Page 76 of A Dangerous Kind of Lady

“Yes—with turning me into his puppet. The worst of it is, I still miss him at times.” He clasped his hands behind his back, but a few steps later was once more plundering the hedge. “I enjoyed my travels. Being challenged, learning what I could do without my money and name. In England…” He glanced at her. “You were the only one whoever challenged me.”

“No wonder you despised me.”

“But in recent years, I came to miss having a place to come back to. A home, connections, friendships: That’s what Father took from me. That’s what I want now.”

And that was why he wanted a peaceful, amiable bride, someone as unlike Arabella as could be.

“I hope you get what you want,” she said sincerely. “One’s home should be one’s heart and soul.”

She could feel his gaze hitting the side of her face. She walked on in silence, her muscles tense.

“You take an interest in my heart and soul?” he finally asked.

“Don’t be absurd.” She tossed her head haughtily. “The only part of you I find remotely interesting is your body.”

Guy stopped short, his jaw dropped. Shooting him a cool look, Arabella continued on toward the bustling churchyard.

His laughter chased her. “Take care, Miss Larke. You’ll makemeblush.”

“Oh dear,” she called over her shoulder. “Seems I won that round.”

A moment later, he fell into step beside her again. “What I truly adore,” he said cheerfully, “is how you can say that and still sound prickly.”

Well, that was no compliment. Just more of his teasing, his excellent sport at her expense.

“Are you being romantic again?” she drawled. “Do you mean to torture me with dreadful poetry about roses and their thorns?”

“Rose? No, no, no, Arabella, you in no way resemble a rose.” He caught her hand, bringing them both to a stop. As he spoke, his bare fingers found the gap between her glove and sleeve, and made slow circles on the sensitive skin of her wrist. “You are prickly like a blackberry bush. Like a tangle of whips and leaves covered in sharp thorns. But among those thorns dangle delicious berries, fruit so enticing that the mere promise of a taste is worth being scratched and snared.”

His eyes, playful and warm, possessed hers, as he took her unresisting wrist in both hands, parted the fabric with rough thumbs, and brushed his lips over her skin.

Then he straightened and muttered, “Shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head at the people milling about in the churchyard. “I am now feeling decidedly sinful.”

“The vicar’s drone will soon put us to rights.”

She bit her lip at the “us” but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Either that or lightning will strike the church,” he said.

“Which would solve the problem of our wedding, at least.”

“Yes.”

Abruptly, he released her. Arabella smoothed her sleeve over her wrist, pressing her other palm against it as if she could burn the feeling of him into her skin like a brand.

A flock of swallows were clustered on the church roof, welcoming churchgoers with their low warble. The flocks were getting larger now; soon they would all fly away.

“Have you given any thought to your departure?” she asked.

Guy took his time answering, pulling on his gloves. “I shall return to London next Monday,” he finally said.

In eight days, he would be gone.

He flashed one of his smiles and extended his elbow.

“Now, let’s see what happens when the vicar tells everyone we are to be wed. Ten pounds says someone laughs.”

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