“Well, I do believe in it. And I asked my godmother to help me, too. Why did you think I’d come?”
“To contract a marriage.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Hardly. Do you think most of the married couples we saw at the table tonight married for love? If even two of them did, I’d be surprised.”
“I don’t care about them; I decide my own path. I’ve no need to marry for money, as my sisters have graciously seen to my dowry. But I want love. I’ve always wanted love.”
He rubbed his scar. “And I want compatibility, peace, and someone who enjoys the books and music that I do.”
“I want that, too—but in addition, I want passion.” She spread her hands. “Don’t you want that, too?”
“Passion is for fools and youth. I’ve had passion.”
“Well, I haven’t. But before I leave the duchess’s house, I hope to have found it.”
“Damn it, Dahlia, you can’t just look for love. It has to find you. And when it does, you’ll realize that it’s a fool’s game. It is the opposite of peacefulness and happiness.”
“You are so cynical! I don’t know how I ever imagined that you could overcome that hard heart of yours, but I clearly see that you cannot.”
Kirk scowled. “You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me. You think you do, and you think a few months of conversations has given you some sort of right over my future—when it hasn’t.”
Somehow during their argument, she’d closed the distance between them and they were now standing almost toe to toe, her finger poking his chest with every word she uttered. “You listen to me, Lord Kirk, you with your sour disposition and your cynical determination to spoil the idea of romance—I
will
and
shall
find it on my own.”
“You’re headed for heartbreak. I only want to spare you—”
“I don’t
need
you to spare me. I’m a grown woman.”
Kirk could have disputed her on that one, but he wisely held his tongue.
“And I am here to find love”—she poked his chest—“and romance”—she poked again—“and passion! And you will
not
interfere with that. You will cease tossing your depressing predictions in my path and
leave me alone
. Do you understand?”
He had never seen her so animated. Her skin was flushed, her eyes sparkling with—yes, passion. But it was her mouth that suddenly held his gaze. Had it always been so plump and full? Why hadn’t he noticed before, when they’d been discussing Homer and Bach?
And was it good that he was now noticing it? Or was it a sign that he should leave well enough alone before this relationship became complicated and difficult and too painful to bear?
In the midst of his thoughts his hands went to her waist, and without consciously making the decision, Kirk yanked Dahlia to him and kissed her.
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Something happened between Lord Kirk and Miss Balfour last night after dinner. What, I do not know, for neither of them will admit a thing—which is frustrating, to say the least. I feel quite slighted that neither will confide in me.
But I’m not the only one who has noticed the change between these two. Although deeply involved in a new novel written by that wretched Maria Clerey (who seems to have nothing to do but pen novel after novel after novel until I could scream), even Charlotte has noticed that Kirk and Miss Balfour look at each other differently.
I find this most promising.
I think.
Oh, I do wish
someone
would talk to me!
* * *
The second his lips touched Dahlia’s, Kirk was lost. She fit into his arms as if made to be there, her lips soft and pliant under his. God, but she was delicious, ripe
and plump and ready to be tasted. Instantly his cock hardened and, with a moan, he pulled her closer.
She rose up on her toes, flung her arms about his neck, and—to his utter surprise—smashed her lips against his, placing all of her weight on his neck.
Pain stabbed his knee and lip at one and the same time. He released her and staggered as he yelled, one hand grabbing his throbbing knee, the other covering his bruised mouth.
Damn it all!
He limped out of her reach, glaring at her.
Her face flooded with color, her eyes wide.
He pulled his hand from his mouth, noting the blood dotting his fingers. “What in the hell was that?”
Dahlia had to gasp to keep from weeping. She clasped her hands together, her heart slowing to a sick thud. “I—I—” She didn’t know what to say. Blood seeped from his bottom lip, and he was limping, too, grimacing when his weight rested on his leg.
Good God, I’ve almost killed the man.
“Your lip is bleeding.”
“Of course it’s bleeding,” he snapped. “You jammed your mouth against mine as if you were a starving hermit and I was a sugar cake. Blast it, woman, who taught you to kiss?”
