Page 22 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
Lydia glanced down before her resentment could mar what she intended to be a romantic dinner. Not that speaking about death was particularly romantic. Heavens, what was she thinking?
Then again, whatwasromantic? She didn’t rightly know. This was her first time attempting to flirt, and he was giving her so little back.
Any other gentleman, she assumed, would have engaged her in conversation immediately, rather than forcing her to make all the effort.
Irritation compelled her to square her shoulders. “You know, when you offered for me so gratifyingly, I was being courted by Lord Scunthorpe.”
Alexander’s brows raised. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I had hopes—before, you know, my father died—that he would have offered for me.”
The corner of Alexander’s mouth twitched down. A triumph, she thought defiantly. “Well,” he said, his voice very even, “once our marriage is annulled, I am sure he would not object to you seeking him out again. After all, you will be a duchess by then.”
“I doubt he would be interested in your former wife.”
“That would be hypocritical of him, given his situation.”
“Hewas unfortunate enough to have his wives die.”
“Unfortunateis the word.” Alexander’s hand gave such a violent tremble, he abandoned his cutlery altogether. “Though it seems you have a wish to join their ranks.”
Lydia did her best to sound affronted. “Lord Scunthorpe is a very respectable gentleman.”
Alexander’s eyes glinted. “So he is, for a man entering middle age.”
“Howdareyou!”
“Was this the purpose of dining together?” he inquired. “So we might see once and for all that we are not a good fit as husband and wife?”
That hadnotbeen her intention at all. Somehow, all her dreams of a romantic dinner had gone flying out of the window, and the only thing she had left was the note on her list.Feed him during a formal dinner.
“I am sorry our union has been so dissatisfying for you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Please accept my apologies and assurances that it will be over soon.” He rose to leave, and Lydia did, too, pushing her chair almost over in her effort to match him.
“No, wait!” In her desperation to make him stay, she grabbed his hand—the one she had slammed into a door. He made a muffled sound of pain, and she dropped it in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry. So very sorry!”
His jaw clenched. “It is of no matter.” But the words were tight, and even through her anger, she could see how much she had hurt him. Again.
“This was not how I intended tonight to go,” she said miserably, taking his elbow instead and guiding him down on the chair he had just vacated. “Let me see the damage.”
“I beg you, leave my hands alone so I may retain all my fingers.”
“I don’t mean to hurt you, Alexander, but how can I see the scope of the damage if you won’t let me look?”
“I didn’t ask you to see the scope of the damage. I can feel that perfectly well, thank you.”
“Is it broken?” She looked anxiously into his face, still holding his sleeve as though he might escape. “If it is, I can call for a doctor.”
This close, she noticed how dilated his pupils were. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and although he had shaved that morning, there was just a hint of golden stubble across his jaw. It made him look even more ravishing.
Her heart knocked unsteadily against her ribs.
No matter how much she told herself she hated him—and shedid—there was also a part of her that couldn’t quite escape the childish, consuming fancy she’d had for him as a girl. There was so little of that carefree, gentle boy in the man, and yet she kept searching him, hoping she might catch glimpses.
In turn, his gaze landed across her face, bouncing across all her features. His brows tightened into an expression of consternation. “Lydia,” he said. “Are you sure—”
It was then that Lydia lost her balance entirely, pitching forward directly into Alexander’s lap.
CHAPTER EIGHT
