Her cheeks went hotter still, and that wretched dimple of his simply would not go away. It remained there, taunting her.
“None of them, if you please,” she said primly. “This is hardly fit conversation for the breakfast table.”
“According to whom?” he asked lightly.
He was enjoying her discomfiture, the rotter.
“According to everyone,” she exclaimed, “as you are more than aware yourself. I have never, in all my days, attended a breakfast—or a lunch or supper or dinner, for that matter—during which polite conversation turned to the matter of…that.”
“What to call a cock?”
He was worse than insufferable! He was taunting her. Tormenting her. Making her hot all over. Making her think about kissing him again, about making love in the carriage. Making her want him.
“Is this why you dismissed the footmen?” she countered. “So that you might make me blush?”
“No, I did that because I wanted to be alone with you. But now that I see how lovely you are when you’re discomfited, I will make a habit of dismissing the servants and doing my best to shock you from this moment on.”
The way he was looking at her, his gaze warm and almost affectionate, if she dared think it, was making it difficult for her to maintain her irritation. He looked more carefree than she could recall, almost boyish.
Happy.
But why? Because they were married? Because he had won their little battle of wills in the carriage yesterday and he was once more skillfully routing her even now?
“That is unfair of you.”
He arched a golden brow. “Who said I am a fair man?”
“No one.”
But, now that she pondered the question, she had to concede he had shown himself to be remarkably fair thus far. She had been foolish and reckless that night at the ball when she had kissed him, and he had taken the situation in stride, offering to marry her. He had also been patient. Kind. Except for that awful night when she had spied him kissing Lady Anglesey, she had no complaints about his conduct.
“At least you have not been misled.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “You have a spot of chocolate on your chin,cariad.”
Oh, flim-flam, she had been sitting here arguing with him with chocolate on her face. After she had spat a mouthful all across the table. What a pair they were. Daintily, she blotted her chin with herserviette. “Is it gone?”
“No.” An amused smile curved his sensual lips. “Here, let me help you.”
His fingers closed over hers before she could protest, warm and gentle. She wanted to withdraw, but she did not want him to think she was so affected by a mere touch. Which, naturally, she was.
As one, they dabbed a spot on her chin.
“Better?” she asked, trying not to squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze.
“Better,” he said.
But his fingers lingered near her lips, grazing her there and sending pure, unadulterated fire straight through her. This was most definitelynotbetter. He was touching her. Further weakening her defenses.
“Thank you,” she forced out, trying her best to appear unaffected, when on the inside, she was melting.
“Quite welcome.” He withdrew his touch, and turned back to his breakfast.
But the heaviness of the moment remained, lingering in the warmth he had left, in the beat of her heart, in the longing filling her.
If she could not make it through a breakfast without being charmed by him, how would she make it through this honeymoon, and beyond?
* * *
Izzy lookedfrom the tandem cycle awaiting them on the approach of Haines Court to him. “A cycle?”
