How To Entice An Enchantress Part 17

"Of course not. If MacCreedy were here now, he'd tell me that a good dose of small talk would be just the thing. Perhaps we should discuss the weather. I've been told that's a safe topic." He looked at the windows, which were covered with frost. "It's cold."

She waited, but he seemed to think he'd done his job well, for he merely turned his gaze back to hers. "Well?" he asked finally. "Don't you think it's cold?"

She had to chuckle. "You don't enjoy this, do you?"

"I hate it," he agreed promptly. "Why waste words on the obvious? I can make no sense of the reason, thus I cannot do it well."

"It does seem redundant at times."

"Worse, it's boring and stupid and- Don't get me started."

"It's only meant to fill the silence until you can think of something of merit to say."

"I'd rather skip to the observations that have merit. For example, I've noticed that you dance very well."

"You've never seen me dance."

"I have, too. The night of our argument. I came back downstairs."

And watched me. For some reason, a little thrill raced through her. "Thank you. I'm flattered."

"It's merely dancing, which is hardly a skill worth mentioning."

She threw her hands in the air. "And there you go, ruining a perfectly nice compliment."

He looked astounded. "That ruined it?"

"Yes. Completely."

"But I didn't realize you could dance at all."

She could either laugh or cry, and frankly, his obvious astonishment was too comical to ignore. "Oh, Kirk, please. For both of our sakes, say no more."

"I was going to add that you were even graceful." He looked offended at her laughter. "d.a.m.n it, did I spoil it again?"

"The word 'even' made it far from a compliment."

"Good G.o.d, one word and I'm awry. It's all nonsense, I tell you."

"Perhaps." Taking pity on him, she tucked her hand in his arm. "Come, let us stroll to the window and look at this weather."

He fell into step immediately, sending her a quizzical glance. "So this is part of the inane business of 'small talk'?"

"It can be."

"That's good to know, for I like looking at the weather much better than talking about it."

They stopped by the window, where a steel gray sky sat atop trees and the gra.s.s was rippled by a cold wind.

Dahlia went to pull her hand from his arm, but Kirk placed his hand over hers and held it there.

Such a move wasn't at all within the boundaries of polite behavior, but there was something nice about his hand resting over hers, so warm and cozy, as if it belonged there.

He glanced down at her. "When did you learn to dance? I can't imagine you had much practice while living at Caith Manor."

"There were local a.s.semblies and some small b.a.l.l.s."

"In our neighborhood?"

"Yes-which you'd know, if you ever left your home or made yourself available to your neighbors."

"I detect a note of censure."

"You, sir, are a hermit."

"I like my own company."

"You're a hermit, and are the most happy when you're alone. You should admit it and be done with it."

"That's not true. There's one person whose company I prize more highly than my own." His gaze never left hers.

Dahlia didn't know where to look. "Only one?" she heard herself ask breathlessly.

"Only one."

If any other man had made her such a compliment, she'd have accused him of being a hardened flirt. But there was no guile in Kirk's eyes, no curve to his lip to a.s.sure her he was teasing. There was nothing but the bold intensity of a look that was far too direct, a hand that fit far too well over hers, and a soul far too tender to play the games society demanded.

He means every word he says. He always has. And therein lies his vulnerability. He won't understand when others aren't so forthright. She wished she could warn him, but before she could say anything, his fingers tightened over hers and he drew her closer still.

She suddenly found it difficult to breathe and her gaze locked with his once more. His eyes were of the richest brown swirled with gold, which made her think of the luxurious sable coat her sister had worn at her wedding. For one wild moment, Dahlia wondered what it would be like to have those eyes gaze upon her every day.

Kirk saw the softening of Dahlia's mouth and his body tightened instantly. "You know I'm not happier alone. If I were, I'd never have proposed to you."

Her lashes lowered and she said, "Perhaps 'happy' isn't the right word."

"It's the d.a.m.ned wrong word, is what it is."

She broke into a sudden, soft laugh.

He stiffened. "What?"

Her eyes twinkled up at him. "You cannot help yourself, can you? Every other word is a curse word, and every other sentence is a rude declaration of some sort."

"Actually, it's more like every fifth word. I know, for MacCreedy has been keeping count."

"That's very kind of him."

"No, it's not, but he enjoys it."

She chuckled and said in a gentle voice, "We were supposed to be talking about the weather."

"I'd rather talk about something that matters. About us, in fact."

Her expression closed, the laughter fading from her lips. "Kirk, there isn't an 'us.'"

He had to bite back a fierce desire to sweep her to him and kiss her until they couldn't breathe. Not now and not like that, he told himself firmly. But soon. "We know one another; it's to our benefit to look after each other's interests."

