Page 15 of The Defiant One
She suddenly felt very small. "Well . . . yes, I did. I'm sorry, now. It was an unkind thing to say, but you weren't the only one who was angry."
He merely looked at her, turned his back, and walked a few steps away, unwilling, perhaps unable, to accept her apology.
"I said I'm sorry," she said.
Nothing.
She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. Because she had jumped to conclusions and humiliated him in public, he had been forced to leave her ball. And people probably did have a bad impression of him now, thanks to the fact that she had been blinded by her concern for his dogs, and thus let her temper get the best of her.
As usual.
Celsie scrunched her hanging, embroidered pocket in one fist. If anyone deserved her anger, it was the duke. He was the one who had made her and Andrew the butt of some cruel joke. He was the one who had made Andrew positively loathe her. He was the one she ought to have been confronting, and by heavens, she was going to have that confrontation right now.
She raised her chin, determined to make as dignified an exit as possible under the circumstances. And then she heard it: toenails, clicking lightly in the hall just outside. It was a welcome sound in the midst of so much awkwardness. A moment later, a tall, rangy red and white setter, tail wagging gently, padded into the room, went up to Lord Andrew, and insinuated herself beneath his hand.
Celsie saw his fingers begin to stroke the dog's head.
"I guess if the dog likes you, I've got nothing to worry about," she said lightly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence, trying to make amends for her horrible blunder.
He didn't bother looking at her. "This is Esmerelda."
"That's — a pretty name," she said lamely.
"My brother gave her to me as a birthday present three years ago. Thought I'd want to take her bird-hunting, but I don't like to shoot."
"Guns?"
"Birds."
"Oh." She gave a nervous laugh, feeling unsettled by his brusqueness. "I thought all men liked to kill things."
"Yes, well, I'm different. Or, as you said yourself, madam —" he finally turned to look at her — "strange."
His moody, challenging stare burned into hers. Celsie flushed and looked down at Esmerelda, who was bending her body into Andrew's leg, trying to get closer to him, her great dark eyes softening with love as she gazed worshipfully up into his face. Celsie felt awkward. Excluded. Soundly chastised. She began to wish she had made her exit. She was starting to grow very hot beneath her chemise, and more than a little uncomfortable by Lord Andrew's brusqueness. Was he incapable of forgiving? Incapable of understanding? For heaven's sake, Taunton, even Bonkley, was easier company than this man. At least she knew how to handle them . . .
"I think I'd better take my leave," she said.
"Why? I thought you wanted to see my laboratory."
"Yes, well, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer with my nosy, interfering presence," she said, trying for a lighthearted sarcasm that failed miserably.
"You forgot annoying."
Celsie began to take a deep breath, intending to count to ten. Twenty, if she had to. "Lord Andrew —"
"Go, leave, then," he interrupted, making an impatient, shooing motion toward the door. His eyes looked almost savage. "I never wanted you in here in the first place. I never want any females in here, because every single one of them is bored within minutes, and I'm sure you'll be, too. So go, before your eyes start glazing over."
"I'm not bored, merely uncomfortable. Your manner does not exactly make a person feel welcome."
He bowed mockingly. "A thousand apologies. My manner is far too honest."
Celsie raised her chin and glared at him. He gazed down at her from his superior height. And she saw then, in his eyes, something he was trying desperately to conceal, something that hid behind his pride, something that was as plain as the hair on his broad, hard-muscled chest, before he glanced away.
He was wrong. Honesty lay not in his manner, but in his eyes. His defiant, surly, and yes, hopeful, eyes. They said everything his brusqueness didn't.
He didn't want her to leave.
He would never admit it, but he didn't want her to leave.
