His droll reaction startled a laugh from her. The moment it emerged, she clapped her hand over her lips, irritated with herself for succumbing to his easy charm.
“You may laugh at me, Vivi. Better yet, laughwithme.” He raised his elbow incrementally, as if to remind her he was awaiting her response. “Now, take my arm and allow me to escort you to dinner.”
She eyed his arm, trying not to allow herself to succumb to all the emotions fluttering inside her. Here was, at once, the Court she remembered so well. Magnetic, witty, handsome. And inside, she was melting for him just as she always had. Desperate for the smiles she had watched him bestow upon others for so many years until he had finally been hers.
Until the very next day, when he hadn’t been.
“You tricked me,” she said.
And you hurt me, she added in her mind.You broke my heart and left me without a backward glance.
“Tell me honestly.” He tilted his head in considering fashion, pinning her with a knowing stare. “Would you have joined me if you had known the invitation was from me instead of Lady Clementine?”
“Of course not,” she admitted without hesitation.
His lips firmed, the only hint that her words had displeased him. “I’ve only a fortnight to have you to myself before your guests arrive. Do you blame me for wanting to make the best of it?”
“For deceiving me and for somehow persuading my dearest friend to abet your lies?” she asked tartly, not about to relent. “Is that your definition of making the best of the evening?”
Her stomach was hungry, and it was a longish ride back to the manor house. The picnic spread out behind him looked terribly inviting, the walls of Lynwood enclosing them in an almost magical realm out of time. But she would not forget the reason for all her anger toward him. Nor all the pain she had endured the last year, believing he had left her because he did not want her. No. Indeed, he was going to have to work for her acquiescence.
The expression on his face shifted, and there was no denying the blatant sensual intent. He was positively smoldering with it.
“Do you truly wish to know my definition of making the best of the evening with you, Vivi?” he asked with deceptive softness.
The air between them changed, sparking hot with awareness despite the coolness of the old stone walls surrounding them and the trees beyond blotting out what remained of the evening sun. She should tell him no, she knew. And yet, part of her—the old, long-buried part of her that had loved him from afar for so many years—desperately wanted to hear whatever he had to say.
Dear God.
The reason hit her then with sudden, awful clarity.
She had never stopped loving him. And how could she, when loving Court had been a part of her for the last twelve years, since she had been fourteen?
The ability to speak fled her, choked by pent-up emotion.
“I’ve never seen you at a loss for words before.” He frowned, lowering his arm. “Have I made you hate me so much that you won’t even deign to join me for dinner?”
“Tell me,” she blurted, hating herself for surrendering to the need, tears of shame and longing burning in her eyes. “What is your definition of making the best of the evening with me?”
He held her stare, his countenance solemn, the roguish flirt who had greeted her nowhere to be found now. Instead, he was simply himself—or rather, this new version. This bearded, serious, vexingly masculine, irritatingly determined Court.
“First, I would kiss you,” he said, proving that he could make her want him without so much as a touch. “I would kiss you until you melted into me and kissed me back. And then I would take your hand in mine and lead you to the picnic. I’d unpack the apple pudding and tell you to take a bite of that first.”
Vivi adored apple pudding. She had for as long as she could recall.
“You remember,” she said, trying her utmost not to think about the first portion of his statement.
The kissing bit.
“That it is one of your favorites?” He smiled, and it was a rare, beautiful smile. “How could I forget? You always fed half your dinners to Alberta, but the apple pudding never made it to the hound. Not even once.”
Dear, sweet Alberta. As Percy’s favorite, the hound had been as much of a fixture in their home as the gas lamps on the wall. They had mourned her passing as if she were another sibling. For she had been, albeit a furred one.
A new wave of sadness hit Vivi. “She was a lovely dog. She was inordinately fond of bacon.”
“And all manner of cheese,” Court said.
She wanted to hate him, but she loved him. Wanted to push him away, but he had remembered Alberta. He had recalled her own love of apple pudding.
