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“I was not fishing for compliments,” she snapped, her color rising. “I was making conversation. That’s what polite people do. But I suppose you don’t want to talk about my sisters.”
“Not really. Do you want to talk about the letters I wrote my wife?”
“I’m your—” She stopped short and smiled that infuriating smile. “It’s none of my business.”
She grabbed a clothesbrush and attacked the hem, fiercely enough to scare away any lingering mud.
“And you sayI’mimpossible,” he muttered. “Can youbemore infuriating?”
She stopped brushing. “What on earth have I done now?”
“Try a bit of honesty. You might find it refreshing. I certainly would.”
“Are you saying I’m dishonest?”
“The only time you are not dishonest is when you are drunk or lustful. You think politeness is a virtue, but mostly it’s annoying.”
“Then it’s jolly good you feel comfortable saying what you think.”
“Try it.”
She dropped the gown and leaped toward him. “Fine! Yes! I want to know about your first wife. Why she was so marvelous that the thought of bedding me sends you fleeing like I’m some repulsive monster.” She brandished the clothesbrush at him. “And don’t you dare call me dishonest for hiding behind politeness when you hide behind busy-ness. It’s a wonder you found time in your schedule to call on me at all.”
She turned away, snatched up the gown, and resumed her assault.
“Iambusy,” he snarled, stalking closer. “I am not one of your fine gentlemen who has nothing to do all day. I have multiple businesses to run. It’s who I am, it’s what I enjoy, and I like my life like that.”
“Then go back to it. You know where the door is. Be sure to lock it again so I don’t come ravish you.”
“Oh for mercy’s sake, stop taking it out on your gown.”
He snatched the brush out of her hand. She grabbed for it but he held it out of reach.
“Give me that,” she demanded. “So I can get dressed and get out of this house and away from you!”
“I don’t find you repulsive,” he said.
“Splendid. Then you won’t be averse to catching me when I swoon over your compliments.”
“Bloody hell.” He hurled the brush across the room. “Cassandra—”
“Are you still here? Don’t let me keep you.” She glared at him. “You know that one. It meansGo away.”
She spun away from him, a crazed creature in a crazed dance. He must be hearing the same music, for he spun her back toward him, all the way back, into his arms, against his chest. He did not know this dance, but he knew the next step: He caught her head with one hand and sealed his mouth over hers.
Chapter 18
The meeting of their lips brought back the passion of the night before. Joshua was so hungry for Cassandra that one taste would never be enough.
But he forced himself to lift his head.
“Not repulsive,” he said.
“You are impossible.”
“You are perfect.”
Her eyes were dark with fury and something else, and his heart was wild with longing and something else, and he had no words, so he used his wordless mouth to cover hers.
