Page 91 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

He gave a derisive snort before lifting his wineglass and drinking deeply. “I find it no burden to be among stone workers, academics, and groundskeepers. However, it taxed me greatly to interact with the intrepid Dr. Forsythe and not grind his face into the nearest lodestone.”

An unexpected laugh burst from her just as she’d taken a hearty sip of her own burgundy, and she had to press her glove to her lips in order to force a swallow.

“I don’t at all see how that’s funny,” he grumped.

Alexandra returned her wine to the table, and pressed her lips together to stifle her mirth. “It’s only that I find your jealousy of Thom—Dr. Forsythe—unnecessary.”

“You think me jealous?” He gaped at her with incredulity. “Of some noodle-armed nancy you met in a library somewhere? Don’t make me laugh.”

He didn’t appear anywhere close to laughter, but Alexandra thought it imprudent to mention.

“You’re being unkind,” she reprimanded around a smile she was helpless but to convey. “You’ve noticed Dr. Forsythe is no weakling, my lord. Furthermore, many women find intelligence every bit as diverting as Vitruvian musculature and rampant, virile masculinity.”

He leaned forward, placing his elbows in such a way that his biceps and shoulders strained against his jacket in a most distracting manner. “Rampant, virile masculinity?”The ghost of amusement haunted his lips, warming his husky baritone. “Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

Alexandra’s cheeks heated. “I wasn’t necessarily referring to you,” she lied. “Though I’ll tell you what isn’t attractive—arrogance.”

He made a dark sound of derision in his throat. “There are many forms of intelligence, as I’m sure you’re aware. Some can be found in books, others are more… elemental. Environmental. Observational, even.”

“Tracking panthers through a jungle, for example?” she suggested around another sip of wine. “Or keeping beasts, bending them to your will?”

“Well, it would have been immodest for me to say.” He gestured to the maître d’. “Arroganteven, but since you brought it up I’ll mention that I also received high marks at Oxford in my day.”

“Forsythe is a Cambridge man.”

“Bloody figures,” he muttered.

“I confess I’ve never understood the rivalry between the two institutions.” She sighed. “Not when everyone accepts the Sorbonne as the superior establishment.”

He gaped in mock outrage. “You consider yourself so clever, do you?”

“We Sorbonne alumni don’t have to consider anything. We already know,” she challenged.

“Who’s arrogant now?” He smirked. “Although you ended up with me as a husband,” he added wryly. “Some would call not only your intelligence into question, but your sanity, as well.”

Alexandra noted a shadow beneath the levity in his tone, and momentarily wondered if he’d ever shared her feelings of unworthiness.

“Others would ascribe my marriage to you as my greatest achievement, despite the fact that I’m only one of a handful of female archeologists in history.”

“What isyourassessment of the predicament you find yourself in, Doctor?” An ebony brow rose over his abruptly alert regard.

Now there was a dangerous question. One she was unprepared to answer. “Would you like to know what I think?” She idly drew light circles around the rim of her wineglass, not realizing what she was doing until his eyes drifted to the pad of her finger.

“My breath is bated,” he replied.

“I think…” She thought that this conversation in this setting with this man was perhaps the most exciting masculine interaction she’d had in some time. She’dthoughtshe’d never be able to flirt with a man, let alone her husband. Shethoughtthat in the candlelight Redmayne was perhaps the most compelling, handsomest man she’d had the pleasure of knowing. Indeed, she thought about kissing him again. And more. She thought all manner of things she dared not say as her heart trilled against her ribs at the prospect of vocalizing any of her unruly speculations.

“Ithink… you dislike Dr. Forsythe so heartily because the two of you are so alike, and that tends to rankle a person,” she deflected.

His eyes narrowed. “Do tell.”

She shrugged, strangely enjoying the glint of danger in his eyes. He was like a caged panther, daring her to provoke him, and something about this wild night by the sea stirred a recklessness inside of her. She reveled in the feeling of this audacious part of her called forth by the wicked, boyish twinkle in his eye contrasting with his ever-sinister features. “In truth,” she said, “and I’ll thank you not to quote me on this, Dr. Forsythe is little betterthan an adequate scientist. But because of his other skill sets, he is often much sought after, especially in the more exotic camps in unstable locales.”

“What skills is he perceived to possess?” Redmayne asked with droll insouciance.

“He’s rather adept at keeping camps secure and protected,” she recounted. “And fed, as he is an accomplished hunter in his own right and skilled with all manner of firearms, languages, and even certain exotic combat techniques.”

“Is that so?” His eyes slid past her, as the musicians began to tune their instruments.