Page 13 of Crash Landing
It saddened her to know she would never become duchess of this grand home. Trajan could not possibly be serious about their betrothal.
“Can you see yourself here?” he asked, his voice quite gentle as he spoke.
She did not bother to respond.
Did he often rescue young ladies with a remarkable kiss? He needed to stop believing this pretense before he said something that could not be taken back.
Well, had he not said too much already?
She did not blame him, for she had gone along with his every word and made no effort to contradict him. However, they needed to coordinate their lies in order to keep others from catching on to their farce.
He noticed she had finished her lemonade. “Would you care for more, Florence?
Then he smiled and added “dearest” because he found the idea of their betrothal quite amusing. He was only thinking in the moment and not further down the road, when this lark would come to its inevitable end.
Ugh.
He should not be milking every last drop from this situation. It would serve him right if she held him to his word and he was forced to marry her.
But this was a card she could hold in reserve and threaten to play if he insisted on interfering with her mission.
Yes, she fully understood that spying on Frampton from a treetop was no longer a viable plan. She also understood that she would be shot if ever she were caught sneaking into his residence in the middle of the night.
She would have to come up with another less dangerous idea.
In the meanwhile, she had no choice but to go along with this betrothal nonsense.
Well, it wasn’t reallynonsense. It was nice to pretend she had snared England’s prize bachelor, and it had nothing to do with his being a rich duke. She liked him because he was intelligent, witty, and wonderfully protective.
It did not hurt that he was also strikingly handsome.
But was it not odd that he appeared so comfortable with the idea of marriage? Perhaps his Silver Duke friends were not off the mark when deciding to open their betting book on him.
However, he did not kiss like a man ready to be domesticated. That kiss had been exquisitely wild and untamed. She had yet to stop tingling from it.
“Florence,” he said as they sat in their cushioned chairs and enjoyed the shade of a floral arbor, “you are turning moon-eyed. Thinking of our kiss again?”
“I am doing no such thing,” she replied, sounding like a petulant child.
“I might believe you if your face were not in flames again,” he teased, certain he had caught her in a guilty pleasure…which he had.
However, she was never going to admit it to him. “You are a mostirritating fellow. Did you know that,Weymouth?”
“Ah, you are peeved with me. I prefer that you call me Trajan. We are lovebirds, after all. You like me and hope I will kiss you again.”
“Gad, you are irritating. Need I remind you it is hot outdoors?”
“Ah, yes.Weatherhot.Temperaturehot.”
Florence nodded. “Exactly.”
“Liar.” He leaned so temptingly close that she caught the fresh scent of sandalwood on his skin. “You findmehot and are desperately trying to figure out what to do about it.”
“Your conceit is unmatched,Weymouth.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Still peeved.”
“Since you have brought up the matter of our so-called attraction to each other, yes. What in the name of heaven were you thinking? You should have come up with something other than a love match betrothal.”
