"An' ye wish t' be first?"

"I already was. Now I just have to stay there."

What does that mean? Dahlia pressed closer to the shuttered window. Why is he putting himself through this?

A stable boy led a large bay right in front of the window, blocking Dahlia's view, so she moved two windows down. She could still see, but she couldn't hear a word now.

Perhaps Kirk wishes to ride again.

Dahlia watched as the valet placed the robe over Kirk's shoulders and they began to talk earnestly, looking at the swinging bag of wheat. The entire time, Kirk continued to rub his knee.

She frowned. What was he thinking, engaging in an activity that put so much pressure upon his leg? But Kirk's expression held her. Though he winced when he stood and put weight on his leg, he also had a pleased glow to his face.

Kirk pulled on his robe, the silk clinging to his damp skin. When he tied the belt around his narrow waist, the robe outlined every delectable muscle. Dahlia's heart thudded an extra beat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tingling as she imagined peeling Kirk's silk robe from his shoulders, of kissing his broad chest, of stroking every bit of his muscled frame and- She caught her unruly imagination, her blood heated nigh until boiling even though her teeth were nearly chattering. For all of his flaws, he's a magnificent-looking man. But it's more than that. He's intelligent, quick-witted, painfully honest, and sensual in ways I've never imagined. It's no wonder I care for him. He's- She blinked. I do care for him. And . . . even more than care. I think I love him.

She pressed her hands to her suddenly pounding head. But I can't love him-not when he merely thinks of me as compatible. I can't be the only one who loves.

Her thoughts jumbled, she blindly turned from the window. I need to think, to understand how this happened. Her throat tight, she strode up the path toward the moors.

Eighteen.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

And now the weather has turned. What else can possibly go wrong? Oh, wretched Christmas Ball! I had such hopes . . .

Cane in hand, Kirk strode from the stables, the icy wind stealing his breath. His progress should have cheered him, but since his argument with Dahlia he'd been miserable. And not just a little, but thoroughly, deeply, troublingly so.

Everything he ate tasted like sawdust, every joke he heard was unfunny, every activity proposed for the guests' amus.e.m.e.nt sounded dull and repulsive. Never in all of his life had he ever felt so low. All he could do was think about his last conversation with Dahlia and suffer his own regrets in silence.

It might have helped if he'd been able to speak to her, but since their disastrous argument, she'd been locked away helping with Miss Stewart.

He'd heard this morning that Miss Stewart was much improved, and for the first time in three days, his heart had lightened. He and Dahlia had to talk, and they couldn't do it if they never saw each other. He wasn't certain they could find a solution, but he couldn't bear for things to stay the way they were now. He couldn't bear the thought of her being unhappy, of her gray-blue eyes filled with tears, as they'd been the last time he'd seen her. That image tormented him, disturbed his sleep and thoughts until he felt he might go mad with it.

A coach rolled past and he watched it. Yet another fleeing guest, he supposed. There were few enough of them left. He made his way into the castle, where he was greeted by four footmen and a herd of yapping pugs.

He glared at the dogs. "You are a pack of wild ones."

Gray-haired Randolph, calmer than the rest, sat off to one side, though his tail waggled crazily.

Kirk nodded his approval. "You know how to behave, don't you? But the rest of you are disgraces."

One of the footmen offered, "They're hopin' to get to the tree, m'lord. Her grace just closed the doors to the ballroom and refuses to allow them to enter."

"Why would dogs care about a Christmas tree?"

"They love to grab the silver strings and run off with them. Her grace dinna like tha', as she worries they might eat them and get sick, so she sets us to watch the beasties." He suddenly straightened and stared ahead as the butler sailed out of a side hallway.

"Och, me lor', allow me to take yer coat," MacDougal said.

"No, thank you. I'd like to keep it on, for I'm not appropriately dressed to meet another guest." It was almost laughable that he heard himself say such a thing. Good G.o.d, he was becoming a dandy.

A burst of wind hit the front of the castle, banging the shutters and sending an icy wisp under the doors. The dogs barked and ran in circles.

"Silence, ye wild beasties!" MacDougal shook his head. "'Tis a north wind, me lor'. When they come, they bring us icy rain or snow."

"Lord Kirk, there you are." Her grace sailed out of the Blue Salon, dressed in a green gown adorned with a mult.i.tude of furbelows. "Just the man I wished to see."

He bowed. "Your grace. May I help you?"

"Yes. Lady Charlotte and I wish to speak to you."

"I need to bathe and change my clothes first."

"Nonsense. Roxburghe rides from dawn until dark and reeks of the stables from the day he arrives until he leaves for London, so I'm quite used to such things. Come. It won't take a moment." Without giving him time to speak, she turned and disappeared back into the salon, the pugs falling in behind her.

MacDougal gave Kirk an apologetic look. "She's been oop since dawn, worryin' aboot the guests as are leaving. I canno' blame them, fer the Spanish influenza is naught to treat lightly."

