“Just stop it!” Dahlia hissed, nodding toward Kirk.
Miss Stewart, her mouth still half-open, turned to follow Dahlia’s gaze and saw Kirk behind her. She flushed an ugly red and snapped her mouth closed.
Kirk’s expression remained stony and cold. To those who didn’t know him, he didn’t seem to react strongly, but Dahlia knew what the darkening of his eyes meant, and her heart swelled with indignation.
With a smile on her lips, she pushed between Miss Stewart and Lady Mary and swept forward. “Lord Kirk! What a delightful pleasure to see you again. I was hoping for a word with you. It will be so pleasant to talk to someone from Aberdeenshire. Almost a homecoming, one might say.”
She spoke clearly, her voice as loud as Miss Stewart’s had been as she met his surprised gaze.
A torrent of emotions flickered behind his dark eyes and she wondered if he would rebuff her. Good God, he is prideful. Will he not accept a friendly gesture? She said in a low voice, “Please. You must not make a scene or they will have more to gossip about.”
His gaze burned into hers. “You were with them.”
“Not by choice. Though I’ve been angry with you for many things, I’ve never mocked you for anything over which you had no control.”
His gaze softened. “That is true.” He looked past her and then back. “I’ve wished to speak to you for months, but not under these circumstances.”
“And I’ve wished to never speak to you again—but I couldn’t allow such small people to have such a large say.”
His lips quirked and, just like that, Dahlia found herself smiling at him. I’ve missed this, she realized with surprise.
But perhaps it shouldn’t surprise her, though, for Caith Manor was so tucked away in the countryside that she’d had no friends to visit, not until she’d befriended Kirk. And we were friends. He was my only friend, in fact.
“Perhaps we should find a glass of champagne and watch the dancing? I’ve never waltzed before, and I would like to observe how it’s done.” She put her hand on his arm.
He looked down at her hand and covered it with his own, his fingers warm against her skin. “A glass of champagne first, then.”
She waited as he signaled a footman, who instantly brought them the tray. Kirk tucked his cane under his arm, took two glasses, and then proffered his other elbow to Dahlia. She smiled at his adroit handling of so many objects and allowed him to lead her away from the watching crowd.
Lady Mary, Miss Stewart, and Lord Dalhousie watched them go. Kirk gave them a cool nod as they passed, and then he led Dahlia to a quiet spot beside an urn of palm fronds. There he handed her a glass of champagne, and then leaned his cane against the wall.
She took the glass and sipped it, curling her nose at the bubbles.
His eyes warmed with amusement. “It tickles, eh?”
“Yes. However, I’m sure that after several glasses, I shall enjoy it quite well.”
“Just make certain you don’t drink too many glasses at once. Champagne is a thief, and it steals your senses when you least expect it.”
“I shall be cautious.” She took another sip, careful not to breathe in the bubbles. “I’m sorry if I seemed to be throwing myself at you, but I couldn’t allow Miss Stewart to continue.”
He shrugged. “It didn’t bother me.”
“It bothered me. I want you to know that although I haven’t forgotten our disagreement, I would never disparage you in public.”
“I’d rather you did, if it would help us get over this ridiculous disagreement.”
“It’s not ridiculous. Your actions were unbearable.”
“I was wrong to be so blunt with you, and for that, I apologize.”
“At least I know your true feelings—that my family and I are both unworthy of you.”
“No, no. I said it totally wrong. I—I was trying to explain that although nothing is perfect, we are so well suited that—”
“We are nothing of the kind. Lord Kirk, that’s quite enough. If you continue to bring up this subject, I will be forced to leave your company.”
His jaw tightened and he clamped his mouth closed, as if trying to contain words he’d regret.
An awkward silence ensued. Suddenly wishing to be gone, she sipped her champagne quickly. As soon as the glass was empty, she’d make her excuses and leave Kirk to his own devices. But in her haste, she breathed in as she raised the glass and the bubbles tickled her nose yet again. “Oh no! I’m—” She sneezed.
