Season For Desire by Theresa Romain Page B

skin. “I notice you don’t protest anymore when I call you ‘princess.’ Why not?”
    “A matter of the propriety you think I do not possess.” Audrina brushed fine-grained blotting sand from her fingertips, noting that her right hand had become speckled with ink. She had learned a neat script, but the process of writing always left her a bit untidy. “I told you it was not an appropriate name to call me, yet you insist. I can only conclude that you are too foolish to remember, in which case it would be unkind of me to remind you of your incapability, or that you wish to give offense, in which case it is unkind of you, and I should not pay you any heed.”
    Gently, his thumb traced one gilded panel of the puzzle box. “Beautifully reasoned. Can’t argue with a bit of that. Though there’s one possibility you didn’t account for.”
    “Oh?” She watched his thumb slide over the smooth wood. Low in her belly, a wary warmth trembled.
    “I thought you ought to have a nickname.”
    “Oh?”
    “You also didn’t tell me you didn’t like it. You only told me it wasn’t appropriate.”
    “Oh.” Really, Audrina? One syllable? Come up with something more impressive than that. Her mind blank, she pulled a sheet of paper toward herself, then folded over a vertical strip. Sliding her nail along the edge to weaken it, she tore off a thin strip. Then another.
    The smooth actions helped order her thoughts. “No, it is not appropriate, but it might be all right. Why do you think you must nickname me? Is it to belittle me or to create a bond between us?”
    “I’m not sure which is the right answer,” he replied. “To be honest, at first I expected you to be selfish and spoiled.”
    “Such compliments will give me the vapors.” Smoothing her strips of paper, she began pleating them into a little spring. If her hands trembled a little, he would not notice.
    “Only at first, when I thought you’d run off to Scotland and made your family worry.” Pushing back his chair, he rose to stand before the window. “When you told me you’d been carried off against your will, I realized I’d wronged you. You must have been afraid, but you didn’t break down. You were—well, like I imagine a princess would be.”
    “Oh,” she said again. “You managed to turn that into something resembling a compliment. Well done, Mr. Rutherford.” Under her crisp words, her heart stuttered; she was both dismayed and flattered at being seen so clearly.
    “Now I feel as though I’m being condescended to.” He turned, a silhouette against the window. “Won’t you call me Giles, my lady? If for no other reason, it’ll be more efficient when my father is around. No more having to specify which Mr. Rutherford is the object of your scorn.”
    Audrina set aside her pleated paper spring. “Your father seems like a nice, well-mannered man. I should never scorn him.”
    He laughed. “One little piece of a truce at a time, I guess.” With a nod, he indicated her paper spring. “What’s that you’ve made?”
    “I like to make things,” she said. “It was just paper before, and now it is different.” She compressed it, then let it go, smiling as the folded paper popped out to its full length. “But it’s useless. I should have left the paper alone.” She scooped it up, ready to crush it in her fist.
    “No!” Giles lunged for the table, catching himself on the edge. He cupped Audrina’s hand in his as gently as he had plucked up the fallen sprig of mistletoe the day before. “Don’t destroy it. It’s interesting.”
    Surprised, she went still. He looked a little surprised himself. “That is—it might be good for something, even though we don’t know what yet.”
    “You truly think a paper spring might be good for something?” She tipped it into his hand, drawing back her own to a safe distance.
    “One never knows.” He brought his hand close to his face, studying it. “I like that pleated shape. Almost like a