Page 59 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Her lips began to tingle and her heart hammered like a mad thing, but then he returned his attention to the bow, and she felt a stab of disappointment.

“You’re drifting.”

“Hmm?” Irene frowned at his profile, trying to regain her scattered wits. “What?”

“You’re drifting.” His arm stretched out over her shoulder again to realign the ship to a course parallel to shore, then slid away again at once. “Best watch where you’re going.”

At once, she returned her attention to steering the ship, realizing much to her mortification that if he had kissed her right then and there, she would have let him, even though practically everyone on the ship could see them if they’d chanced to turn around and look to the stern of the boat, and she discovered a new appreciation for his suggestion that they maintain a discreet distance.

“This is a tricky part of the river,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I should take over.”

Irene was happy to let him. She excused herself and rejoined the others, accepting a champagne cup from the footman along the way, in the hope of steadying her frayed nerves and highly strung emotions.

She sank into her deck chair, where the talk of the others flowed around her, but though the other ladies tried to bring her into their conversation, Irene remained preoccupied, appreciating that she had a serious problem on her hands.

Her plan to persuade Henry to change his mind instead of having his mother change hers wasn’t going to work. For one thing, it was exactly what he would be expecting her to do. And besides, it wasn’t playing the game fair, given his ardent passion for her, as he put it. Just the memory of those words was enough to rekindle the feeling, and Irene hastily got to her feet and walked to the rail before the other ladies could see her blushing. This situation could not continue. But what, she wondered as she stared moodily out at the water and sipped her champagne cup, could she do about it?

Her first line of attack—Henry’s plan—had been doomed to fail from the start. Her second plan was also out the window. She had no third. And despite the unexpected events of a few days ago, if the duchess married her Italian, Irene had no illusions where Torquil was concerned. He might have a passion for her, but it would not stop him from putting an end to Lady Truelove and Society Snippets. For those, she well knew, he had nothing but disdain. And worst of all, every time she looked at him, she found herself longing for him to kiss her again.

Irene leaned her elbows on the rail with a sigh. How on earth was she to get out of this mess?

Chapter 14

As a boy at Eton, Henry had first learned that many Catholic priests of the Middle Ages made a daily ritual of flogging themselves. He’d found that a baffling fact, not only as a staunch Anglican, but also as someone who’d always possessed a great deal of common sense.

Now, however, with the fragrance of Irene’s skin and the warmth of her body so vivid in his memory, Henry began to understand the compulsion of self-torture. And he’d certainly been living like a priest for far too long.

No wonder he’d asked her to take the wheel. He’d known it would give him the perfect excuse to stand behind her, inhale the scent of her, touch her, however fleetingly. And he’d been awash in lust as a result.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d taken out his self-inflicted frustration on her with his boorish accusation, providing her with all the more reason to resent him, and providing himself with all the more cause for self-condemnation.

Yes, he was a glutton for punishment.

A cough brought him out of this reverie, and he glanced up to find his mother a few feet away, an expression on her face that all sons of loving mothers know. He tensed, but when he spoke, he worked to make his voice light, hoping to keep his secret well-hidden. “Mama, what are you doing back here? Want to be like Miss Deverill, do you, and have a go at steering the ship?”

“Would you allow it?” she asked.

For some reason, he was a bit nettled by that question. “Why wouldn’t I? Why does everyone think I’m such a tyrant?”

That made her laugh. “Not a tyrant,” she said, moving to stand beside him. “Just a man who is the admiral of his fleet, and who believes it is his sworn duty to ensure that all his ships sail in what he feels is the proper direction.”

His defenses faltered. “Yes, well, if that’s what I believe, I fear I’m doomed to disappointment,” he muttered. “The women in my life, alas, don’t seem willing to be as predictable as my yachts.”

“No,” she agreed and paused beside him. “Miss Deverill in particular,” she said after a moment, “is a woman who charts her own course. And does it rather well, too.”

Even the mention of her name was enough to threaten his tenuous hold on self-possession. He kept his attention fixed on the helm. “Stop matchmaking, Mama,” he said, hoping he sounded as indifferent as he wished he could feel. “Miss Deverill is not, by any stretch of the imagination, in my life. Nor would she ever wish to be. She has no use for our sort. She’s made that clear enough.”

“You may be right.”

She didn’t broach the topic he’d attempted to lead her toward, so he turned his head and met her gaze, tackling it for her. “In mentioning the women in my life, I was referring to you.”

She turned away, running her gloved hand over the brass surface of the compass behind them and rubbing her fingertips together as if the instrument had dust. “Oh?”

“Don’t be coy, Mama. Not with me.”

“Very well.” She turned back around and looked at him again. “I suppose I couldn’t avoid this moment for two entire weeks. Just don’t let it become a row, dear. We have guests.”

“Do you love him?”

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