Sensing that she was saddened by this talk about her son, he knew it was up to him to put a smile on that beautiful face. He shifted toward her. “Do you like tomatoes?”
She paused. “I…yes. Why?”
“So do I. By God, are they not incredible? I dread wondering what our lives would be like without them. Can you imagine how utterly tasteless our soups and sauces and main courses would be? Even the French would agree with me on this. Tomatoes are the crown jewel of the kitchen.”
She blinked. “Is there a point to this?”
He lifted a knowing brow. “Yes, of course there is. You are now thinking about tomatoes instead of Charles.”
She burst into laughter, rolling her eyes. “Only you can put a smile on my face when I least expect it.” Still grinning, she shook her head and reset her pieces before meeting his gaze again. “So. How are the girls? Good?”
He nodded, tracing his gaze from those gorgeous eyes that now shined to those full lips that now smiled and back to those eyes again. “Uh…very good. They send wet kisses and the likes.”
She smiled, that cheek dimpling again. “Tell them I will be calling on them this Friday. Charles spent the last two weeks drawing their portraits on my request. They are absolutely stunning. Life-size.”
“We ardently look forward to seeing it and you.”
“Wonderful. Oh, and I forgot to ask—did they receive the dolls this morning?” She searched his face excitedly. “You know, the ones with the fur hats, braids and ribbons? When I saw them in the shop yesterday afternoon, I knew I had to get them. I hope you don’t mind.”
He smiled, remembering each and every clap and squeal those open boxes had elicited. “Mind? God, no. Less shopping on my part.” Her unannounced gifts were becoming a family event at his house that further edged him into not only falling on a knee but proclaiming his love until he turned into the very sop he swore he’d never be. The only thing keeping him from doing it was his fear of being rejected by a woman who had endured far, far worse at the hands of her dead spouse than he had at the hands of his.
He caught her gaze. “Elizabeth, Francine and Sarah about ran out into the street and under a carriage out of glee. In my opinion, you really need to cease spoiling them or I will permanently drop them off at your house.” He paused and theatrically added, “Not that you would mind.”
She laughed and endearingly teased back, “One of these days, Thornton, those girls will realize who their real mother is and we might as well create a scandal and move in together.”
He savagely rolled the palm of his hand on the edge of his chair, trying to calm the damn fluttering inside of him with a painful sensation, wishing Magdalene had been the woman he’d had children with. He honestly didn’t know how much longer he could go on without—
She tapped the side of the board. “Are you ready to lose your queen? Again?”
How fitting a remark. He puffed out a breath. Maybe he should just be a man about this, fling her onto the board and checkmate. “I suggest you go first. That will give me time to better strategize.” Whilst I suffer.
She lifted a brow, lowered her gaze and, using the tips of slim fingers, moved a knight. Heatedly holding his gaze for a long moment, she asked, “Is everything all right, Thornton? You appear a touch distracted. Not to mention unusually somber. Is something weighing on your thoughts?”
He paused, noting the way her voice had seductively dipped in concern and how intently she held his gaze. He lowered his shaven chin, his pulse roaring against his own ears. Maybe now was the time, finally, to tell her what he’d been unable to say last time. Or the time before that. Or the time before that.
Without breaking her gaze or caring which damn pawn he used, he moved a piece. “Actually, yes. Something has been weighing on my thoughts. I simply haven’t wanted to burden you with it, is all.”
She countered his move, intently holding his gaze, in turn. “Burden me with it? Nonsense. You know you can tell me anything. Is it serious?”
He wet his lips and leaned closer toward her and the board. What if she didn’t feel the same? He would be destroying everything that he had come to savagely love and depend upon. Including these stupid Tuesday afternoon chess games. “I suppose it depends on its outcome. It could be a very good thing or it could be a very bad thing.”
She eyed him. “That sounds rather vague. Even for you. You aren’t in some sort of trouble, are you?”
He swiped his face in exasperation. Yes, he most certainly was in some sort of trouble. Because he couldn’t do this. Leaning away from the board, he moved another pawn and shrugged. “No. ’Tis nothing really. Investments.” So to speak.
“Investments?” A bubble of a laugh escaped her. “Oh, how utterly droll for you to worry about something like that. I suggest you hire a better secretary and a better bookkeeper. In fact, have mine. Both are beyond exceptional and are always looking to acquire new accounts.”
She surveyed the board and paused. “I never know what to expect from you during a play. ’Tis so odd, really, given we’ve been doing this for so long. Sometimes, I think you are actually getting worse at this. Not better.” She moved a piece, claiming the pawn he’d just moved. Setting it aside, she drew in a large breath and let it out.
Dropping his gaze to those full breasts swelling in response to that lofty breath, he paused. The décolletage of her lace-trimmed gown appeared lower than usual, those lush rounded tops pushing up in a way he’d never had the pleasure of seeing. Tightening his jaw, he snapped his gaze to her face, trying to focus on her, not her breasts.
Magdalene’s startled dark eyes met his. She searched his face in awkward astonishment, clearly aware that he had just been openly admiring her breasts like fresh cross buns on display at the local bakery.
Shit.
Her features not only stilled, but flushed to an unfamiliar hue, acknowledging something he thought that she, as a woman, never would. That he, Mark Jacob Danford, the fourth earl of Thornton, was more than just a friend. That he was, in fact, a…man.
They stared at each other wordlessly.