Kirk nodded. "I'm not leaving. Not unless Miss Balfour does."

The butler smiled fondly. "Och, she's no' goin' anywhere, is Miss Balfour. She's a heart as stout as her head."

"I know. Sadly, she's set them both against me."

"Ye think so, me lor'? I was well on me way to thinkin' she was showin' herself to be fond o' ye."

"If only I were so lucky." Sending the butler a wry look, Kirk went into the Blue Salon.

At the opposite end of the room, her grace and Lady Charlotte sat at either side of the fire. Her grace was on a settee, one of the pugs in her lap, while Lady Charlotte occupied a plump chair. She was knitting while also trying to read a book that lay open upon her knee, and doing neither particularly well. With every few rows of knitting, her yarn would catch the edge of the book and slide it off her knee.

He bowed. "Your grace. Lady Charlotte."

Her grace patted the settee beside her. "Come. Sit." It wasn't a question.

"I would rather stand, if you don't mind."

"I mind. Now come and sit."

He reluctantly did so. Randolph rose from his place in front of the fire and shuffled to Kirk's feet, snuffed his boots, and then dropped into a ball across the toes.

"Well?" Lady Charlotte said.

"Well what?"

Her grace sighed. "I don't have time for nonsense, Kirk. There's Spanish flu on the loose and my guests are leaving in droves, so pray cut to the chase and don't pretend everything is fine between you and Miss Balfour. We know something is wrong."

He blinked. "Has she said something?"

"Lud, no. Every time we say your name, she just gets quiet, which is quite annoying." Her grace looked at Charlotte. "I do wish women were more outspoken."

"Me, too." Charlotte knitted on.

Kirk sighed. "Dahlia's been attending Miss Stewart. That's all."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"We've eyes in our heads," her grace said sharply.

"Oh yes," Lady Charlotte said, her book starting to slip. "It's obvious to everyone that you're not speaking to each other."

Randolph looked up as if to agree.

Kirk patted the dog. Should he tell Lady Charlotte and her grace about his mistake? If he was careful, he could explain a portion of the issue. Perhaps they could advise him in how to proceed. G.o.d knew, he could use the help. "You're right; Miss Balfour and I had an argument. She seems to think that something I said was a grievous mistake."

"A mistake?" Lady Charlotte's hands couldn't knit faster. "Another one?"

He almost winced. "I feel maligned."

Her grace patted his hand where it rested on his knee. "There, there. No need to look so upset. Tell us what happened."

He sighed and leaned back. "It's about the poetry reading."

"Which was lovely," Lady Charlotte said.

"Very," her grace agreed. "I thought Dahlia very touched by it."

"She was," he agreed. "I did as Lady Charlotte suggested, and changed the eye color mentioned in the poem to match Dahlia's."

Her grace beamed at Lady Charlotte. "So that your doing."

Lady Charlotte blushed. "I thought it would make the reading more personal."

"Sadly, it did." He gave a short laugh and raked a hand through his hair. "Dahlia thought the words of the poem were about her, and she responded very warmly." If he closed his eyes right this second, he could still feel her warmth about him. "Very warmly."

"Oh my." Lady Charlotte leaned forward.

The d.u.c.h.ess did the same. "And?"

"And so I proposed to her again."

"Good for you!" her grace said.

"No, not good for me, because once again, she refused me." He threw up his hands. "And d.a.m.ned if I know why! When she told me she wished I would ask, and not just order her to marry me, I asked her right away."

The d.u.c.h.ess's brilliant blue eyes narrowed. "Hold a moment, Lord Kirk. How, exactly, did you ask her to marry you?"

"I said nothing about her family."

"But?" she prompted.

"I merely pointed out that she needed to marry me."

"Needed to? Why?"

Because I compromised her. But he couldn't say that, so instead, he said, "Because that's the way it is-she must marry me." That wasn't a lie, either. She had to marry him. She must. He didn't know how or why, but it had to happen or the rest of his life would be the way it was this instant, colorless and cold.

"'That's the way it is'?" The d.u.c.h.ess pressed a hand over her eyes. "Lord Kirk, pray tell me you didn't use quite those words."

"Actually, I believe I used exactly those words."

Lady Charlotte groaned. "Lord Kirk, after all of the work we've been doing!"

Her grace dropped her hand from her eyes. "We don't need to ask Miss Balfour's reaction, as we can already guess."

"She was angry," Lady Charlotte said.

"And perhaps sad," her grace added.

"And hurt," Lady Charlotte added.

"And definitely disappointed."

Kirk grimaced. "That's exactly what she was. She thought the poem I read was about her, but of course it wasn't, and that started things off poorly."

Lady Charlotte stopped knitting. "Wait, it wasn't about her? You didn't select it because it reminded you of her?"

He shrugged. "It was short."

Her grace and Lady Charlotte exchanged glances before her grace said, "And you admitted that."

"I'm not going to lie to her."

Her grace sighed. "No, of course you aren't. Though there are times I wish you would."