Slightly Dangerous (Bedwyn Saga, #6)

by Mary Balogh

Yet now he felt that perhaps he had missed one of the few chances life offered to step off the wheel of routine and familiarity and duty to discover if there was joy somewhere beyond its turning.

The ducal eyes rested on her for a moment, and the ducal quizzing glass was raised to the level of the ducal chest.

“I love it,” she said, “when you can be provoked into spite. Or perhaps I insult you by accusing you of that. A more genteel word would be setdown. It was a rather magnificent one and certainly put me in my place.” He gazed haughtily at her. “And I love it, Mrs. Derrick,” he said softly, “when you can be provoked to laughter—even when you do it with just your eyes.”

“I have them by heart,” he said. “Any man who hopes to marry you, you told me, must have a warm personality, human kindness, and a sense of humor. He must love people, particularly children, and frolicking and absurdity. He must be a man who is not obsessed with himself and his own consequence. He must be someone who is not ice to the core. He must be someone who has a heart. He must be capable of being your companion and friend and lover. You asked me if I could be all those things to you—or any of them. You implied, of course, that I could be none.”

furiously when she felt them fill with tears. “You would sap all the energy and all the joy from me. You would put out all the fire of my vitality.” “Give me a chance to fan the flames of that fire,” he said, “and to nurture your joy.”

He had never expected to fall in love. He had certainly never expected to develop an attachment to someone so very ineligible. And so he was quite unprepared to deal with the emotional turmoil that doing both had brought with

He feared that he was a little more than just in love with Christine Derrick. He very much feared that she had become essential to his happiness. And that in itself was a strange, alarming thought. He had never looked for happiness. He had never considered it important. He had never even really believed in it. Or perhaps he had. During the past three years he had seen each of his siblings find it and live with it. He had seen the wild and sometimes cold, even heartless, Bedwyns grow into the still wild, but contented, almost domesticated Bedwyns. And, without fully realizing it, he had felt left behind and ever so slightly resentful.

“Wulfric loves very deeply,” she said. “He just needs someone who can help him show it openly.” Rannulf laughed and Joshua chuckled. Alleyne went to sit beside Rachel, took her hand in his, and laced their fingers together. “Rachel has held this strange belief about Wulf,” he said, “from the moment she first set eyes on him.” “I was the only one who saw his face,” Rachel explained, “when he set eyes upon Alleyne for the first time after believing for several months that he was dead. The rest of you saw only that he hurried across the terrace at Morgan’s wedding and hugged Alleyne. I saw his face. And if anyone wants to say in my hearing that Wulfric is a cold man and feels no deep emotion, I am here to argue with that person.” “And

“What I think,” Joshua said, “for what it is worth when I am talking to Bedwyns and know perfectly well that they invariably do the opposite of what one suggests—what I think is that we should leave well enough alone. I cannot think of anything much more ludicrous than a band of well-meaning Bedwyns plotting together to save Wulfric—Bewcastle, for the love of God!—from one unlikely marriage prospect only to thrust another even more unlikely one in his way.”

“I believe you were put on this earth to bring light to your fellow mortals, Mrs. Derrick. And I believe you should stop assuming that you know me and understand me.”

“I believe I could stand the power of your light, Mrs. Derrick. My own identity would not be diminished by it. And yours would not be diminished by my power. You once told me I would sap your joy, but you belittle yourself if you truly believe it. Joy can be sapped only by weakness. I am not, I believe, a weak man.”

her and then turning to look back at her, “know no other way of fighting your attraction to me than to convince yourself that you know me through and through.

“I find myself constantly infuriated and enchanted by you,” he told her. “Often both at the same time. How can one explain that?”

“I do not want to enchant you,” she cried. “I do not even want to infuriate you. I do not want to be anything to you. You have no business having feelings for a woman you so obviously despise. Imagine how much more you would come to despise me if you were forced to live with me for the rest of your life.” He speared her with his cold glance. “Is that what happened to you the last time?” he asked

I cannot assure you that I will become a changed man in order to fit your dream. You find me cold, reticent, hard, and I am all those things. But I am not only those things.”

Her eyes met his across the empty floor. He could not resist. His fingers grasped the jeweled handle of his quizzing glass and raised it all the way to his eye before lowering it slightly. Even across the distance he could see the laughter well up into her eyes. And then she reached down into a little cloth reticule that hung from her wrist and brought something out of it. For a moment all he could see of it was black ribbon. She brought the object slowly up to her eye and regarded him—through the lens of his own quizzing glass. Wulfric Bedwyn, the oh-so-toplofty, oh-so-frosty Duke of Bewcastle, was shocked into uttering a short bark of laughter. Then he smiled at her slowly until his whole face beamed his amusement and affection.