'My study's the only place I can guarantee we won't be disturbed. Are you prepared to be alone in there with me?'
'We are, as you so firmly told your sister, a betrothed couple. I believe we no longer require a chaperone.'
He increased his pace and turned the corner into the smaller corridor that led to his study so sharply she almost lost her footing.
'I'm sorry, sweetheart, that was clumsy of me.'
'Why the rush, James? Do you really think your sister will follow us?'
He could hardly tell her the reason that had prompted his desire to be alone with her. He was going to kiss her, show her that being married to him would be exciting, that romantic love wasn't essential for a happy partnership.
His dogs had followed them and without being told found their bed under his desk immediately. He pushed the door shut firmly with his boot and hoping she hadn't guessed his intention put his other arm around her waist and brought her close.
She stiffened, didn't pull away, but every inch of her was silently protesting. With considerable reluctance he put aside his desire and just kissed the top of her head. Surely, she couldn't object to that?
The way she moved so swiftly and took the chair nearest to the dogs was indication enough that she wasn't interested in breaking any further rules.
'I'm damned if I'm going to apologise for wanting to kiss you, Sofia, you just said that we'd no need of a chaperone.'
She looked at him her expression unreadable. 'James, it makes no difference what you said to Lady Charlotte. You must give me your word that I can move back to my home in September. I haven't changed my mind on that point. However, I've reconsidered my suggestion that I become your mistress.'
He waited for her to continue and when she didn't, he grabbed the nearest chair and put it next to her. 'I'm relieved to hear you say so as that would never have happened. I haven't decided about your departure in September, but until then we must continue the pretence.'
*
Sofia had her hands folded demurely in her lap in the hope that by so doing he wouldn't observe them trembling. Her thoughts were chaotic, she could think of nothing appropriate to say. Then, as often happened, she said what popped into her head.
'You do realise that all of us should be in black? I hardly think it matters what we do as absolutely no one of any importance anywhere will wish to associate with a family who showed so little respect for their departed family members.'
'I never met my second cousin, your father, or Lord Upminster. Therefore, I'm damned if I'm going to wear black for either of them.' He smiled in his top lofty way. 'I give you my permission to wear whatever you like. If you all wish to look like a flock of miserable crows, then please do go ahead.'
Her nervousness turned to anger. He liked to throw things when he was annoyed – therefore she'd do the same. Her left hand moved of its own volition and her fingers curled around something satisfactorily hard and round.
'No, not that —.'
Two late. Her cricketing skills came into play and she hurled whatever it was at her tormentor. Not at his head, her intention wasn't to kill him, but at his midsection. The object flew across the room and hit him squarely on his immaculate grey silk waistcoat. Only then did she understand she'd chosen to throw a full inkwell at him.
The contents sprayed out. His spotless snowy stock was now spattered black, his waistcoat beyond repair, some of it had besmirched his immaculate buff unmentionables. Even worse, there was ink on his aristocratic face.
'God's teeth! Look what you've done – you might have checked it was empty before you threw it.'
He didn't sound angry, more amused than anything else, but she wasn't entirely sure as there was something in his posture that boded ill.
'I do most humbly beg your pardon, my lord, I didn't intend to throw anything, it just happened.'
'You aimed directly at me. You could have thrown it anywhere.'
This was quite true and she couldn't deny it. 'You made me so angry I couldn't help myself.'
He reached into his pocket and removed a large handkerchief and wiped the worst of the ink from his face and person. He hadn't moved, neither had she, but he kept his slate grey eyes firmly fixed on her and it was as if she was a butterfly impaled on a board. Even if she'd wanted to move for some reason, she was incapable of doing so.
'Have you recovered your temper now? Do have a closer look at my desk and see if there's something else you wish to throw at me.'
His voice was even, if she didn't know him so well even after so short a time, she'd think he wasn't going to take the matter further. He was toying with her; knew she was frightened by what he might do next and this incensed her a second time.
She stood up and with slow deliberation turned to examine the items on his desk. There was a large leather-bound ledger which would do perfectly. This time she used both hands to pick it up, adjusted her hold and was about to turn and throw it at his smug face when he removed it from her grip.
'I think not.' He replaced the book on the desk and then stepped away.
