“I know of him.”
“Have youseenhim?”
“Aye.”
She turned toward him, hands clasped before her, eyes alight with interest. “Really? What’s he like?”
Philip groaned inwardly. This was not a subject he had any business discussing with her. “Your father thinks well of him.”
She raised a brow. “I didn’t ask what my father thought of him. I asked whatyouthink.”
“It’s not my place to make judgments on great lords.”
Her brow furrowed. “I see. You don’t like him.”
“I didna say that.”
“But all you do is equivocate. If you liked the man, you’d say so. However, you have apparently been taught good manners and will not disparage a man to his betrothed. That is admirable of you.”
Philip stopped in his tracks, hands on hips. “I’d rather not discuss Lord Kincreag with you—that is all. Whatever I might say—good or bad—could color your opinion in ways I canna imagine. I won’t do that.”
She gave him an impish grin. “I’m not foolish enough to let someone color my opinion of my husband before I even meet him. After all, if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him, it’s only fair I allow him to do the coloring—don’t you agree?”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because I’m curious! Wouldn’t you be? I just found out last night I’m to be married to a man I don’t even know. It would be nice to at least know what he looks like.”
Philip sighed and started walking again. “Verra well. He’s a tall man…Rather large, too. He’s swarthy and…er…quiet.”
“Like you?”
“I’m not swarthy.”
“No, but you’re rather quiet. What’s wrong with swarthy? I think I’d like a dark man—the men in England are so pale. So feminine.” She slid him an appreciative sidelong look that slidfrom his head to his toes, her auburn lashes shading her eyes like fans of copper.
Philip’s groin tightened involuntarily. He ground his teeth together. The little minx had no idea what she was playing at. He hadn’t the time or inclination for games of this sort.
“Then you’ll be pleased with your betrothed, for he is very dark.”
She smiled at him. “I’m certain I will be. How old is he? Is he older than you?”
“By at least five years.”
“And how old is that?”
“I’m nine-and-twenty…so he’s at least five-and-
thirty. Mayhap older.”
“Mmhmm.”
He glanced at her. She’d picked a wildflower from the grasses as they walked and was plucking the petals away, her expression dreamy. It annoyed him inexplicably.
“My father said he’s widowed. What was his wife like?”
This was what Philip wanted to avoid. “She was very beautiful,” he said curtly, hoping to discourage further questions.
“Oh.”
