“Almost certainly. That doesn’t make me a good duke. At least not any better than anyone else would be in the role.”
“You’ve managed to keep her alive. And out of the hands of pirates. Mostly,” I added with a grin.
“You do that a lot.”
“What?”
“The way you tease me. No one does that.”
“I’m… sorry?” I replied, half in question, half apologetic.
“Don’t be. I like it—at least, now that I know you’re not mocking me.” He shrugged, lips sliding all the way to the right side of his face in an oddly contemplative expression.
“Two decades of preventing bloodshed with humor. It’s… When I’m nervous, it’s how I… it’s my way.”
“So I make you nervous…” There was something light, pleased in his tone.
“This cannot be new intelligence,” I grumbled, glancing away.
“Oh, but it is. I’m seeing our every interaction with new eyes. It paints you in a far more charming light.”
“That’s… good?”
“I make you nervous,” he repeated with a pleased little seated dance.
“You do,” I agreed. It was impossible to argue when he was so delighted at the possibility. And it was the truth, regardless. “It’s just that, when I’m in the presence of such a wealthy and powerful duke, you know…”
He rolled his eyes.
“Handsome too.”
“Your eyes don’t work properly,” he retorted before his hand caught his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared waiting for my anger.
If anyone else had said it, I might have been, not that I would have done anything about it. But a tease back from him… That was ecstasy. I held back the laugh as long as I could before it burst free.
“You’re not very practiced at teasing, are you?” I bit out between chuckles.
His laughter joined mine and the tension in his form dissipated with every huff. “I’m quite good at being teased.”
“You are. You can practice on me—truly—any time you wish.”
Xander nodded, considering me.
“While you’re still here, I mean,” I added.
He didn’t say anything, just continued his study of me. What he was looking for, I couldn’t say. There was nothing cruel in the expression. The only thing I could read was interest.
And when our eyes met, it was different, somehow, than any time before. There was nothing of secrecy between us. We both knew the clock was ticking on this evening and that it was likely to be our last.
Then Xander leaned forward, just the tiniest bit, imperceptible to anyone not studying him. But the movement was there, and my breath caught in my chest at the thought.
My answering lean was stilted and aborted too soon when nerves overtook desire. Fortunately, Xander had no such qualms. My motion was his permission.
His hand, soft and warm and too large to be anything but male, caught my jaw, holding me where he wished. When his eyes searched mine one more time, he found whatever answer he needed. Because in the space between one breath and another, he closed the distance, and his lips met mine.
Fifteen
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816
