Page 8 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“While I’m pleased to sample the Hunt’s vintages,” he said at last, voice low, “they’re not generally offered at such high velocity.” His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Had I known, I would have worn armor.”
The spell snapped.
“You should not lurk behind doors, then,” Christine retorted, breathless but defiant.
“Doors,” he countered, “are meant for stepping through. Which is what I was attempting before you dashed into me. Do you often run about with your eyes closed?”
“My eyes were not closed,” she said hotly.
“Then how,” he asked softly, “did you fail to see me? I am hardly insubstantial.”
Her gaze swept his broad shoulders, the scale of his physique, which barely seemed contained by his clothing. Against her will, she whispered a fervent agreement.
“No. You are not.”
Heat flamed her cheeks. She tried to push past him.
“Forgive me, I am in haste.”
“Yes, we have thoroughly established that,” he said, stepping back with a limp.
“You are exaggerating. I am not that heavy.”
“Your shoes are.”
“I am sorry that you are so fragile.”
“And I am sorry that you should prove to be so rude.”
She had been trying to extricate herself from his company, stepping away and down the hallway. Now she stopped.
“I am not rude. Merely…”
“Argumentative.”
“No…”
Christine stopped as she realized that her disagreement with him was proving his point. He did not smile. Not as such, but she thought she detected a slight change in his expression. As though his granite features had somehow softened. She smiled, laughing softly.
“I do apologize for our…clash. I was running, but I think you must also have been moving too quickly to be unable to avoid me, no?”
“There is nothing quite so insulting as half an apology,” he said dryly.
Oh, dash it all! Why won't he just let me go!
She wanted to respond with a tight smile and a half-chuckle, but keep walking as though disengaging from an unwanted conversant. But she could not. Something in his manner made her want to stand her ground, unwilling to let him have the last word.
“It was a full apology,” she said firmly.
“It did not sound that way.”
“I cannot help how it sounds to you. Only how I intended it, which was sincerely. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Turning her back on him was difficult. He dominated her awareness. As she walked along the softly carpeted corridor, she found herself listening for his footfalls behind her.
“Might I at least have your name?” he called when she had advanced ten yards.
She stopped, biting her lip, wanting to give her name so that he would know her. Wanting the opposite with the same fervor. The question was settled for her.
