“Dinner,” she conceded, looking adorably flustered. “Very well, but I’ll bring my new list of prospective brides along with me since the last round didn’t pass muster.”
Her bloody lists. Unless she brought one with her name atop the latest version, she was wasting her time.
Brandon smiled anyway, for he had achieved yet another victory in this protracted war of theirs, albeit a small one. “I’ll see you tonight at half past seven.”
CHAPTER 12
To Lottie’s dismay, there was no hint of Pandora or Cat upon her arrival at the Duke of Brandon’s town house that evening. Instead, she was led to the drawing room where Brandon himself awaited her, cutting a dashing figure in evening black.
He bowed solemnly at her entrance, and she had to forcibly remind herself that she had not come here to be seduced. The crisp white of his shirt and necktie were in stark contrast to his mahogany hair, and his emerald eyes seemed somehow greener in the lamplight.
He grinned as he straightened, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss. “Good evening.”
It was scarcely the whisper of his mouth upon her, and yet, he may as well have skimmed his hand over her cunny for the way her body reacted. Warmth settled low in her belly, and her nipples hardened instantly beneath the familiar shield of her corset.
“Good evening,” she managed.
Lottie didn’t know how she had been cozened into dinner with the Duke of Brandon. It was both foolish and reckless. As a widow, she possessed the freedom to dine with himalone, certainly. However, he was seeking a bride. Continuing to spend time in his presence was only leading to inevitable disappointment.
Because whilst Lottie had no qualms about taking lovers, she took great care to make certain none of them was married or engaged. She would never visit that pain upon a fellow woman. It had been too late when she had learned that Grenfell had been keeping a mistress during their courtship and subsequent betrothal.
She would simply have to resist Brandon and his sensual allure. She’d come armed with her list. It was in her reticule, folded neatly in thirds. The fourth such draft, not that he needed to know that she had spent the intervening hours between their drive and her departure for dinner privately agonizing over her choices and striking lines through half a dozen ladies’ names before rewriting the list.
He released her hand, his gaze searing hers. “Shall we proceed to dinner?”
“Of course.” Stupidly, she had left the reticule with her wrap and hat. She would just have to remember to fetch it before she left and deliver it to him.
He brought her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I enjoyed our drive today in the park. I’m pleased you accepted my invitation to dinner.”
“As I recall, I was rather blackmailed into acceptance,” she couldn’t help but grumble, reminded of the way he had neatly trapped her.
He chuckled. “Hardly that. More like sound persuasion than blackmail.”
“How is Pandy getting on with the new nursemaid?” she asked, because she was curious and because she needed to change the subject to something safer than his kisses, potential or otherwise.
“Splendidly.” He guided her from the opulent drawing room, down the carpeted hall. “Cat has yet to eat her skirts, and Miss Bennington seems to genuinely enjoy Pandy’s exuberance.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Pandy wanted me to tell you hullo, by the way. She was dreadfully disappointed that she had to retire to the nursery before you arrived.”
“I’ll admit that I was hoping I might get to see her. Please do tell her hullo from me and give Cat an ear scratch.” She smiled with genuine warmth, thinking that Pandy and her dog were equally high-spirited. A matched pair.
He inclined his head. “I will be happy to relay your greeting. As for the ear scratch, however, I’m not sure the beast deserves one. She’s managed to mangle another pair of my boots, and I’m quite peeved with her over it.”
Lottie bit her lip, trying not to chuckle at the picture his words painted. They moved into the dining room, where settings had been laid and an assortment of freshly cut flowers decorated an epergne at the center of the table linen. The place settings were at an intimate proximity, which was customary for lovers sharing a meal.
Except they weren’t lovers.
Not current lovers, anyway.
Past lovers. Never to be lovers again. He was getting married, and she was remaining a merry widow. That was what she wanted.
Of course it was.
“I brought my list,” she announced, determined to maintain her fortitude even as his scent curled around her.
Musky citrus and something that was indefinably him. She inhaled through her mouth instead.
