Read Online Mr. Cavendish, I Presume by Julia Quinn - Free Book Online Page B

felt her skin burn with embarrassment—the sort only possible when one’s own words were being tossed in one’s face. “I don’t want you to kiss me,” she stammered.

    Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
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    “Don’t you?” he asked, and she wasn’t sure how he managed it, but they weren’t quite so far apart any longer.
    “No,” she said, fighting to maintain her equilibrium.
    “I don’t, because . . . because . . . ” She thought about this—thought frantically about it, because there was no way her thoughts could be anything approaching calm and rational in such a position.
    And then it was clear.
    “No,” she said again. “I don’t. Because you don’t.”
    He froze, but just for a moment. “You think I don’t wish to kiss you?”
    “I know you don’t,” she replied, in what had to be the bravest moment of her life. Because in that moment he was everything ducal.
    Fierce. Proud. Possibly furious. And, with the wind ruffling his dark hair until it was just ever so slightly mussed, so handsome it almost hurt to look at him.
    And the truth was, she very much did wish to kiss him. Just not if he didn’t want to kiss her.
    “I believe you think too much,” he finally said.
    She could think of no possible reply. But she did add to the space between them.
    Which he eliminated immediately. “I very much wish to kiss you,” he said, moving forward. “In fact, it might very well be the only thing I wish to do with you right now.”
    “You don’t,” she said quickly, inching away. “You only think you do.”
    He laughed then, which would have been insulting if she weren’t so focused on keeping her footing— and her pride.

    72 Julia
    Quinn
    “It’s because you think you can control me that way,”
    she said, glancing down to make sure she wasn’t about to step into a mole hole as she scooted back another foot. “You think if you seduce me, I shall turn into a spineless, mushy blob of a woman, unable to do anything but sigh your name.”
    He looked as if he wanted to laugh again, although this time she thought— maybe —it would be with her, not at her.
    “Is that what you think?” he asked, smiling.
    “It’s what I think you think.”
    The left corner of his mouth quirked up. He looked charming. Boyish. Completely unlike himself—or at least unlike the man she ever got to see.
    “I think you’re right,” he said.
    Amelia was so flummoxed she actually felt her jaw drop. “You do?”
    “I do. You’re far more intelligent than you let on,”
    he said.
    Was that a compliment?
    “But,” he added, “that doesn’t change the fundamen-tal essence of the moment.”
    Which was . . . ?
    He shrugged. “I’m still going to kiss you.”
    Her heart began to pound, and her feet—traitorous little appendages that they were—grew roots .
    “The thing is,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand, “that while you are correct—I do rather enjoy turning you into a—what was that charming phrase of yours?—a spineless blob of a woman, whose only purpose in life is to agree with my every word, I find Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
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    myself rather perplexed by a certain rather self-evident truth.”
    Her lips parted.
    “I want to kiss you.”
    He tugged at her hand, pulled her toward him.
    “Very much.”
    She wanted to ask him why. No, she didn’t, because she was quite certain the answer would be something that would only melt whatever portion of her resolve still remained. But she wanted to . . . Oh, good Lord, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. Something.
    Anything. Anything that might remind them both that she was still in possession of a brain.
    “Call it luck,” he said softly. “Or serendipity. But for whatever reason, I wish to kiss you . . . it’s very enjoyable.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
    She nodded. However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie.
    His eyes seemed to darken, from azure to dusk.
    “I’m so glad