Free Season For Desire by Theresa Romain Page B

English princess. She could not possibly want to be here, in York with near strangers, yet she managed to smile.
    She was smiling now, a wry twist of red lips. “I hope you will not give me stale bread this time.”
    So she was thinking of it, too. A strange sort of intimacy to bind them. “Probably not necessary, since we’ve all just had luncheon. For my part, I hope you won’t dart off to talk to a dangerous young man.”
    “That’s not necessary either. You are the only young man here.”
    “Are you implying that I’m dangerous, or simply convenient?”
    “I cannot think of a man who brought me bread as dangerous, nor a man who saw me in such distress as convenient.”
    “What about a man who saved you from a terrible situation?” he blurted, then forgot to breathe in again.
    “It required several people to do that, Mr. Rutherford, including my father and Lady Irving. So I am not sure whether to consider any of you dangerous, but I am convinced none of you thought of me as convenient.”
    Across the tea table they faced each other, the golden box between them. She was as much a mystery as the contents, he now thought. He’d been inclined to regard her as gilded yet empty, but she had proved him wrong almost at once. What she was truly made of, though, he had no idea. She was too proud to give any hint, and he was too proud to ask.
    Above the room’s marble chimneypiece, a sprig of mistletoe was clutched by the hands of a sly-faced stone angel. What if Giles drew Audrina to the fireplace, to kiss her beneath the excuse of those waxy green leaves? Would she forget her cool façade, or the fact that she didn’t want to be here?
    Not that he had meant to spend so much time in England himself. If they both had their way, they wouldn’t be anywhere near each other.
    That was not a thought he liked at all, even though it was inevitable. By all rights, the Atlantic and a few blue-blooded centuries of haughtiness would separate them.
    Besides that, there was the matter of his hands. A reminder he carried about with him, every moment, always, that there was no time for romance in his unwinding life. That he needed to be efficient and vigilant with the time he had.
    Which meant, for now, that he needed to shake the numbness from his fingers and the ache from his wrists, then turn his attention back to the puzzle box. It was the only thing holding together their party of travelers. “Our stay in England has brought many inconveniences, princess. But you can hardly expect me to tell you if you’re one of them, can you?” He looked up for a flicker, just long enough to see her dark brows draw together, then returned his gaze to the puzzle box. “Not even an American would be capable of such rudeness.”
    “Mr. Rutherford, I’ve no idea of what Americans are capable. They seem not to be capable of opening puzzle boxes, though.”
    Giles shot her a filthy look.
    “A persuasive argument,” she said. “Very articulate and well-reasoned. I’ll get a paper and pen so we can begin to make note of your attempts.”
    Off she glided, soundless over the deep pile of the carpet. She moved with such grace, the confidence that whatever she did must be utterly right. Such confidence seemed too deep to pile up in one lifetime, instead collecting over the course of generations like coats of shining lacquer.
    “Sleigh bells would be wonderful!” Richard’s low voice rang from the end of the room, and Giles straightened up to regard his father. “Shall we hang them from the back of the door? Every time someone enters, he will be greeted with a pleasant jingle.”
    “Pleasant once, maybe.” Lady Irving tossed aside a bit of garland. “After that, I shall stick a poker in my ear to be spared the din.” Her hand drifted to her turban, and she granted, “Well, maybe not a poker. No sense in wreaking permanent damage.”
    Giles grinned. While Richard made it his life’s work to be agreeable to everyone, Lady Irving seemed