wider.
“Am I sport tae ye, then?” she asked.
“No, Lady Isolde. Unlike my father, I do not torment women for entertainment.”
“Truly? Because I should like it noted that I am feeling decidedly tormented at the moment.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye.”
He laughed at that. At the sheer petulant annoyance in her voice.
“A Frustration of Dukes, ’tis what ye lot are,” she grumbled.
“Pardon?”
“The collective noun of dukes. A Frustration. Ye ken how a group of crows is called a murder? Or a pack of lions is a pride—”
“Yes, I am well aware of what a collective noun is, my lady.”
“Dukes are a Frustration.” She gave her signature sniff. “Or perhaps a Smugness? An Arrogance?”
“Have you readThe Book of Saint Albans?”
“The Book of Saintwho?”
“Albans. I must admit I am surprised you do not know the work. It’s a late medieval text on courtly manners, and according to most research, written by a prioress.”
Silence for a beat.
“That is tae be commended, I am sure,” she finally said. “But I am unclear as to how that relates to a Smugness of Dukes. Unless ye were merely wishing tae give ademonstrationof said moniker—reveling in my ignorance—in which case, well done. Bravo.” She clapped, the sound echoing off the walls.
Kendall was helplessto stop another grin, hating the way delight licked his chest. Damn this woman and her quick wit.
He knew he should stop speaking. Every exchange between them eroded his resolve.
And yet, his foolish mouth opened.
“The Book of Saint Albansis the origin of most collective nouns in the English language,” he explained. “The book contains a long list of them, such as a gaggle of geese or a pod of whales. But the authoress did become fanciful when naming groups of people.”
“Fanciful?”
Kendall couldn't help but notice—just by the sound of her voice—how she leaned in.
“Yes. A Poverty of Pipers, for example. A Blast of Hunters. A Superfluity of Nuns. Or my personal favorite—a Complaint of Wives.”
