verifying some Latin etymologies.”
“You’re writing another book?”
“Eventually. This is actually to settle a wager I made with my wife.” The captain gave a mock scowl. “I have the sneaking suspicion that Phillipa is going to win. She generally does.”
Bartholomew settled for nodding as Bennett Wolfe left the club again. There wasn’t much he could sayin reply other than “good luck,” but from his expression the captain seemed perfectly content with the idea of losing.
Perfectly content . On occasion, in the past, he’d felt that way. Like sleep, it was something he imagined he’d never find again. He allowed himself to feel envious for a brief moment, then returned to his dinner.
Theresa Weller enjoyed dancing. Aside from that, she was a favorite among her fellows, and her feet seemed barely to touch the floor even when she was standing still. If nothing else, he was irretrievably earthbound.
It had only been a kiss, anyway. Two kisses. If he hadn’t surprised her, he more than likely wouldn’t have managed it. And if he’d been solid on his feet, he imagined that she would have kicked or slapped him for taking such a liberty.
He rubbed at his temple. If he could capture some sleep for a damned change, at least his mind would be more solid. And then he would realize that he had already spent too much time contemplating a bloody kiss, that before his last assignment in India he’d been a quite competent and sought-after lover, and that perhaps he’d only needed that one last kiss to bid his old life farewell.
Belatedly he remembered that he’d neglected to stop at the Society Club for any messages. He wasn’t likely to have any, however, so it could wait until tomorrow. Simple enough—except that he then had to wonder if Stephen would invite him again for dinner, and if the cousin of Stephen’s new wife would be attending.
With a curse he downed the dregs of his glass andshoved to his feet. A little temptation served him right. Some of his men—his dead men—had left behind wives and children. Those soldiers wouldn’t be dreaming of kissing or holding anyone again. Which made him what, lucky? He limped to the club’s rear door and shouldered it open. If he didn’t get his left boot off now, he would have to sleep in it again.
Yes, that was him—lucky. And cursed. Under the circumstances, the one deserved the other. And neither left any room for the temptation of a sharp-tongued, kissable chit.
For someone who could barely put both feet on the ground, Colonel Bartholomew James was exceedingly elusive, Theresa decided. A pair of stolen kisses and then…nothing. For two days, it was as if he’d never existed at all.
“Whatever are you thinking about?” Lord Lionel Humphreys asked from beside her. “I’ve never seen you so quiet.”
That was only because she always had to carry the conversation when Lord Lionel came to call, and she hadn’t felt up to it this morning. “I was only wondering how long this fine weather will last,” she improvised. “What say we go for a drive and enjoy it?”
“I—well, I rode to Weller House. On a horse.”
She bounced to her feet. “Even better. I’ll have Cleopatra saddled while I run upstairs and change.” She summoned Ramsey and gave the butler her instructions.
“But I—that is, I thought we might chat a bit. You and I.”
Oh, dear . “We can chat while we ride,” she said over her shoulder, not slowing her flight through the door and to the staircase. At least out of doors she would have something else with which to distract herself.
“But I—I had something particular to say to you, Tess.”
Her maid, Sally, who’d been sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the morning room, made a choking sound but didn’t look up. Keeping a smile pasted on her own face, Theresa stopped and turned around. So Lionel had chosen this morning to deliver his marriage proposal. As if she could seriously consider marrying anyone who
“You’re writing another book?”
“Eventually. This is actually to settle a wager I made with my wife.” The captain gave a mock scowl. “I have the sneaking suspicion that Phillipa is going to win. She generally does.”
Bartholomew settled for nodding as Bennett Wolfe left the club again. There wasn’t much he could sayin reply other than “good luck,” but from his expression the captain seemed perfectly content with the idea of losing.
Perfectly content . On occasion, in the past, he’d felt that way. Like sleep, it was something he imagined he’d never find again. He allowed himself to feel envious for a brief moment, then returned to his dinner.
Theresa Weller enjoyed dancing. Aside from that, she was a favorite among her fellows, and her feet seemed barely to touch the floor even when she was standing still. If nothing else, he was irretrievably earthbound.
It had only been a kiss, anyway. Two kisses. If he hadn’t surprised her, he more than likely wouldn’t have managed it. And if he’d been solid on his feet, he imagined that she would have kicked or slapped him for taking such a liberty.
He rubbed at his temple. If he could capture some sleep for a damned change, at least his mind would be more solid. And then he would realize that he had already spent too much time contemplating a bloody kiss, that before his last assignment in India he’d been a quite competent and sought-after lover, and that perhaps he’d only needed that one last kiss to bid his old life farewell.
Belatedly he remembered that he’d neglected to stop at the Society Club for any messages. He wasn’t likely to have any, however, so it could wait until tomorrow. Simple enough—except that he then had to wonder if Stephen would invite him again for dinner, and if the cousin of Stephen’s new wife would be attending.
With a curse he downed the dregs of his glass andshoved to his feet. A little temptation served him right. Some of his men—his dead men—had left behind wives and children. Those soldiers wouldn’t be dreaming of kissing or holding anyone again. Which made him what, lucky? He limped to the club’s rear door and shouldered it open. If he didn’t get his left boot off now, he would have to sleep in it again.
Yes, that was him—lucky. And cursed. Under the circumstances, the one deserved the other. And neither left any room for the temptation of a sharp-tongued, kissable chit.
For someone who could barely put both feet on the ground, Colonel Bartholomew James was exceedingly elusive, Theresa decided. A pair of stolen kisses and then…nothing. For two days, it was as if he’d never existed at all.
“Whatever are you thinking about?” Lord Lionel Humphreys asked from beside her. “I’ve never seen you so quiet.”
That was only because she always had to carry the conversation when Lord Lionel came to call, and she hadn’t felt up to it this morning. “I was only wondering how long this fine weather will last,” she improvised. “What say we go for a drive and enjoy it?”
“I—well, I rode to Weller House. On a horse.”
She bounced to her feet. “Even better. I’ll have Cleopatra saddled while I run upstairs and change.” She summoned Ramsey and gave the butler her instructions.
“But I—that is, I thought we might chat a bit. You and I.”
Oh, dear . “We can chat while we ride,” she said over her shoulder, not slowing her flight through the door and to the staircase. At least out of doors she would have something else with which to distract herself.
“But I—I had something particular to say to you, Tess.”
Her maid, Sally, who’d been sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the morning room, made a choking sound but didn’t look up. Keeping a smile pasted on her own face, Theresa stopped and turned around. So Lionel had chosen this morning to deliver his marriage proposal. As if she could seriously consider marrying anyone who
Similar Books
