Hunt would not let this opportunity pass without exploring all the possibilities.
He stared at her mouth and then forced his gaze up to meet hers.
“I won’t play games with you, Allison.” His voice emerged lower than he intended. Even in the flickering light of the sconces, he could see her eyes darken as her pupils dilated. “I don’t have time for them.”
“I know. But I’m not playing. Marriage isn’t something one enters lightly. I’ve my future to consider. Did you know what you wanted when you were seven and ten?”
“Women are different.” He didn’t want to admit that her point hit home.
“I’m not playing games either, my lord.” But her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was parted now. Waiting.
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”
“I’m not going to marry you.” She pinched those sweet lips together, and yet her gaze had dropped from his eyes to his mouth.
“But you’ll flirt with me. You’ll allow me to kiss you.”
“I have not given you permission to kiss me.” Was that panic in her eyes now?
Hunt dropped his hands. He’d pushed too far, too quickly, believing they were getting somewhere. A vortex of frustration swept through him. He experienced churning physical discomfort but also anxiety, knowing that he lacked time to court her properly.
He adjusted his stance. Barely three inches separated them now, and like a silken web, her perfume teased his senses.
“I’ll have it,” he said finally. “Because this—” He gestured between the two of them. “Is not going away.”
So close that he could feel the warmth of her skin, he hovered his finger over her jaw and then up to her lips. “It’s only going to become more powerful.”
Eyes wide, her bosom rose and fell as though she wasn’t getting enough air.
“Allison? My lord?” A female voice broke the spell between them. “Have we lost you?”
Miss Fortune and Isadora appeared in the shadows ahead of them.
Allison’s throat moved, and she stepped to the side and then scuttled along the stone floor ahead of him.
“I was just asking Lord Hardwood if I ought to fetch a wrap.” It was barely noticeable, but her voice shook as she tried to sound airy and unconcerned.
“You’ll be fine,” Isadora said. “We’ll have a fire blazing in the dining room. If you change your mind, you can always send one of the maids to collect it.”
Hunt flicked the lace at his wrist as he watched his future wife scamper away to catch up with her chaperone and his sister. And he smiled when she shot him back an irritated glance.
Ah, yes. He was already making progress.
Because the glance she’d sent him had mirrored some of his own frustration.
She would allow him to kiss her—and soon. And then she’d allow him to do other things that they both would enjoy.
And Miss Meadowbrook would consent to be his wife.
Dinner, however, considerably eroded his confidence. And afterward, as he stared at the felt billiard table, icy dread lurked in the back of Hunt’s thoughts.
“She’s not at all what I expected.” Edgeworth leaned over the table, lining up his shot. Then, with a quick burst of the cue, he sent the colorful balls in all directions, two of them dropping into pockets with satisfying plunks. While Hunt and Damien looked on, the confounded captain proceeded to run the table.
Since Hunt’s mother had insisted the party retire early this evening, he, Edgeworth, and Damien were drinking, smoking, and speaking frankly, taking full advantage of these last solitary moments before the rest of his mother’s guests arrived.
Miss Meadowbrook and Miss Fortune had spent a good deal of the day traveling and needed their sleep if they were to be at their best tomorrow. Not allowing for any argument, his managing mother had all but ordered them to their chamber—with a smile, of course. And because she genuinely believed she knew best.
He’d expect no less of her.
