She stared back. Chin lifted. Daring him to laugh.
He wanted to kiss her.
The thought arrived fully formed. He was sitting at a charity dinner next to a grieving widow, and his first coherent thought was that he wanted to kiss the woman who had opinions about optimistic vegetables.
“You think I’m mad.” She pressed her lips together and folded the napkin in her lap with exaggerated care.
Gorgeous lap.
Stop!
“I think you’re magnificent.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Her eyes widened. Color flooded her cheeks—the pink spreading across her porcelain skin made his mouth go dry.
“I meant…” He tried to recover. Failed spectacularly. “That is. Your perspective. On peas. It’s very… comprehensive.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
“I’m really not.” He placed his fork on the table before he dropped it. “Lady Margaret, I’ve spent six weeks being told how to stand, how to speak, which fork to use, and why my opinions on everything from crop rotation to coal mining are suddenly vitally important despite the fact that I know absolutely nothing about either. No one has been honest with me since I inherited a title attached to more rules and burdens than can be reimbursed by fortune. Not once.”
Leaning closer he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Near enough to see gold flecks in her brown eyes. “And then you—a woman I’ve known for all of twenty minutes—just told me that peas are hopeful. You meant it. You weren’t performing or posturing or saying what you thought I wanted to hear. You are just… real.”Wonderfully real and sweet… he stifled the rest of this thought.
She went very still. “Your Grace?—”
“It’s the most refreshing thing that’s happened to me in weeks.” His voice dropped. “Possibly months. Possibly my entire life.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re strangers. Because you’re a duke and I’m nobody. Because I just compared vegetables to emotional states and that’s?—”
“Brilliant,” he interrupted. “It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. And I’d very much like to know what you think about carrots.”
A laugh burst out of her. Surprised. Genuine. The kind of laugh that lit up her entire face.
His chest did something complicated.
“The carrots were acceptable,” she managed, still smiling. Still looking at him like he’d done something unexpected. “The turnips were ambitious but misguided.”
“Devastating critique.”
“I’m very discerning about root vegetables.”
“I’m learning that.” He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. The way it curved when she smiled. “What else are you discerning about?”
“Most things.” Her smile turned wry. “It’s terribly inconvenient.”
“For whom?”
“For people who prefer I be appropriately grateful and quiet and—” She stopped. Bit her lip.
“And what?” he pressed on.
“Appropriately sad.” Her voice went soft. “Widows are supposed to be sad. Not opinionated about dinner.”
The words hit him square in the chest because he understood. Completely.
