That had been so like George, wanting to show her the evidence. Just as he had when she was eleven and he had pulled out a copy of Philidor’s book on chess strategy to show her how stupidly she was sacrificing her pawns.
She backed up slightly into Thornwick now, crowding his groin with her backside. Of course, he was much taller than she was so she was really nudging his thighs. But surely, she would feel some proof that she was enchanting, wouldn’t she?
But she didn’t. And he took two steps back and released his grip on her waist. “Pardon me.”
“Oh, no.” She turned to face him. “That was my fault, entirely.”
“I won’t argue with you.”
She smiled and reached out and took one of his hands. “Good.”
“Yes.” He smiled back at her.
“It’s settled then. I am to blame.”
“Yes.” His smile faded. “I don’t like arguing.”
“No. Who does?” She began to giggle and then stopped abruptly.
Because she did. She liked arguing. Very much. With George, of course. Who encouraged her disagreement. And who was very good about conceding a point, fairly won.
That didn’t mean she had to argue with Thornwick, but was her marriage to be one of placidity and total agreement?
“But perhaps, if you felt strongly about something, youwouldargue, Arthur?”
“Of course.”
She stepped closer to him and grasped his hand a little more tightly. “Or even, perhaps, if you didn’t feel strongly about something but thought a little back-and-forth on a trivial issue might be a bit of fun?”
“Fun?”
“You know . . .” Suddenly, she felt awkward. The duchess feeling, the one her climaxes had bestowed upon her, had fled. “Friction can be enjoyable.”
“I hate to disagree with you when I just told you I don’t like disagreement, but I don’t see argument as fun.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Do you?”
She would say no and everything would go back to being wonderful. As it had been before.
“Perhaps we could agree to disagree on this matter, Arthur.”
He took his finger away from under her chin. “As I told you, I won’t argue with you.” He dropped her hand and crossed to the other side of the room.
“We should discuss our engagement.” She put her right pinky in her mouth.
He was looking out the window, the edges of his golden hair shining in the bright summer sunshine coming into the room. “You said you had gone to Lady Huxley’s whist party yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Was it diverting?”
Oh, no. She whipped her finger out of her mouth. Oh, no. Oh, no. Without thinking, she had bitten the pinky nail right down to the bed despite the foul-tasting white soap under her nail. It would take her more than a fortnight to grow it to the same length as before.
“Phoebe?” Thornwick turned away from the window to look at her.
She swallowed the crescent of fingernail and managed not to gag. “Yes, yes, Lady Huxley had me partner her, of course, as she always does, and we won ever so easily.” She balled her right hand, hiding her fingertips in her palm.
“I see.”
“Yes, I’m terribly good at whist.”
