She tilted her head to the side and a loose blonde curl caressed her long neck. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
A duke did not fall in love. Duty came before personal interest. Everyone knew that. He shook his head.
She nodded, as if she understood. Since she was an American, she would never have to concern herself with duty. This woman would be able to marry for love.
As an unmarried gentleman, he knew he should tread lightly in conversations of marriage. Yet she had been the one to broach the subject first. It would be poor form to end a discussion she was clearly interested in.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ he asked.
A wistful look crossed her beautiful face. ‘I have not fallen in love yet, but I have witnessed it enough. Have you not seen two people so in love that it appears their hearts will stop beating if they are not together? That is the love I believe my parents had and what I wish for myself. I want to wake to thoughts of one gentleman and close my eyes to dream of him.’
‘The sounds rather consuming.’
‘I believe love is consuming—in the most wondrous of ways.’
‘Now you are waxing poetical, Miss Vandenberg.’
‘Laugh if you will. But I shall live my life in America, in a marriage of love and fidelity, happy to keep my head.’
The thought of her married to someone else and living far away disturbed him. He could not fathom why it should bother him. He did not believe her silly notions of love. He certainly did not want her to love him!
‘And you, Your Grace—what is your idea of a perfect marriage?’
He had no idea. A knot formed in his stomach. His marriage had not been perfect. Even in the best of times it had felt awkward. His grandmother said she had been happy with his grandfather, but the man had died before Julian was born.
‘I do not know,’ he replied honestly.
‘Maybe some day you will discover what it means to be happily married.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘For that I am truly sorry.’
She proceeded to walk past him, and he moved his arm across the aisle to block her passage. It was mere inches from her breasts. He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet.
Their eyes locked and he lowered his head towards her, taking in her lemon scent. She was unaware of how captivating she was when she smiled.
‘You think I’m vexing,’ she said softly, with those tempting lips.
He lowered his head closer. ‘I think you’re enchanting.’ Just one taste was all he needed. ‘Katrina...’ he whispered, testing the sound of her name.
‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, their breaths mingling.
‘Carlisle.’
‘What Carlisle?’
‘Julian Henry Michael Charles Carlisle.’
‘That’s quite a long name.’
‘We English like to impress.’
When their lips finally touched he closed his eyes.
Almost instantly she pulled back and ducked under his arm. Reaching the end of the row, she paused and gave him a devilish grin. ‘As impressive as your name is, I do not believe it is impressive enough to warrant a kiss from me.’
By the time he walked out from where they were hidden, he caught sight of her walking out through the library door. Crossing his arms and leaning against the bookcase, Julian chided himself at his own stupidity. Dreaming about her was one thing, but actually knowing the feel of her lips and the taste of her mouth would be a mistake. He suspected that if he ever did kiss her thoroughly, she would be impossible to forget.
People from various classes and backgrounds were strolling around the British Museum as Katrina and Sarah made their way from one marble statue to the next.
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I understand they are quite old, but most of them are broken,’ Sarah mused.
Suddenly both women stopped at a marble sculpture of a nude man reclining.
‘On the other hand,’ Sarah continued, ‘I’m beginning to see what merit there is to these works.’
They both tilted their heads slightly, taking in the statue’s details.
‘Do you think it is accurate?’ Katrina whispered. ‘Even the size?’
Sarah gave a gentle tug on her arm. ‘If we have seen one naked man today, I am sure we will see others.’
Heat began to creep up Katrina’s face and she lowered her head. Still, the prospect of actually seeing what was inside a man’s breeches was too great a temptation. She turned her head one last time before Sarah pulled her forward.
‘I noticed the beautiful bouquet in your drawing room earlier,’ Sarah said with a smile. ‘I presume the roses were from Monsieur DuBois? He is very handsome, and he was attentive to you last night at the musicale.’
Katrina lifted her shoulder. ‘He is passable.’
‘Come, now, with his dark eyes and comely features, you must admit he is fine on the eyes.’
Katrina shrugged again.
Sarah looked surprised. ‘He is not to your liking?’
‘He is...in some respects. DuBois is pleasant company, and we have things in common...’
‘But?’
Katrina wished she could explain it—especially to herself. Monsieur DuBois was a lovely man. She enjoyed his company. When they had first met in Paris, months ago, she’d fancied herself smitten with him. However, things had changed since she had arrived in London. Lyonsdale had tried to kiss her.
‘He doesn’t make my heart race.’
‘I wasn’t aware you thought requiring a physician was desirable,’ Sarah said, laughing.
‘I believe a man should make you feel something. When he kisses you it should feel like...’
‘When he kisses you it should make you feel as if you can’t quite catch your breath.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So kissing him does not make you feel like that?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘We shared one small kiss in Paris. My breathing never altered.’
There was no reason that Sarah needed to