Instantly, a handkerchief was pressed into her hand.
She blinked down at it, seeing Kirk’s initials embroidered into the border. It was a gesture her father had made to her and her sisters throughout their lives, but it wasn’t something Kirk would have done so quickly or instinctively when she’d known him before. In fact, she’d once sneezed at his house while trying to open a particularly dusty book, and he’d merely watched as she ran for her reticule and found her own kerchief.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m just . . . you gave me your kerchief.”
“Isn’t that what a gentleman is supposed to do?”
“Yes, which is why I was surprised.”
He stiffened, but after a moment, he said, “I suppose I deserve that.”
“I didn’t mean it to be an insult. You are who you are, but . . .” Her gaze took in his clothing and the intricate tie of his neckcloth. “You’ve changed.”
A slight flush colored his face. “I look ridiculous, don’t I? Damn it, I knew—”
“No, you look fine. Truly.” Better than fine, if she were honest.
He looked down before he met her gaze. “You don’t think me ridiculous?”
“Not at all. I just don’t understand why you’re here. You hate being around people.”
“Because I dislike being stared at like a two-headed camel.”
“No one likes it.” She folded his kerchief and tucked it into her pocket. “I’ll have this washed and will return it to you. I—”
“I’m glad to see you.”
He said the words in his old abrupt manner, without the stilted politeness he’d been using. Oddly, Dahlia found herself reassured by it.
“I’m glad to see you, too.” It was oddly nice seeing a truly familiar face. And she knew his face well. She knew his dark eyes that mirrored his emotions, and his rare lopsided smile that always made her smile with him.
At one time, she’d thought him a dear friend, and when they’d stopped speaking she’d told herself it was for the best, for their friendship hadn’t been favored by her family.
Both of her sisters thought of Lord Kirk as ancient. He was older, of course, but as she’d come to know him, the difference hadn’t seemed that great and they’d found much in common. Her only real knowledge of him came from a few months’ worth of literary and musical conversations, so in many ways, he was still a mystery.
She tilted her head to one side and regarded him closely. “You look very well in your new finery.”
He grimaced, but caught himself. “Thank you. You look quite fine yourself. But then, you must know that.”
She had to laugh. “I don’t feel especially fine among so many well-dressed women. Lily made most of my gowns with her usual consummate skill, but I don’t have the jewelry or fans or slippers. I’m woefully lacking in those furbelows.”
“You don’t need them,” he said bluntly. “You’re beautiful enough without such silliness.”
Her cheeks heated and she looked away. Where had that come from?
“I’ve embarrassed you. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Look at the young lady by the hallway doors.”
“The one in blue silk?”
“Yes. The one holding the ridiculously large fan made of ostrich feathers. She’s hoping that if she waves it enough, no one will notice she hasn’t read a book in almost four years. She blithely admitted it during dinner.”
“Four years?”
“And see the woman with the re
d hair by the windows? The one who can’t help touching that monstrous necklace every few moments?”
“It must be uncomfortably heavy.”
“I daresay it is, but she is too parched of common sense to know what to do about it. She eats only potatoes in vinegar.”
“She is dieting?”
“No, she saw that Lord Byron was eating such a menu and she decided to copy him in homage to his poetry.”
“What do potatoes have to do with his poems?”
“Nothing. Which she would know if she’d actually understood what she was reading, but alas, she allows society to dictate her taste and not her own mind.”
Dahlia looked about the room. “There are a lot of silly people here, aren’t there?”
“I dare you to find two who’ve read Reade’s History of the Roman Empire and can discuss it with anything close to intelligence.”
Dahlia wondered if Lord Dalhousie read many books. He seemed intelligent enough. She’d ask him as soon as she was able.
She suddenly realized that Kirk had noticed where her attention had turned and he was also regarding Lord Dalhousie, his expression anything but pleasant. “That man is a fop.”
“He is not. He is a very amusing, kind man, which you’d know if you’d attempt to speak to him.”
