Julia Quinn - Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

“I was aware,” he murmured.

Her skin flushed even deeper, and he wondered which was the cause-anger or embarrassment. Both, probably. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

He paused to consider this. “I live here.”

“With me.” This, between her teeth.

“Unless I am mistaken, you are to be my wife.”

She stopped walking, turned, and looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t like me.”

She didn’t sound particularly saddened by this, more exasperated than anything. Which he found curious. “That’s not true,” he replied. Because it wasn’t. There was a huge difference between dislike and disregard.

“You don’t,” she persisted.

“Why would you think so?”

“How could I not?”

He offered her a sultry gaze. “I believe I liked you quite well last night.”

She said nothing, but her body was so tense, and her face such a picture of concentration, that he could almost hear her counting to ten before grinding out, “I am a duty to you.”

“True,” he agreed, “but possibly a pleasant one.”

Her face moved with charming intensity. He had no idea what she was thinking; any man who said he could read females was a fool or a liar. But he found it rather entertaining to watch her think, to see her expressions shift and sway as she tried to figure out how best to deal with him.

“Do you ever think about me?” she finally asked.

It was such a typically female question; he felt as if he were defending mankind everywhere when he promptly answered, “I’m thinking about you right now.”

“You know what I mean.”

He thought about lying. It was, most likely, the kind thing to do. But he’d recently discovered that this creature he was meant to marry was far more intelligent than she’d originally let on, and he didn’t think she would be appeased by platitudes. And so he told the truth.

“No.”

She blinked. And then again. And then several more times. Clearly, this was not what she had been expecting. “No?” she finally echoed.

“You should consider it a compliment,” he instructed. “If I thought less of you, I’d lie.”

“If you thought more of me, I’d not have to ask you this question right now.”

He felt his patience begin to drip away. He was here, wasn’t he, escorting her across the fields, when the truth was, all he really wanted to do was…

Something, he thought crossly. He wasn’t sure what, but the truth was, he had at least a dozen matters that required his attention, and if he didn’t particularly want to do them, he dearly wanted to have them done.

Did she think herself his only responsibility? Did she think he had time to sit about, composing poems to a woman he hadn’t even chosen for a wife? She’d been assigned to him, for God’s sake. In the bloody cradle.

He turned to her, his eyes piercing hers. “Very well, Lady Amelia. What are your expectations of me?”

She seemed flummoxed by the question, stammering some sort of nonsense he doubted even she understood. Good God, he didn’t have time for this. He’d got no sleep the night before, his grandmother was even more of an aggravation than usual, and now his affianced bride, who had heretofore never uttered a peep beyond the usual claptrap about the weather, was suddenly acting as if he had obligations toward her.

Beyond marrying her, of course. Which he fully intended to do. But good Lord, not this afternoon.

He rubbed his brow with his thumb and middle finger. His head had started to ache.

“Are you all right?” Lady Amelia inquired.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

“At least as well as I was in the drawing room,” he heard her mutter.

And really, that was too much. He lifted his head, pinned her with a stare. “Shall I kiss you again?”

She said nothing. But her eyes grew round.

He let his gaze fall upon her lips and murmured, “It seemed to make the both of us far more agreeable.”

Still she said nothing. He decided to take that as a yes.

No!” Amelia exclaimed, jumping back a step.

And if she hadn’t been so discombobulated by his sudden swerve into amorous territory, she would have greatly enjoyed his discombobulation when he stumbled forward, his lips finding nothing but air.

“Really?” he drawled, once he’d regained his footing.

“You don’t even want to kiss me,” she said, backing up another step. He was starting to look dangerous.

“Indeed,” he murmured, eyes glittering. “Just as I don’t like you.”

Her heart dropped about a foot. “You don’t?” she echoed.

“According to you,” he reminded her.

She felt her skin burn with embarrassment-the sort only possible when one’s own words were being tossed in one’s face. “I don’t want you to kiss me,” she stammered.

