“Can you?”
She had to meet his eyes to give her word force. “Certainly.”
“Liar.”
Did he know she was still feverishly hot, and aching, in extraordinary places? She turned away. “I must return to the guests.”
Again, he stopped her, with a hand, this time tight on her wrist. Sensation rippled up from his hold and she looked at him, fearing... she knew not what.
“Take a moment to look less hectic,” he said.
“Let me go.”
“Ariana, I kissed you to try to show you what marriage is about.”
Wickedly unfair to use the weapon of her name. “I understand what marriage is about, my lord.”
“Then don’t go to the altar lukewarm.”
“Many a hot-blooded marriage has ended in disaster.”
It was as if she’d hit him. His grip loosened and she twisted her wrist free.
“My marriage is no concern of yours,” she said again, as if repetition would give it force.
“I can’t feel that way.”
Then what do youwant?she wailed inside. The old magic was back. He need only say the word, especially after that kiss. How could she live without such kisses when one had stirred a passion she’d never known lived in her?
“But I’ll interfere no more,” he said.
He meant it. Pride demanded a cool response. “Thank you, my lord. I expect you to keep your word.”
He captured her hand again, and raised it for a kiss. “I will.”
“Thank you,” she said, but unsteadily.
How could a light kiss on her silk-clad knuckles be as powerful as one on her bare lips? As if he knew, he turned her hand and placed a kiss deep in her palm, murmuring, “Farewell.”
And then he released her and strode away, leaving her shaken almost to collapse.
What had that been?
What had it meant?
She realized she was leaning back against the wall for support and forced herself upright. She wanted no such wild dramas in her life, and Sellerden would be her tranquil refuge. After a few moments she was able to return downstairs. She found a poet was reading in the drawing room, and noted with surprise that her brother was in the audience, seated between plain Lady Phyllis and pretty Miss Weathersted. The power of love. Norris didn’t care for poetry.
Thus she felt free to go in search of Sellerden. She found him in her mother’s boudoir, which had been adjusted into a conversation parlor, but he was part of an amiable group with no spare seats. Observing him, she acknowledged that her future husband was completely suitable. Duty called for her to do her best to secure him, and it might be easy.
She felt nothing but sour emptiness inside.
This cool selection of a suitable partner was what she’d demanded of Norris, and now it appalled her, but the need was still crucial. However, if Norris was trulyin love with Miss Weathersted, she could escape the worst. His listening to poetry was an excellent sign, and yet something bothered her.
She returned to the drawing room and saw that on Miss Weathersted’s other side sat one of Norris’s friends. Mr. Mifflin-Pole was a fresh-faced young man with hair arranged wildly in a windswept manner and a very high shirt collar. He was slouched in a way that suggested that only the company of a pretty girl had brought him into a poetry reading and he was wondering if it was worth it.
Ariana sat on a chair at the back, understanding her concern. Norris needed help. He was seated between Miss Weathersted and Lady Phyllis, but on Lady Phyllis’s other side sat an elderly couple. For some reason, Norris had ended up paired with Lady Phyllis and let his friend partner the lady he desired.
She’d wait here and correct that situation when the reading ended.
