Page 63 of The Rules of Matrimony
She drew back. “What does that mean?”
“I would have won.”
She snatched up a pillow. “I reserve the right to use this if you make any more idiotic statements like that one. Honestly, duels are not a joking matter.”
Ian leaned across the bed, propping his elbow up on it. “Very well, no more talk of duels. What were you like as a child? Sweet with a gentle disposition? I can imagine two braids, darker freckles, and a toothless grin.”
She hugged the pillow. “I don’t know about sweet, but I was shy. I didn’t care for large groups. I had one good friend I would spendhours playing with. We did our fair share of exploring outside, playing pirates and lost damsels in distress. She is two years older than I and is married now with a few children. We write occasionally at Christmas and Easter, but we have grown apart. Our lives—our stations—are very different from each other.”
“Even now that you are a viscountess?”
She laughed. “I forgot about that title. I suppose there is not such a vast rift between us now.”
Ian smiled. “So you were a shy little thing. What made you start visiting your neighbors, then?”
“Neighbor visits were nonnegotiable. From as young as I can remember, I was taught happiness was spelleds-e-r-v-i-c-ebecause service is the key to true joy.” She said it robotically from years of repetition.
Ian grinned. “I remember the way you spoke to your father’s headstone, as if he were someone you truly admired. Did he teach you this principle? Is that why you value it so much?”
“No, actually. It was my mother.”
Ian’s brow rose. “Truly?”
She ran a hand down the silk pillowcase. “The full estimation of a person cannot be made when they are at their lowest. Mama has been stuck in her grief for many years now; sometimes even I forget who she used to be. She spent years giving and created many friendships along the way. When Papa died, the few who held fast to Mama, she pushed away. She had never learned to receive charity, only give it. Now that she lives on charity, she deeply resents it. I believe that’s the real reason she offended our family and we had to move so often. You know, I never saw it before until this minute.”
Ian sat up a little. “I will endeavor to see this view of her when I am with her next and try harder to understand her. I have a great respect for people who put others before themselves. It’s not a natural inclination for most of us.”
“Practice helps,” she said.
He eyed her. “You have a Rebel spirit.”
“Do I?” That seemed the greatest compliment coming from Ian.
“I am the unofficial leader of the Rebels, so I would know.”
“What is the nickname that they called you?” She had been dying to ask about it since Tom had mentioned the name at their wedding.
His brow lowered. “Favorite Friend, probably.”
Seeing his predictable reaction, she couldn’t help her mocking tone as she took hold of her pillow. “Oh? I thought it wasMother Hen.”
Ian glowered, then dove to grab a pillow of his own. She didn’t wait for him to throw it at her but swung hers at his head. He gave a half-laugh, half-growl before swinging his own toward her back. She dodged it and hurled herself off the bed. Ian rolled toward the end and jumped to his feet. She squealed and sprinted around the bed with him chasing after her. When he slung an arm around her waist, she tried to hit him with the pillow from around her shoulder. Their laughter mixed together, and somehow, she managed to turn in his arms and get him good in the face.
He took her arm and pinned it to her side, his head coming down until—
It stopped a mere centimeter from hers. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and his breath tickled her lips. Would he kiss her? She wanted him to with everything in her.
He abruptly let her go, his chest heaving. “I should go.”
She took a step back, hugging the pillow again. She’d have preferred to hold something else—him—but the pillow seemed the only thing she had permission to hold. She swallowed and gave him a slow nod.
He stared at her for a moment, an apology written on his face, and disappeared through the door. Amie reached for her heart, willing for it to cease pounding. He had made her a promise, and she admired him for doing right by her. But weren’t some promises meant to be broken? She would gladly relinquish him from this one if he’d let her. She doubted her consent would change anything. He seemed quite determined to follow a course he’d set long before he’d met her.
Chapter 31
Ian had made a gravemistake. One he couldn’t seem to undo. Collapsing onto the library sofa did not help either. A recent memory of Amie sitting beside him on this very sofa flooded over him. Even then, he’d tried not to notice her soft voice and gentle touch as she’d worried over his injury. He groaned. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was: her penetrating gaze and vanilla scent. He flipped to his other side, tucking a hand under his head, waiting for sleep to overcome him. Amie’s playful smile danced behind his eyelids. Her shriek of laughter replayed in his mind, and the playful way she’d hit him with her pillow. His own lips crept into a smile in the dark.
She was lovely.
