“I think you’re kind. Protective. Helpful. Look how you saved me in the stage coach from that appalling man. How you made me breakfast.”
“But do you think I’m handsome?” he persisted.
She put her fists on her waist, arms akimbo, giving him his best view yet of her stayless breasts. “I think even plain men can get wives. Plain, portly, bald men who are not dukes. Being handsome is not important.”
Frustrated, he threw himself into a wing chair.
“You’re a case in point.”
Aha! He sprang up. “So you do think I’m handsome.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it when you said I was a case in point. Meaning I was the case where being handsome was not important to getting married because I’m handsome and not married.”
“Do you like winning arguments?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever let anyone else win?”
“No.”
“Which would you prefer—to win every argument or to be married?”
“I can’t have both?”
The remarkable laugh filled the room.
This man.Oh, this darling, absolute love of a man. So funny, so dear, so sweet, and he had no idea whatsoever.
Finally, she got her laughter under control.
“All right, Your Grace. Let’s say you can’t have both.”
“I don’t mind losing an argument if I’m wrong.”
“And are you always right?”
“Very close to always.”
She had to laugh again.
He scowled at her. “What are laughing at?”
“You’re . . . you’re . . .” She couldn’t get the breath to finish her sentence.
“Such an arsehole?”
“No. You’re so certain. And I’m not. A will-of-the-wisp, my brother says.”
“When is your brother coming?”
“On Christmas Eve. We don’t have much time for your lessons, you see, so what will it be? Marriage or win?”
“All right,” he conceded. “I’d rather be married than win every argument.”
“Good.”