Dahlia’s face felt as if it might burst into flames. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” In the thousands of times she’d imagined her first kiss, she’d never once worried about injuring her partner. Fighting rising tears, she managed to gulp out, “I don’t know how that happened. I just . . . reacted.”
He touched his lip gingerly. “You’ve split my lip.
You didn’t do my knee any favors, either. Good God, what were you trying to do?”
“That’s— I wasn’t— I—I—I—” She covered her face and turned away.
Kirk saw her face an instant before she turned, his irritation fleeing before the tears that spiked her long lashes. “Dahlia, don’t—”
“No! I—I didn’t want to kiss you, anyway!”
His sense of irony made him shake his head. “I find that hard to believe.”
“
Oh!
” She grasped her skirts and whirled toward the salon.
“Dahlia, don’t—” He grabbed her arm and held her in place. “Please. Just listen. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t. The kiss—even talking to you—has been a mistake.” She jerked her arm free, her cheeks stained with a deep blush. “I’m returning to the salon.”
Kirk caught her arm again. “No.”
She sent a pointed look at the place where his hand encircled her arm.
He ground his teeth and released her. “Dahlia, please. Be reasonable—”
“
Reasonable?
Since when have I been anything else?
You’re
the one who is overreacting!”
“Me? I’m not the one stomping my foot.”
“That’s only because you can’t, or it would hurt your knee. Now, I’m going back into the salon. I shouldn’t be here alone with you, anyway. Someone could come along at any minute.”
“No one is coming along, and if they did, the door is wide open. Besides, the music just started and they’ll all be dancing.”
“Which is what I want to be doing, too.”
He regarded her somberly. “You want to dance.”
“What woman wouldn’t want to be swept about a ballroom in the arms of a graceful man?”
He looked down at his injured leg. “I will never be able to dance.”
For a second her expression softened, but apparently the memory of their kiss flooded back, for she flushed and then her gaze hardened yet again. “I think we’ve injured each other enough for one evening, Lord Kirk. I’m returning to the salon.”
“Wait. Dahlia, that kiss. It should never have happened like that. I take full responsibility for it. I thought you were more experienced and—”
“Oh! So you thought I was ‘experienced’?”
“No, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I just—” He rubbed his temple where an ache was building.
Good God, how do I keep getting myself into these situations?
Her chin couldn’t be held any higher. “The kiss was a mistake and should never have happened. I would appreciate it if you forgot it, which is what I intend to do.”
“Dahlia, you took me by surprise, so I wasn’t braced for your full weight and—”
“My
full
weight?” She couldn’t stand any stiffer if she’d been a plank of wood.
“No, no,” he said hastily, cursing his unwieldy
tongue. “I just meant I wasn’t prepared to lift something as heavy as—”
“
Oh!
”
“No, no! As heavy as
a person
. That’s what I was going to say!”
“Humph. Whatever you were going to say, let me assure you that I will never, ever kiss you again.
Ever!
” Her voice was as icy as morning frost. “And while you’re cowering in the corner, afraid someone might attempt to kiss you again when you’re ‘not ready,’ I’ll be in the salon dancing with every man who will ask me—because
that
is why I came to the duchess’s. For romance, Kirk. I came here to experience a grand passion, to kiss someone who won’t cringe when I do so, and to dance until I can’t dance anymore—all of which I shall do without you!” With that, she marched back into the salon, her back stiff with disapproval.
Kirk glared at the empty door, rubbing his throbbing knee. Bloody hell, could he have handled that any worse? He didn’t think so. But good God, she hadn’t given him a chance! Now she was so angry . . . how did one speak to a furious woman, anyway? Was there a right way? Things were so complicated, so—
A cough sounded behind him and he turned to find the two footmen had returned. They were both staring straight ahead, their expressions impassive.
“How long have you been there?”
“We jus’ returned, me lor’,” said one.
Kirk realized that the man was discreetly holding out his hand, palm up. Scowling, Kirk dug into
his pocket and grabbed the coins he found there and dropped them into the man’s waiting hand. “Split that between you.”
The footman glanced at his palm and then gulped, his eyes widening. “Me lor’, tha’ is far too much—”
“Keep it.”
