She narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
He chuckled. “I mean I would truly like to know what you enjoy doing.”
Gemma popped her mouth closed and contemplated his statement for a few moments. He’d disoriented her, confused her. But she supposed she could answer his question. What harm would it do? “Well, Idoquite like to play the pianoforte,” she admitted, allowing the hint of a smile to touch her lips.
“And you’re quite skilled at it.” He nodded.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t help the blush that slightly heated her cheeks. She took another sip of wine. “And I do like rides in the park, butnotin the countryside.”
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head as if he found that bit of information interesting. “Why’s that?”
She settled back against the trunk once more, warming to her story. “Oh, I’ve never much cared for the countryside. It’s far too dull if you ask me. That’s why I was so opposed to it when you wanted to send me to Cumberland.”
“I’m sorry I did that,” he said quietly, his face taking on a serious mien.
She waved her hand in the air again. “It’s fine.”
He reached out and gently grabbed her fingers and squeezed. Warmth spread up her arm. “No, it’s not fine, Gemma. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know who you were back then. I greatly want to learn, however.”
She shook it off and pulled her hand away. She had to. She couldn’t stand the look of genuine remorse on his face. Not meeting his eyes, she traced a fingertip along the intricate pattern of the quilt. What could she possibly say to that? Of course, her mind told her he was lying. He was trying to get her to give up the idea of a divorce. He’d told her that was his plan. And here she was spilling secrets to the man who was essentially her opponent. She shouldn’t have told him she hated the countryside. Now he could use it against her.
“Now for what you dislike,” he said, taking a long sip from his glass. His eyes remained trained on her. Watchful. Curious. “What else? Besides the country?”
She scrunched up her nose, contemplating the matter. She opened her mouth to reply when he surprised her by snapping his fingers and saying, “I’ve noticed you never wear earbobs.”
Gemma’s pure surprise felt like a blow to her chest. “You noticed that?”
“Yes. Even the night in your brother’s study. I noticed that about you. And you haven’t worn them since, at least that I’ve ever seen.”
A stiff breeze could have lifted her and blown her away. Her shock was so great. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed anything about her. Especially not the night they’d been forced into marriage. “I — I—” She was at a loss for words. And thatneverhappened.
“I’m curious why you don’t like them.” He leaned forward and watched her intently as if truly invested in her answer. If this was an act, he was a scarily good actor.
Unthinking, she plucked at her bare earlobe. “They’ve always hurt my ears…unmercifully,” she explained. “Mama and I argued over my refusal to wear them on many occasions.” Why was she sharing this with him? Something about the way he was looking at her, the way he was asking her questions no one had ever asked before. Mama knew why Gemma disliked earbobs, but only because Gemma had told her, not because Mama had asked. It felt strangely comforting to have someone ask. It felt better than she ever would have expected it to.
“Makes sense then,” Lucian continued. “It’s the same reason I’m not wearing a cravat right now.”
“Cravats do look awfully uncomfortable,” she added with a tentative smile.
“They are, believe me. But I expect they are no more uncomfortable than earbobs and stays.”
At the mention of stays, her ears heated, which made no sense because they were far beyond the “stays” part of their relationship. He’d done things to her last night that left stays far in the dust. But it felt as if they were newly discovering each other today. Almost as if he was…courting her.
“What else, Gemma?” he asked, pouring a bit more wine into her glass. “What else should I know about you?”
She spent a few more moments poking at her hair.Think. Think. Think of something neutral to say.Something that doesn’t involve staysor feelings.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” she finally blurted.There. That was a neutral topic.
His eyes crinkled at the corners and he poked out his cheek with his tongue. “A dog? Really.”
“Yes.” She nodded and took a sip. “And not a big lumbering hunting dog either. I want a smaller one, a terribly loyal one, who’ll sit in my lap and be my constant companion.”
Lucian tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth, and Gemma had to glance away.
“What would you name this dog?” he asked.
She stared down into her wine glass, but a smile soon lit her face. “Oliver, of course.”