“Don’t you?” he asked, and she wasn’t sure how he managed it, but they weren’t quite so far apart any longer.

“No,” she said, fighting to maintain her equilibrium. “I don’t, because…because…” She thought about this-thought frantically about it, because there was no way her thoughts could be anything approaching calm and rational in such a position.

And then it was clear.

“No,” she said again. “I don’t. Because you don’t.”

He froze, but just for a moment. “You think I don’t wish to kiss you?”

“I know you don’t,” she replied, in what had to be the bravest moment of her life. Because in that moment he was everything ducal.

Fierce. Proud. Possibly furious. And, with the wind ruffling his dark hair until it was just ever so slightly mussed, so handsome it almost hurt to look at him.

And the truth was, she very much did wish to kiss him. Just not if he didn’t want to kiss her.

“I believe you think too much,” he finally said.

She could think of no possible reply. But she did add to the space between them.

Which he eliminated immediately. “I very much wish to kiss you,” he said, moving forward. “In fact, it might very well be the only thing I wish to do with you right now.”

“You don’t,” she said quickly, inching away. “You only think you do.”

He laughed then, which would have been insulting if she weren’t so focused on keeping her footing-and her pride.

“It’s because you think you can control me that way,” she said, glancing down to make sure she wasn’t about to step into a mole hole as she scooted back another foot. “You think if you seduce me, I shall turn into a spineless, mushy blob of a woman, unable to do anything but sigh your name.”

He looked as if he wanted to laugh again, although this time she thought-maybe-it would be with her, not at her.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, smiling.

“It’s what I think you think.”

The left corner of his mouth quirked up. He looked charming. Boyish. Completely unlike himself-or at least unlike the man she ever got to see.

“I think you’re right,” he said.

Amelia was so flummoxed she actually felt her jaw drop. “You do?”

“I do. You’re far more intelligent than you let on,” he said.

Was that a compliment?

“But,” he added, “that doesn’t change the fundamental essence of the moment.”

Which was…?

He shrugged. “I’m still going to kiss you.”

Her heart began to pound, and her feet-traitorous little appendages that they were-grew roots.

“The thing is,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand, “that while you are correct-I do rather enjoy turning you into a-what was that charming phrase of yours?-a spineless blob of a woman, whose only purpose in life is to agree with my every word, I find myself rather perplexed by a certain rather self-evident truth.”

Her lips parted.

“I want to kiss you.”

He tugged at her hand, pulled her toward him.

“Very much.”

She wanted to ask him why. No, she didn’t, because she was quite certain the answer would be something that would only melt whatever portion of her resolve still remained. But she wanted to…Oh, good Lord, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. Something. Anything. Anything that might remind them both that she was still in possession of a brain.

“Call it luck,” he said softly. “Or serendipity. But for whatever reason, I wish to kiss you…it’s very enjoyable.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded. However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie.

His eyes seemed to darken, from azure to dusk. “I’m so glad we are in accord,” he murmured. He touched her chin, tipping her face up toward his. His mouth found hers, softly at first, teasing her lips open, waiting for her sigh before he swooped in, capturing her breath, her will, her very ability to form thoughts, except that…

This was different.

Truly, that was the only rational, fully-formed idea she could manage. She was lost in a sea of breathless sensation, driven by a need she barely understood, but all the while, she could feel this one thing inside-

This was different.

Whatever his purposes, whatever his intent, his kiss was not the same as the time before.

And she could not resist him.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Not when he’d found himself strong-armed into accompanying her on a stroll, not when they’d walked down the hill, out of sight of the house, and not even, really, when he’d mocked her with: Shall I kiss you again?

But then she’d made her mushy-blobby speech, and he couldn’t do anything but agree with her, and she looked so unexpectedly fetching, fighting her hair, which had completely escaped its coiffure, all the while staring him down-or, if not precisely doing that, at least standing her ground and defending her opinions in a way no one did with him. Except maybe Grace, and even then, only when no one else was present.