He raked a hand through his hair, further disheveling the inky black tresses. Without the benefit of a comb or pomade, his mane fell nearly to his shoulders. How odd, that her fingers itched to feel the silky texture for themselves. When she was usually in the company of the opposite sex, she felt queasy, not unlike whenever she slathered too much butter on her toast.
Their cologne was overpowering. Their arrogance was nauseating. Their sheerpresencewas a bother. Enough so that she’d secretly begun to wonder if she wasn’t meant to be a spinster. But this man–this towering, grumpy, dark-haired man–was different from the rest. Instead of being repelled by him, she felt drawn to him. Instead of trying to think of an excuse to leave, she was trying to imagine a reason to stay.
In here.
With him.
Alone.
Somewhere she definitely not ought to be.
“What isyourname?” he asked, folding his arms across his wrinkled green waistcoat. His white linen shirt was similarly rumpled and he wasn’t wearing a jacket or cravat, leaving her to question just how long he’d been out here sleeping.
“Daisy,” she replied without hesitation. “Daisy White.”
His glare intensified. “Devil White more like it.”
“That’s clever. My sisters haven’t thought of that one before.”
“Sisters?” he repeated, appearing mildly horrified. “You mean to say there’s more of you?”
“Don’t worry, they’re nothing like me–”
“Thank God.”
“–although we’re all named after flowers. Rose, Violet, and Daisy. I’m the youngest. We’re here for the house party,” she volunteered. “We didn’tknowit was a house party on account of Mr. Waggles eating half of the invitation.”
The stranger stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “Who,” he said slowly, over-pronouncing his words, “the hell is Mr. Waggles?”
“Our dog, of course.”
“Of course,” he said blandly.
“I’m training him.”
“It doesn’t appear as if you’re doing a very good job if he’s eating invitations.”
“Haveyouever trained a dog?” she demanded.
“Heavens no. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then you aren’t in a place to judge, are you?”
From somewhere out in the paddocks, a foal gave a high-pitched whinny and its dam answered with a reassuring nicker. The stranger’s gaze went past her left shoulder, then snapped back to her face. His brow furrowed.
“Isn’t there a nanny or someone that should be attending to you?”
“A nanny?” she scoffed. “How old do you think I am?”
An emotion flickered in his gaze.
An emotion dark, decadent, and deep.
Rare, precious chocolate drizzled over ice cream in the height of summer.
And she didn’t recognize it for what it was in the moment, but she would very soon.
Desire.
