Page 47 of Duke of Fyre

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"You're doing it again."

"Simply making observations," she said cheerfully. "Though I do hope some of those ten gowns will be suitable for dancing. It would be a shame to waste all that lovely silk standing in corners..."

"We are not having this discussion again."

"No? But what is it that you have against dancin g? Perhaps that is something we should discuss, because I hardly think you were always so against…"

Her words cut off in a small gasp as Elias suddenly leaned across the carriage, bringing his face mere inches from hers. "Perhaps," he said softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble that made her shiver, "we should discuss how impossibly beautiful you looked in that gown. How every man at tonight's ball will want to dance with you. How I'll have to watch them all trailing after you like lovesick puppies, while I..."

He broke off abruptly, seeming to realize what he'd been about to say. Lydia's heart was racing so fast she felt light-headed.

"While you what?" she whispered.

For a moment, she thought he might actually answer. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt herself swaying toward him almost unconsciously.

Then the carriage hit a bump, breaking the spell. Elias withdrew to his own seat so quickly he nearly knocked his hat askew.

"While I maintain proper dignity," he finished stiffly, though his voice was slightly hoarse. "As befits the Duke of Fyre."

"Of course," Lydia agreed, trying to steady her breathing. "Heaven forbid you should do anything improper. Like noticeyour wife's eyes. Or order her ten ball gowns. Or almost kiss her in a moving carriage."

The sound Elias made might have been a laugh or a groan. "You truly are impossible."

"So you keep saying." Lydia smiled, enjoying the way his eyes kept straying to her despite his best efforts. "Though I notice you haven't actually denied any of it."

The look he gave her could have melted steel, but Lydia merely smiled sweetly in response. After all, she thought as their carriage rolled toward home, if the Beast of Fyre was going to insist on maintaining his dignity, the least she could do was make it as difficult as possible for him.

And judging by the way his eyes had darkened when she'd worn that gown, she was succeeding admirably.

As they neared the townhouse, Lydia noticed Elias's eyes darken again as they passed a milliner's shop. "Perhaps," he said slowly, as though the words were being dragged from him, "we should consider some suitable accessories to accompany your new gowns."

"More shopping, Your Grace?" Lydia couldn't resist teasing him. "And here I thought you'd reached your limit for the day."

"One must be thorough," he replied with mock severity. "Unless you'd prefer to attend the ball without proper..."

"Oh no," Lydia interrupted quickly, fighting back a smile. "Far be it from me to interfere with your sudden interest in ladies' fashion. Though I must say, this newfound expertise is rather unexpected."

"I merely wish to ensure everything is..." he paused, searching for the right word.

"Perfect?" Lydia suggested innocently.

The look he gave her should have turned her to stone, but she merely smiled back, enjoying the way his jaw tightened. "Is something wrong with perfection?"

"Not at all," she agreed with a small smile. "And I suppose I should be grateful you didn't order matching ribbons for Mug. I fear even London's finest modistes might balk at creating fashionable attire for impossibly small dogs."

This time Elias did laugh, the sound rich and warm in the confined space of the carriage. "Don't give him ideas. The last thing we need is Peter deciding his pirate crew requires formal attire."

"Oh, but think how dignified they'd look! Tiny cravats, miniature waistcoats..."

"Lydia."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Stop plotting."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said serenely. "I'm merely considering ways to maintain proper dignity. Isn't that what you want?"

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