Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

“I most certainly will, Lord Nelson. It was lovely to catch up with you.”

He kissed my hand and excused himself, heading off in the direction of the dashing—but unavailable—Viscount Taylor.

How did I know he was unavailable?

Because after my father tried to set us up, it’d become desperately clear that he was still completely in love with his ex, and I’d fixed that little problem for him.

I had an invite to their wedding next spring.

“You are attracting all the attention tonight.”

I jolted at the sound of Miles’ voice, then turned to face him. “Oh, yes. Lord Nelson is a real catch for the twenty-something aristocrat.”

Miles raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sure his wife might have a thing or two to say about it, though.”

He laughed and leaned on the bar next to me. “Well played. I thought I saw your cousin here.”

“I believe he arrived late,” I replied. “Alex was invited to dinner but just got back from Italy.”

“Must be nice.”

“Not really. There was a fire in the property he inherited out there.”

“Oh, no. However will he cope?”

I swatted at him. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m only messing with you.” He scanned the bar. “How does one go about inheriting a property in Italy, then? Especially as an English duke.”

Ah. This I did know. “One of the uncles on his father’s side was an Italian noble and his father was the only viable heir, so he has some obscure Italian title. There was a fire in the mountains.”

“The only male heir.”

“Viable. Male. It’s all the same to me.” I dragged my gaze away from him and onto the dancefloor.

I simply couldn’t look at him in that bloody suit anymore. My heart was pitter-pattering as it was with his closeness. I didn’t need to think about how surprisingly well-tailored the jacket was, or how the white of the shirt contrasted against his tanned skin, or how the stubble on his jaw made me want to rub my thighs against it.

Oh.

Good Lord.

Perhaps that was enough wine for tonight…

I caught the eye of Eva as she danced with a young and very single Baron Oxbridge. I wiggled my eyebrows, and she bit back a laugh, glancing knowingly at Miles.

If we weren’t surrounded by nobility and the upper echelons of British society, I’d have shown her a fantastic view of my middle finger.

She could do worse than Baron William Oxbridge.

“What are you looking at?”

I spun on my stool so I could watch everyone dance. This was an actual dance—a waltz—but more than a few people were a little drunk, so it quite resembled a toddler ballroom dancing lesson. “Evangeline and William. Considering how I can meddle and give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do I already know?”

“I have no idea, Miles. I daresay I cannot read your mind.”

He chuckled and picked up his pint glass. “And thank goodness for that.”

I turned to look at him. “And what does that mean?”

“I’d hate for you to know all the things I think.”

“Like what exactly?”

“How I do secretly enjoy weeding after you described it as ripping their heads off.”

I pressed my fingers against my lips to stop a barking laugh escaping. Sure, I’d watched dukes and countesses and very minor royalty do the birdie dance and shake their bums tonight, but laughing out loud? That was a line one did not cross.

At least not as loudly as he made me want to laugh.

“I knew it,” I replied, sipping my drink. “You’re a closet weeder, Mr. Kingsley, and I won’t hear anything less about it from you.”

A woman I didn’t recognise stilled and looked at us both with pursed lips before she turned sharply on her heel, leaving her stern disapproval hanging in the air.

“Oh. That came out a little wrong.”

Miles laughed, dipping his head so it was muffled. His arm brushed against mine, and I desperately tried to control my exhale as he was pushed closer to me. His cheek was almost touching my hair, and I turned my face away from him so I didn’t have to smell him.

He smelt so good.

This was all so unfair.

“I need some air,” I said softly, clutching my glass and sliding off my seat. Addy caught my eye as I moved but I shook my head to let her know I was fine.

I was not fine.

I wanted to kiss my family’s gardener.

I wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss him.

I couldn’t stand there next to him, laughing with him, with him being so close to me.

I needed to breathe.

I wanted to kiss him so badly. It was crazy.

Were his fingertips as rough as they truly looked? If I kissed him, would he run them across my cheek? What about his short beard? Would the stubble rub against my cheeks? What about his lips? Were they as soft as they appeared?