Free Daring Miss Danvers by Vivienne Lorret

he carefully tucked the blossom into the folds. Then, simply to raise her ire, he pressed it to his lips and winked at her before he returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “You’re mistaken.”
    On a huff, she turned forward and stared straight ahead at the musicians. “Hardly.”
    Yes, this was much better. After all, flirting came second nature to him. He felt more like himself. In fact, if he continued like this, he might even manage to convince himself that everything was the same between them.
    Placing his hand on the cushion, he pressed down just enough to cause her to lean toward him. Her shoulder brushed his. He lowered his head and drew in a breath, filling his nostrils with the warm, sweet scented air surrounding her. “The necessity of my actions is not for their benefit, but for mine. You see, it’s taking every ounce of control I have not to kiss you. Right here. In front of everyone.”
    The truth of his words startled him. Yet, weren’t all flirtations based on a semblance of truth? Of course they were , he convinced himself quite readily.
    Still, he never knew how much he’d enjoy telling the truth until he met Emma Danvers. If he were honest with himself—a terrible occupation he’d begun recently—he’d been disguising his truth behind bold comments, and passing them off as mere flirtations for years.
    She slid an inch away from him and he eased the pressure on the cushion so she wouldn’t go too far. He liked feeling her pressed against him. Even though it was only her shoulder, he could easily imagine something far more intimate.
    “Keep in mind that kissing me would not help your cause,” she warned, though her words had gone breathless, likely revealing more than she intended.
    He pondered her statement, and after a moment, he could find no downside. “How so?”
    “Think of the scandal.”
    His gloved finger strayed to the fabric of her gown resting between them. “You mean that, should anyone seated in front of us turn around and discover us, we would be forced to wed.”
    She looked down, following the sweeping motion of his finger for a moment before she pulled the fabric away and smoothed it over her thighs. “Precisely.”
    His gaze lingered on the shape of her legs discernible beneath the creamy silk. They were long and slender. Just above her finely sloped knees, he could see the faint outline of the ribbons that tied her stockings. It seemed far too intimate a thing to notice of Danvers’s sister—even for him. Yet, he felt his heart beat heavy and hard, trying to reclaim all the blood that was now pooling in his groin.
    “Forced to wed in haste, no doubt.” Forced to wed in truth, and with no hope of an annulment afterward without irreparably tarnishing her reputation. Something he’d vowed not to do. He kept his promises. Just like he’d promised his father that Hawthorne Manor would be a home again.
    Oddly enough, the threat of a wedding—and an early one at that—didn’t send icy shivers through him. Before now, he’d never given marriage much thought. His goals were set, after all. First, he needed the money to finish the manor and the hospital and then . . .
    Well, he supposed he would marry eventually. After all, in order for Hawthorne Manor to become a home once again, presumably a family—or more specifically, his family—would live there. In that regard, marriage seemed the most likely outcome.
    A thought blossomed suddenly, as if sprouting from a randomly planted seedling.
    He looked at Emma again, watching the way her expression altered with the music as if she were seeing something within each note. He was seeing something, too. Only not in the music.
    Rathburn knew from speaking with her parents the other day that she hadn’t formed an attachment with another man. He’d wanted to ensure his plan didn’t interfere with any of hers. Last Season, he hadn’t even seen her dance with a single gentleman. Of course, he might have had a hand in that.