“But me lor’, ’tis—”
“Damn it, must
everyone
argue with me? Keep the damn coins. I don’t want them.” And with that, cane clutched in his hand, his temper boiling over, Kirk made his way to the stairs and limped his way to his bedchamber.
* * *
Kirk slammed the door and tossed his cane into the corner. The cane bounced off the wall, hit the rug, and then rolled under the bed.
From where he stood just inside the water closet, MacCreedy stopped adding bath salts to the large copper tub that occupied one corner and peered into the room. He eyed the cane where it was partially hidden under the bed. “Tha’ is no a guid sign.”
“Pack my bags. There’s no use in my staying a moment more.”
The valet’s bushy brows rose. “Did some’at happen, me lor’?”
“It was a horrid mess. The whole damn night was an unmitigated disaster.
All
of it.”
MacCreedy nodded thoughtfully and added a touch more of the salts to the bath before replacing the container on a small table under the window.
“Did you hear me?”
“Och, indeed, I did, bu’ I canno’ see the benefit in wastin’ guid hot water. Can ye?”
The bath did look inviting, and the throbbing in his knee seemed to be growing by the moment. “Fine. We’ll stay tonight. But we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
“O’ course we will, me lor’.”
Too angry to sit still yet, even in a hot bath, Kirk limped to the window and leaned against the frame, staring outside with unseeing eyes. He rubbed his chest, where a dull ache seemed to have settled. It felt as if his heart had been stabbed—and it had been, by his own stubborn foolishness.
“Ye look as if ye’ve lost yer last friend.”
Kirk’s throat tightened. In some ways, Dahlia seemed as if she were exactly that—his last friend.
Bloody hell, when had
that
happened?
“May I ask wha’ occurred? Surely it canno’ be so bad as ye think it.”
“Whatever you might imagine, it was worse.”
“Ye knocked a candle o’er on Miss Balfour and set her afire,” MacCreedy said without hesitation. “And she, panicky like a rabbit, ran outdoors and down the drive, ne’er to be seen again.”
Kirk gave a bark of laughter, his despair fading a bit. “Fine. That would have been worse.”
“There ye go. Wha’ever happened, so long as it wasna’ a fire and she dinna’ run away, then we can repair it.”
“Not this, I fear. I made the gravest of all errors.”
“And wha’ was tha’, me lor’?”
“I kissed Miss Balfour.”
MacCreedy looked impressed. “Did ye now? And how is tha’ an error?”
“It’s an error when she threw herself upon my neck and nearly strangled me, and bloodied my lip in the process.”
The valet chuckled. “Enthusiastic, were she? I’d say tha’ was a guid thing.”
“Yes, but during her kiss, I not only yelled in pain, for both my lip and knee were afire, but I—” God, he hated to say it aloud.
“Ye?” MacCreedy prompted.
“I asked her what in the hell she thought she was doing. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, I pushed her away.”
The valet winced. “Och, tha’ might well be as bad as a fire.”
“I warned you. I didn’t mean it, of course, for I was pleased she’d welcomed my kiss. I truly was.”
“O’ course ye were.”
“But she took me by surprise, and my knee twisted and it felt as if knives were being shoved into it, and then she banged her mouth into mine and split my lip, and so—” Kirk absently touched his swollen lip. “Damn my temper. It shall be the death of me yet.”
“When ye explain all tha’ happened, ’tis no wonder tha’ ye reacted poorly.”
“Yes, well, explain that to Miss Balfour, for she
wouldn’t hear a word from me afterward. And frankly, I don’t blame her. Bloody hell, the whole thing was horrible.”
Kirk couldn’t bring himself to mention the hurt he’d seen in her eyes. That had been the worst part. “I ruined everything, MacCreedy. There’s no chance now.” His voice was as bleak as his heart.
Damn it all, why can’t I learn to speak with more gentleness? I want to be kind to her, but I can’t seem to find the way to be so.
“She would be right to never speak to me again.”
Sighing, Kirk looked out into the dark courtyard. It was pitch-black, lit by only a faint yellow streak that escaped from a window hither and yon, yet it was no darker than his spirit.
“And the miss, me lor’? Did she say she ne’er wished to speak to ye again?”