Despite her low-birth and subsequent middle-class upbringing, she would have been a beloved countess—not just within his family but also with tenants, villagers, and the ton.
She glanced up at him cautiously and caught him watching her.
“What did you like about me?” she asked, but before he could respond, she held up a hand. “No. That’s not a fair question. Don’t answer that.”
Could the two of them enjoy a meal together?
Having decided against what he’d considered an inevitable union, was that even possible?
A strand of her hair fell forward to curve around her jaw, and she brushed it away. “It slips out of the pins,” she explained.
“It’s too silky,” he clarified. “The pins have nothing to grip.”
Her hand shook. Had he flustered her?
“What do I like about you? I like the way your hair slides through my fingers.”
Still arranging the food, her throat moved. Their argument earlier had done nothing to douse the heat between the two of them.
And she felt it too, even hotter than before.
“I like that you don’t go on about the weather,” he said, then made a wry smile. If he started talking about how much he liked her mouth, the sparks between them might very well combust.
Best that they eat and make their way out of the cove.
“My mother hates that my hair won’t stay up. She says it makes me look like a hoyden.”
She handed him the plate, and his fingers brushed hers when he took it.
He may have accepted her refusal, but it was yet to make sense to him. She tore off a piece of bread and nibbled at it.
“You’re scheduled to finish school this spring?” He’d never asked her about this before—her hopes, her dreams. But, no, he hadn’t asked because he’d assumed she’d be with him.
He hadn’t asked because he’d expected that he would be the answer to all her hopes and dreams.
How arrogant he’d been!
She nodded.
“And then what will you do?”
A faraway smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. “I’d like to learn more about cooking.” Her lashes fluttered, and she smiled. “From chefs—experts—perhaps travel to Paris.”
Her answer was not at all what he expected. But something in her face made him believe she hadn’t either. “Did you just now realize this?”
She nodded. “Odd, isn’t it?” Her eyes glowed as she held his gaze. “What do you like to do while you’re in London?”
A relatively safe topic. Perhaps the two of them could share a platonic meal, after all. But even as the suggestion came to mind, his gaze caressed the gentle curve where her neck met her shoulders, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her there.
The air hovered thick around them, a vortex nudging them together. Clenching his fists, he fought it. Fighting it was like attempting to defy gravity.
He cleared his throat.
“While in London, I can usually be found in my office at my club—The King’s Society for the Advancement of Ingenuity.” Something else he’d have to leave behind.
“I’ve never heard of it.” She leaned forward. “Is it a secret club?”
“Initially, when it was founded, nearly a century ago.” The reminder of his work with The Society, which would likely go unfinished, invited his hopelessness again.
