Page 23 of To Bed the Bride
He really shouldn’t say those things to her. She was about to tell him so when she heard Bruce growl. Looking down, she realized that he’d grabbed the fabric of her skirt between his teeth again and was now playing tug-of-war with it.
Sighing heavily, she bent and extracted the fabric from his mouth.
“You really are in a better position to care for him than I am,” she said, standing. “And to do so without any fear, real or imagined.”
He didn’t stand when she did, which was rudeness in itself.
“Eleanor, I didn’t mean to anger you. Or hurt you. My motive was to help.”
He shouldn’t use her given name, either. It was too personal, almost intimate.
“You assume a great deal, Mr. McKnight. More than you’ve any right to. As I said, you don’t know me.”
“Does anyone?”
She stared at him.
“I would bet, Miss Craig, that you keep yourself well insulated from others. Perhaps for fear that they might discern how much of a sham you truly are.”
If she’d had something handy and breakable she would have thrown it at him.
“How dare you say something like that. How dare you examine my character and find it so wanting.”
“On the contrary, I don’t find it wanting at all. You’re a fascinating woman. A mystery, I might even say. I believe that you have depths few people realize. Perhaps even you. I would also wager that you’re as constrained as any woman I’ve ever known. You really should allow yourself to be yourself, Eleanor.”
“You should thank Providence, Mr. McKnight, that I am constraining myself at this moment. Otherwise, I do believe that I would cosh you on the head with something hard.”
“That’s a sentiment that’s been repeated often in my presence.”
“No doubt,” she said, heading for the door. Unfortunately, the puppy followed her.
“See? What did I tell you about an affinity? He’s already developed an affection for you. Do you have that same effect on all males?”
She glanced at him to find him smiling at her.
If she’d had an umbrella she would’ve poked him right between the eyes.
She really didn’t like this man. She didn’t dislike sparring with him, but she did dislike how much she was enjoying it. What a vile creature he was to incite her fury like that and then sit there and smile.
Not just smile, but give her an understanding look as if he knew exactly what she was feeling.
He had as much as called her repressed, some kind of boxed in creature who never revealed her emotions. There were plenty of times when she did so.
He finally stood and followed her to the door. She wished he’d stayed where he was, some distance away.
“Does no one ever talk to you?” he asked, coming to stand much too close.
“Of course people talk to me. What a ridiculous thing to say.”
“Not about what a lovely day it is, Eleanor. Or how pretty your hair looks today, but directly to you. Of thoughts and feelings, perhaps. Of ideas, great and small.”
Thoughts and feelings? Those were better kept to oneself. Ideas were the province of men. At least, that’s what her aunt had always told her.
He bent and picked up the puppy who decided that he would occupy himself bathing McKnight’s face with kisses. All he did was smile down at Bruce.
“Reveal yourself, Eleanor. Show the world who you are. Don’t hide yourself from anyone, however much you might fear their words.”
He really was the most despicable man. Now was the perfect time to bring up Michael, but Michael had no place in this conversation.
