Page 58 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“So I have to turn the wheel to the right?”

“To starboard, yes. Chiswick is to the right of us, just there.” He pointed to the northern bank. “The river takes a turn to the northwest here, so you’ll need to alter your course ninety degrees, changing direction until the compass points northwest. Do you understand?”

She nodded, glancing ahead, then back toward the compass, then ahead again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Now, take the wheel by the handles and turn it slowly starboard. As you do, you’ll feel the ship start to turn.”

She felt more than a little nervous, but she did as he instructed.

“Be patient,” he cautioned, stretching out his arm again and leaning in. His body brushed hers as he put his own hand on the wheel, and suddenly every nerve ending in her body was tingling with awareness. “We’re not in the Henley Regatta, not today anyway, so there’s no need to rush it.”

He helped correct her course a little, then eased back. “Good,” he said, his arm sliding away from above her shoulder as she let out her breath in a slow sigh of relief. “Keep turning, and keep an eye on your compass. Once you see that you’re pointing northwest, straighten out, and you’ll be fine for a bit.”

She navigated the turn as he directed, her gaze travelling back and forth between the compass and river ahead, until the ship was on a northwest course and sailing parallel to both banks. “I did it.” She grinned, glancing again at the compass, just to be doubly sure. “I did it.”

“So you did. And splendidly, too. You might be in the Henley yet.”

She laughed, exhilarated, and turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes darkening to a smoky gray, and when he spoke, his voice had a hint of dark confession in it.

“You were wrong, by the way.”

Her throat went dry. “About what?” she whispered.

“That you wouldn’t ever be able to give me orders. I can think of a few I’d comply with if they came from you. You have more power than I care to contemplate, Miss Deverill.”

Irene’s heart gave a jolt of panic. “Do I?” she said, laughing to hide her sudden nervousness. “I don’t suppose if I ordered you to just accept your mother’s marriage and give me back my newspaper, you’d do it?”

Suddenly, his countenance was the cool, remote one she’d seen in her office that very first day. “Is that why you came back here?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet. “After the admission I made the other night, you thought I might perhaps be vulnerable to a bit of persuasion on that score?”

That sent Irene’s already teetering emotions straight over the edge. “You are the most impossible man!” she cried, aggravated not only by that accusation, but also by the fact that whenever she started liking him, he managed to say something that made her feel as if tea dregs had just been thrown in her face.

“Unlike you,” she said, “I have already faced the fact that your mother will not be moved to change her mind, no matter what I say. I admit that I came back here hoping I might have a reasoned word with you on that score—though how I ever thought I could possibly reason with a man as hardheaded and arrogant as you, I can’t think!”

She paused to glance over the bow, then returned her attention to him and went on before he could get a word in, “I did not seek you out for the motive you cite. No, I came back here because the only way I can discuss this topic with you at all is if I can catch you alone, something that for the past few days has proven a difficult task. So when I saw the chance to speak with you with some degree of privacy, I took it. But it was not in any way because of the other night, and I certainly gave no thought whatsoever to . . . to . . . employ feminine wiles on you.”

She paused, sucking in a deep breath before she started off again. “For one thing, I wouldn’t know how. I’ve no experience with that sort of thing, no gift for flirtation, and certainly no desire to wield this power you have laid at my door. And I should not dream of taking advantage of anyone in such a condition of vulnerability as you described. It would be cruel. Besides, if we are talking about being vulnerable, you are not—”

. . . the only one who feels that way.

She stopped, her unsaid words hanging in the air, bit back by a sudden acute need for self-preservation. She could not, she simply could not, confess to him that she was equally vulnerable to him. That his kiss had been the most exciting, extraordinary experience of her life. It would be too humiliating to admit she found this man so damnably attractive, when she was also well aware of his low opinion of her, her work, her beliefs, and her life. She hated even admitting to herself the aggravating fact of his attraction.

“You are not so vulnerable as you think,” she said instead, glaring at him as she shored up her pride. “You have your powerful position in this world and your rank, where I have neither. Although, while we are on that subject, let me say that as much as you think your position entitles you to dominate everything and everyone, it doesn’t, and you can’t. Even your mighty ducal authority doesn’t extend that far. Perhaps you ought to start accepting that fact with better grace. About your mother, and about me.”

She stopped, breathing hard, and she waited, not sure if she ought to stalk off now, while she had the last word, or wait for him to say something else equally insufferable so she could light into him again. When he did speak, it was not at all what she would have expected.

“You’re quite right.”

She blinked. Her anger faltered a bit at this unexpected admission. “I am?”

“Yes, and it seems I must again ask your forgiveness, Miss Deverill. What I said was unpardonable and arrogant, and you are perfectly within your rights to dress me down. In my defense, I can only reiterate that where you are concerned, as we both now know, I am . . .” He paused, swallowing hard as if he found it difficult to continue. “I am painfully aware of my susceptibility where you are concerned. I find myself doing all manner of things I would not usually do because I am feeling things that I don’t usually allow myself to feel.”

“Yes, well,” she muttered, a bit mollified, but still prickly and terribly self-conscious, “that makes two of us.”

“Yes.” His face gave nothing away, but his gaze lowered to her lips. “I rather thought that might be the case.”

She wanted to ask what made him think so. How had she given herself away? But then, she remembered how she’d twined her arms around his neck and rubbed her foot along his leg, and she saw how stupid that question would have been. How could he not have known what that kiss had made her feel?

Heat flooded her face, but she could not move. Panic made her heart race, but she could not run. He was thinking about that kiss, perhaps about doing it again, and she could not help thinking about how it would feel if he did.

---