Page 48 of The Music of Love

“You must stop giving me things, Mr. Harrington.”

“Give me your hand,” he demanded.

“Don’t you know the word ‘please’?” He ignored her question and unbuttoned the two tiny buttons that held her glove closed and then pulled it off, finger by finger. He was wearing his walking glasses and she reached up with her free hand to remove them. She stared at his ridiculously long eyelashes, lust pounding through her veins like a torrential river. Something cool slid onto the third finger of her left hand and she looked down. An enormous emerald-cut diamond sparkled up at her.

“Oh Stacy, it is beautiful.” She looked up to find his gorgeous eyes on her. “It is also enormous.”

“Why thank you.” His slight smile was beyond wicked.

Portia flushed, loving his playful flirtation more than the expensive gift. “Please, do stop giving me such lovely things.” She gazed down at her hand and tilted it from side to side, the gem catching the light from the window and sparkling. “Not that I have any intention of returning this,” she muttered.

Stacy took her chin in strong, warm fingers and forced her to look at him. “I did not get it because I like you, Portia. I bought it hoping it might get me a kiss.”

“What an indecent proposal, Mr. Harrington. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few days for your kiss.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing a completely new expression cross his face, one of utter surprise at being denied something he wanted, and then he threw back his head and laughed. She snatched her hand away and plucked her glove off the desk before taking a few steps to a safe distance. When she’d closed the two buttons she looked up to find him watching her with an intensity that made her body tighten. His red eyes burned and it was all she could do not to fling herself at him. But the next time flinging was done, she resolved that it would be him doing it.

“Are you ready, Mr. Harrington?” she asked coolly, cocking one eyebrow at him. He really needed a lesson when it came to expecting her to fawn all over his person. Just because he was all she thought about did not mean she had to give in to her impulses. Denying him might be just as enjoyable.

But somehow she doubted it.

Stacy walked with a cane beside Portia as they entered the section of forest that led to Nanny’s bluff-top cottage. His leg was stiff and forced him to amble slowly. They walked in companionable silence while he thought about a recent conversation they’d had. Spurred by the realization that he really knew very little about her Stacy had asked her about her friends—the six teachers who used to work at her school.

The tongue of jealousy that had licked at him upon learning that one of them—Miles Ingram—was a handsome young lord had been a surprise, and not a pleasant one. It also made him recall Kitty’s warning when he’d invited her to their wedding. Perhaps she’d been correct about Portia not wishing to meet one of his ex-lovers. How could he ask her to accept such a situation when he became jealous just hearing about a mere friend?

Stacy was learning many things about himself, and not all of them pleasant. His possessive feelings toward his bride to be were uncomfortable. He’d never been troubled by such emotions before and his reaction made him realize how bloodless his feelings for Penelope had been.

He watched Portia pick a daisy that was growing in a narrow strip of sunlight beside the path. She tucked the flower in the velvet band of her bonnet and looked up at him. “There, how is that?”

“Hideous,” he lied.

She laughed and resumed walking. “I’m so sorry my friend Annis is not able to come.”

“Is she the closest of your friends?”

“No, that would probably be Serena. But Annis is so gentle and sweet I was rather thinking she would enjoy meeting Jeremy Lawson.”

“Ah, playing matchmaker?”

“Perhaps a little.” She sighed.

Stacy privately thought young Lawson was half in love with Portia. Stacy could not blame him; he was half-way in love with her himself. Maybe a little more than half.

“Lawson is a personable and biddable young man. I am sure he’ll find a female eager to manage him when he decides the time is right.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “You make it sound so romantic, Mr. Harrington.”

Romantic? Stacy supposed he wasn’t.

“You know him better than I do, Portia, but I daresay Lawson has more than enough romance in his bosom for two. He needs a wife like his mother—somebody shrewd.”

“You think Mrs. Lawson is shrewd? She seems so…gentle and vague.”

“Do not mistake her lightness of manner for a lack of shrewdness, my dear. Mrs. Lawson manages the vicar with the skill of a military commander. I daresay the vicar needs that,” he hastened to add.

Stacy, however, did not. Although Mrs. Lawson was a charming woman she had a distinctly managing gleam in her eyes. He much preferred the look in Portia’s eyes: amorous.

“You sound disapproving, Mr. Harrington. Do you dislike ambition and intelligence in a female?” There was an edge in her voice that made him smile.