"I don't think it's wise."

"You're wrong. But if you wish, then you can a.s.sist me out of the mere kindness of your heart."

"And you'll leave my goals alone?"

"To find 'true love'?" At her nod, he grimaced, but said, "I'll try."

"I suppose that is better than nothing."

"Good. Now, about me-" He glinted a smile at her that was at once so mischievous and so masculine that her lips trembled to return it. "Since you won't have me, I shall now start searching for a mate-"

"I do hate that word."

"Fine, then, a wife. I'm searching for a wife."

She didn't look happier, but she said, "That's much better."

He could feel her heart beating through the delicate veins in her wrist beneath his hand. "And you?" he asked. "You're looking for true love, but what else? What other attributes should this mystery suitor possess?"

"Hold. I thought you were going to leave me out of this completely."

"I'm merely asking a question. Do you have any ideas? Tall? Short? Thin? Athletic?"

She sent him an exasperated look. "There you go. You've moved out of the acceptable area of small talk and completely into the impolite realm of the 'too familiar.'"

"If I were to talk about the blasted weather, it would bore us both and then I'd say something foolish, and you'd get angry-with reason, but still-and then I'd try to apologize, but you wouldn't accept-" He shrugged. "We might as well skip all of that and discuss something that a.s.sists us both." When she hesitated, he said bluntly, "You're worried about something. It's in your eyes."

She sighed, and as she did so, she leaned a bit against him, her breast warm against his arm. "I shouldn't talk to you about this, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"You've no one else to talk to."

"True. I admit I'm a bit worried about this undertaking."

"I don't blame you. There is no more serious undertaking than marriage."

"My sisters are happily married, both of them. My parents were, too. It's quite a challenge to follow in their footsteps. I can only hope that I'll make someone a good wife, for I truly wish to be happily married, too."

He watched her from under his lashes. She would be an excellent wife. She was beautiful, amusing, intelligent, well read, appreciated the arts, played the pianoforte with a pa.s.sion that made his heart melt, was compa.s.sionate and gentle-he had to bite back a desire to demand how she could think she'd be anything but an excellent wife. "Don't be foolish."

Surprisingly, this didn't seem to calm her concerns.

He added, "Any man would be d.a.m.ned lucky if you so much as looked his way, much less agreed to wed him."

Her eyes widened. "Kirk, that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me since I arrived."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, are the men here dead?"

She laughed although she shook her head. "Two things-one, as you know but cannot seem to remember, a gentleman never curses before a lady, and two, no, the men are not dead. Some have been very kind and said some lovely things, but I know you don't often praise, so it's worth a good deal when you do."

"I meant it." He did, too. And any fool with a pair of eyes and a brain would think the same way. She wasn't perfect, but to him, even her foibles-her impetuousness, her stubbornness, her innate desire to always better the people about her-added to her charm, even as they frustrated him to the ends of the earth and back. He supposed he was cursed, but there it was.

"In fact"-she tilted her head to one side, her gaze roving over his face-"what you said was actually quite romantic."

"I don't believe in romance."

"You don't believe in a good many things that you should." She sent him a half smile. "'Away with your fictions of flimsy romance, those tissue of falsehood which folly has wove. Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, or the rapture which dwells-'"

"'-on the first kiss of love.'"

"Exactly! You-of all people-have memorized that poem. Lord Bryon should be honored."

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think."

"Perhaps not." Her voice was thoughtful, and she gave him an appraising look. "When I came to the library, I was determined to tell you that your scheme was impossible, but now . . . Perhaps you are right."

"About the kiss?"

"Yes."

Hope leapt but he held it at bay, afraid it might show on his face and frighten her away from the line she was about to cross. "So perhaps . . ."

"Perhaps we should practice that all-important first kiss. Where you could not convince, Byron has."

"For once, I find myself liking him."

She sent him a laughing look, and with it, she had him completely at her mercy.

Unaware of her power, she slipped her hand from his arm and faced him. "So . . . how do we proceed?"

For a wild moment, he couldn't move or speak or even breathe. But then a quirk of her brows brought him to life. "Slowly. There will be no rushing this time." He set his cane against a chair and then turned to face her and gently took her hands in his.

It was such a simple gesture, to grasp her hands, yet it gave rise to a new tension-one so thick and instant that he was surprised it didn't shimmer in the air about them.

Dahlia gave him a nervous laugh. "I-I don't know what to-"

"This time, just hold still."

"But I-"

He captured the rest of her words with the gentlest of kisses, his lips barely possessing hers.