“He’s a damn fool.” Kirk turned back to her. “Do you know why I came to the duchess’s house party?”
“No. It can’t be for society’s sake; you hate society.”
“I came to speak to you.”
She blinked. “To speak to me? But . . . why? We have nothing to say.”
“We have plenty to say. I’ve made some errors, and I’d like to repair the damage those errors have done.”
“I don’t wish to discuss our past.”
“I do,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And I wish to do it now.”
And there go our new manners. She finished her champagne and placed the glass on a nearby table. “Lord Kirk, pray excuse me, but I would like to find Lady Charlotte and ask about using the library.”
“I’ll escort you.” He took her arm.
“No, thank you.” She disengaged from his grasp. “I prefer to visit her on my own. It was pleasant speaking with you, and I must say it’s gratifying to know that not everything has changed about you. Good evening and—”
“I’m not through talking, Dahlia, and neither are you.”
She clamped her lips together to hold back a very unladylike retort. After a moment, she managed to say, “You cannot tell me when I’m through talking and when I’m not.”
“Like hell I can’t. I came all this way, learned all of these societal rules, just to speak with you. You cannot just walk away.“
“Yes, I can. I didn’t ask you to go to those extensive lengths, my lord, so don’t hold that up as a weapon to cudgel me into a conversation. We can be civil acquaintances while we’re here at her grace’s house party, but I have no wish to reclaim the friendship we once had.”
“But I—”
“No. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good-bye and—”
His hand closed over her wrist and, without ceremony, he grabbed his cane and pulled her to the nearby doorway.
Dahlia was left with two choices. She could go with him and spare them both the embarrassment of a public fight, or she could dig in her heels and make a scene. It was tempting to try the latter, but although she was furious with his high-handed ways, she was also aware of the critical gazes that followed them, especially those of Lady Mary and Miss Stewart.
Infuriated, she put on a smile and placed her hand over his to make it seem as if they were merely walking into the foyer together under the watchful eyes of the duchess’s servants.
As soon as they were out of sight of the other guests, she yanked her arm free. “Look here, Kirk, you can’t—”
“Hold a moment.” He turned to the two footmen who stood at attention at either side of the doorway. “We need a few moments alone.”
The footmen exchanged wide glances. One of them gulped. “Me lor’, shall I fetch Mr. MacDougal fer ye?”
“You will fetch no one. Leave the hall for ten minutes. You may come back then. If you do so, I shall reward you each with a guinea.”
The footmen exchanged glances and, with a bow, left.
Dahlia, her arms crossed, her toe tapping impatiently, turned to Kirk the second they were alone. “Who do you think you are, forcing me to leave the salon in such a manner?”
“I want to know something.” He stuck his cane into the gold umbrella stand that sat to one side of the great doors. “Why did you accept the duchess’s invitation?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
Good God, how had she allowed her sense of righting an injustice overcome her good sense in having nothing to do with this man ever again? “You are so high-handed.”
“And you are so stubborn.” His gaze flickered over her. “Sadly for me, you appear to great advantage when you’re angry.”
“You are the most—” She blinked. “I beg your pardon, but what did you just say?”
To her surprise, a grin glinted in his eyes. “Your cheeks flush, and your eyes sparkle. It always makes me wish to kiss you.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. In all of her dealings with Lord Kirk, he’d never once tried to kiss her. “You’re just trying to throw me off balance so I won’t argue with you.”
“If I wished that, I’d merely agree with you. That’s all you really want, isn’t it?” He grinned, his arms crossed over his chest. “For me to agree with you?”
Her anger instantly began to melt. He was just so handsome when he smiled that way. Thank God he doesn’t do it often.
Calmer now, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell him her plans. Perhaps it would settle this awkwardness between them. “I’m here because I wish to fall in love.”
Whatever he’d expected her to say, that apparently wasn’t it, for his smile disappeared. “I find it disappointing that a woman of your intelligence believes in such mishmosh.”
“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.
Six
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.