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“In two days,” she said. Those green eyes met his only briefly, but they still caused a jolt within him. “I am looking forward to seeing my parents again, and Denwick, my home.”
He knew better than to take her words at face value. In a moment of madness, when he’d first learned about her leaving, he had told her he would save her from her fate. He had been berating himself for it ever since. Besides the fact that she would think his comment presumptuous, how on earth was he going to save her? And did she even want to be saved?
For a time he had played with a few solutions, but the idea of ruining her still held the most appeal. So much so that he thought about it at the most inconvenient times. Like now.
Margaret in his bed, her green eyes dazed with passion, her mouth red from his kisses.
He pushed the thoughts aside. He hadn’t been so obsessed with a woman for…well, ever, and he needed to get a grip on his fantasies. Seducing Margaret Willoughby was not something he was going to do.
A long time ago, he had set himself the task of creating happy endings for those who could not seem to manage them for themselves, because there was never going to be a happy ending for him. His task had given him successes and failures, and he was just going to have to chalk Margaret up to the latter.
“If I was going to travel it would not be to Northumberland,” Sibylla broke into his thoughts. “I prefer warmer climes.”
Margaret forced a smile. “So do I. Perhaps one day I will be able to visit those places. I have a dream where I am in Verona, and I sit in the sun with my sketch pad.”
“Are you an accomplished artist?” Dominic asked.
She shook her head. “Not accomplished, no. It is just that I always think Verona sounds so romantic, and a sketch pad would give me an excuse to day dream.”
So the practical Margaret was a romantic at heart? Dominic wasn’t sure whether that would help his cause or not. But what was the point of telling her he would take her to Verona, where they would lie in bed and drink wine and make love, and then walk together through narrow streets under the warm Italian sun, when it was never going to happen?
“Perhaps you don’t need to stay in Northumberland. Will you visit us again?” The new resident was still there, speaking to Margaret in the meticulous voice of the intoxicated while his gaze lingered on Sibylla. “Surely your family would not begrudge you catching up with your old chums?”
Margaret wore that look Dominic recognized all too well. As if she wanted to say something tart but was restraining herself for the sake of good manners. He wished she wouldn’t—her sharp tongue and her enmity toward him were things he particularly enjoyed. It set her apart from all the other women he was acquainted with. Her obvious dislike of him and her lack of respect were, in fact, the first things that had attracted him to her. He wondered if, had she known that, it would have tempered her urge to tell him off?
Would she have been content to play the little mouse to keep the big bad earl from her door?
“I doubt there will be time for that, once I am back in Denwick,” she said politely. “I will have a great many things to do. There won’t even be time to think.”
She sounded as if she considered that a good thing.
Her green eyes slid up to Dominic’s and away again. She bit her lip and he felt himself go hard. This was another of Margaret’s quirks that caused him to lose his equilibrium, if only she knew. It was probably better that she didn’t.
Sibylla also looked over at her brother. There was something meaningful in her eyes before she took a firm hold on the arm of the gentleman. As she turned him away she was saying that, since he was as new to the square as she was, they needed to stick together. That left Dominic and Margaret alone, and he was fully aware that that had been his sister’s intent.
Margaret watched them go as if she wished she could go with them, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin, and prepared to make polite conversation as required. Even with her chin up and her back straight she barely reached his shoulder. A small curvy armful.
“Lady Richmond shared her happy news with me and your part in it,” she said.
He feigned ignorance. “Did she?”
She wasn’t deceived. “She said that you offered her some helpful advice.”
Dominic remembered the advice he had given. He’d been visiting Lavinia Richmond after Captain Longhurst had left in high dudgeon, and he’d told her not to give up on happiness, even when achieving it felt too difficult.
“I gave her a nudge,” he said, with uncharacteristic modesty.
“I would have thought you’d be quick to claim this victory. You usually do.” Her tongue was as sharp as ever but there was a droop to her lips that made him think her heart wasn’t entirely in it.
He paused, allowing her t
o believe he might take offence, while the truth was he was enjoying the way her dark hair caught the candlelight in strands of red and brown and gold. As usual, her hair was neat, but some of the curls, either by accident or by design, had tumbled against one shoulder, drawing attention to her creamy skin. Dominic wanted to explore. It wouldn’t take much effort for him to bend his head and breathe in her warm womanly scent.
He had been silent for long enough. The colour in her cheeks had deepened, and she was aware of his perusal, though trying to pretend she wasn’t.
“I am being modest, Miss Willoughby,” he said at last in a reproving voice.
She laughed, just as he knew she would. The sound of it did that odd thing to his chest again.
