What she could recall with accuracy was the instant she’d become aware of the depth of her feelings for him. It had happened last month when he’d told her the time had arrived for her to make her debut in the spring. Initially she’d been excited. Until he’d informed her he’d make arrangements for her to stay with his mother while he remained at Southwater House.
The two homes weren’t far from each other, but living apart would deny them the chance to interact on a daily basis as she’d grown accustomed to doing, to share their first thoughts of the day over breakfast and engage in companionable conversation in the evenings before they retired.
The notion had been unbearable though he’d insisted it necessary. Being in town would be different from the countryside idyll where her aging governess had been enough of a chaperone. Miss Thistledown had departed two days ago however so she could spend Christmas with family before she retired on the pension Duncan had provided. He’d insisted a younger and more alert woman would be required to safeguard Fiona’s reputation henceforth. And once she made her debut, he’d told her, the parameters between them would change, and it would no longer be deemed appropriate for her to stay beneath his roof, chaperone or no.
Least of all in Town where one wrong move could destroy her reputation forever.
“It’s for your own good,” he’d reasoned while she’d felt like crying.
She held back her tears, thank heaven, but her heart had still ached at the prospect of having her life upended, of everything changing, of leaving Duncan forever.
With this in mind, she’d made a decision. Tonight was Christmas Eve, and she would use every opportunity such a magical evening offered to her advantage. This was her chance to make him see her, not as the heartbroken girl he’d once taken in, but as a woman who loved him with all she was worth.
Every muscle in Duncan’s body drew tight when Fiona entered the parlor. For a second, his mind went blank, so he nearly forgot he was meant to stand in the presence of a lady. Mouth dry, he rushed to his feet and prayed he did not appear as awkward as he felt.
His heart hammered and finding the right words was near impossible when she was dressed in a frothy creation that made her look either like a goddess or a delectable gift he longed to unwrap. He seemed capable only of gawking at her perfection while thanking the heavens that no other men were present to see her like this.
“Good evening, Fiona,” he finally managed, kicking his brain into motion. “You look”–sensational, seductive as hell, ready to bring every man in the world to his knees–“lovely.” Somehow, he managed to say this with a calm that stood in complete contrast to the storm raging within him.
Her answering smile was hesitant, perhaps even slightly unsure. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is Christmas Eve after all – perhaps the last one you and I will share together like this if I have a successful Season. I wanted to look my best.”
The reminder that she would soon be dancing and flirting, engaging in courtship, was like a punch to his gut. He winced behind gritted teeth and endeavored to do all he could to change such eventuality. God, the very idea of other men being afforded the same view he was being allowed right now was maddening. Lord help him, her décolletage was cut so low her breasts appeared on the verge of escape.
This, of course, prompted a series of very distracting thoughts, like kissing his way across her shoulder, dipping one finger inside her gown, encouraging her to spill into his hands. Would she slap him for being so daring or would she sigh with pleasure?
He would not know unless he risked being with her.
Stomach clenched, he did his best to temper the potent effect she had on him. There would be time for that later. Once he’d discerned if she might share his interest.
Intent on invoking the easy atmosphere they’d always shared when together, he tried for a mischievous smile. “I do believe the occasion calls for us to open that bottle of brandy I have been saving. What say you?”
Her eyes widened a fraction. “The one you received from Prinny?”
“The very same.”
A startled laugh burst past her lips. “You would not even open that for the Marquess of Gilford when he came to visit.”
Allowing the left side of his mouth to curve into a smile intended to prevent his scar from wrinkling, he told her sincerely, “The Marquess of Gilford is not as important to me nor as dear to my heart as you are, Fiona.”
Her lips parted as if she might say something in response. Instead, she just stood there, staring at him in wonder.
Fearing he might have been more forthright than she was prepared for, he turned and went to fill two glasses, ever conscious of his blood rushing through his veins. He took a few breaths to calm himself before handing her one of the glasses. “What do you think our first toast of the evening should be?”
Fiona studied the amber liquid that filled her glass, then slowly raised her gaze to his. “To a future filled with good fortune and possibility for us both.”
Although he’d hoped she’d use the opportunity to encourage him if she shared his attraction, he knew better. A proper young lady would not be so bold. Hell, even he lacked the courage to be completely transparent. So he gave her a nod of approval, raised his glass to his lips, and allowed the spicy drink to ease his torment.
Fiona had never felt more out of sorts. For the first time ever, she’d no idea what to say to the duke, so she spoke very little and focused on eating the tasty meal Cook had prepared. When she’d arrived in the parlor earlier, he’d stared at her as if she’d walked in naked. It had made her so self–conscious of the gown she’d elected to wear, it had taken every ounce of control she possessed not to run back upstairs and change.
And then he’d said what he’d said. The Marquess of Gilford is not as important to me nor as dear to my heart as you are, Fiona.
What did that mean? That he considered her family? That his responsibility toward her as her guardian made her more important to him than his best friend? Or had he suggested he cared for her as much as she cared for him?
She’d not dared presume as much, so she’d made the toast without risking the sort of talk she dreaded, the one where he would say, “I’m flattered, Fiona, but you are like a sister to me.”
A piece of plum pudding entered her mouth, prompting her to blink and reflect on the fact that the meal was almost over without either one of them having said much of anything. She followed the bite of dessert with a sip of sweet port and glanced at Duncan with wary apprehension, only to catch him watching her with what appeared to be deep consideration.
“Is it just me or does it feel as though there’s a massive wedge between us?” he asked.
A sigh of relief swept through her even as her stomach began curling inward. Despite the discomfort of his question, there was something curiously liberating about being forced to face the truth. “Our conversation, or lack thereof, has made for a strenuous atmosphere. Which in and of itself is curious since I’ve always been comfortable with the silences we’ve shared. Furthermore, it strikes me as odd that neither of us can find a good subject to discuss when we’ve never struggled to do so before.”
“Hmm…” He knit his brow and flattened his mouth.