brother's fault, anyway.
Even with their decision to forget the kiss, in London they would have been pushing the limits of propriety. Open door or not, here in the country, in a house filled with seven sisters, her parents, his aunt, and two dozen servants, it could still be trouble. Her father at the least, however, knew about her interest in sketching him, and no one had even looked at the idea askance. Witfeld Manor didn't seem quite as balanced as most other households of his acquaintance. It was refreshing.
At the same time, he wasn't going to be tricked into a compromising situation and a marriage if he didn't even get another kiss first. "Shouldn't we have a chaperone or something in here?"
"My maid is in the hallway by now, if that makes you feel safer," she said absently, obviously concentrating on her sketching. "She generally stays out of the room because she either snores or fidgets. It's very distracting."
It began to dawn on him that she truly had forgotten the kiss, put it completely behind her. Hm. Chits didn't do that where he was concerned. And it had been a pleasant kiss,damn it all. "It actually wasn't my safety I was considering," he returned.
"Your virtue, then." With a self-amused smile she continued scratching the pencil along the paper.
So now she felt comfortable enough with him to make jokes. Next she'd be laughing to all her sisters about how he'd kissed her and had had to apologize for it. "Mm hm." Before he could change his mind about the wisdom of his actions, Zachary pushed away from the window. He could always just apologize again.
"You're moving. Stop moving."
He ignored her admonishment, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her, perched on her prim little stool. "Miss Witfeld," he said, tilting her chin up again with his fingers, "I don't think you know me quite well enough yet to comment about my virtue—or lack thereof." Slowly he leaned down toward her.
"Oh," she breathed.
He meant to stop an inch away from her, meant only to point out that he wasn't merely a clay model waiting to be drawn onto paper, or a jester because he liked to jest. Instead her soft mouth, the startled but unafraid expression in her deep green eyes, beckoned him. Closing his own eyes, he touched his mouth to hers for the second time that morning. A moment later the pencil hit the hardwood floor and her hand slid around the back of his neck.
"You know Caro must be sketching him," a female voice came faintly from the bottom of the stairs, and he broke the kiss.
Her eyes were still closed, her face upturned. "Miss Witfeld," he murmured, "we're about to have company."
"I'm going to take up painting, if it means I get to spend time with Lord Zachary," another voice said from closer by.
Caroline's eyes flew open. "Get back over there," she hissed urgently, grabbing up her pencil and jabbing it toward the window.
"I am," he returned in the same low voice, backing to the row of windows and returning to his pose.
So she truly wasn't interested in trapping him into marriage, then. If she had been, wrapping her arms around his shoulders or falling on him would have taken care of that. The first time, he could claim an honest, if witless, mistake on his part. But now Zachary was sweating. Good God, that had been a stupid, reckless thing to do. And as before, it left him not precisely reeling, but tingling all the way down his spine.
"Caro?" The first girl scurried into the room, one, two. five others on her heels. All six dipped into a wave of curtsies in his direction, so many skirts waving he could practically feel the breeze. "Lord Zachary."
"Good morning, ladies," he returned, smiling.
"We looked everywhere for you," the youngest, Violet or Viola or something, said. "Breakfast is ready, Lord Zachary."
He looked over their heads at Caroline. Her color was high; if the sisters' attention hadn't all been concentrated on him, she and he might still have been in trouble. "May I move now, Miss
Even with their decision to forget the kiss, in London they would have been pushing the limits of propriety. Open door or not, here in the country, in a house filled with seven sisters, her parents, his aunt, and two dozen servants, it could still be trouble. Her father at the least, however, knew about her interest in sketching him, and no one had even looked at the idea askance. Witfeld Manor didn't seem quite as balanced as most other households of his acquaintance. It was refreshing.
At the same time, he wasn't going to be tricked into a compromising situation and a marriage if he didn't even get another kiss first. "Shouldn't we have a chaperone or something in here?"
"My maid is in the hallway by now, if that makes you feel safer," she said absently, obviously concentrating on her sketching. "She generally stays out of the room because she either snores or fidgets. It's very distracting."
It began to dawn on him that she truly had forgotten the kiss, put it completely behind her. Hm. Chits didn't do that where he was concerned. And it had been a pleasant kiss,damn it all. "It actually wasn't my safety I was considering," he returned.
"Your virtue, then." With a self-amused smile she continued scratching the pencil along the paper.
So now she felt comfortable enough with him to make jokes. Next she'd be laughing to all her sisters about how he'd kissed her and had had to apologize for it. "Mm hm." Before he could change his mind about the wisdom of his actions, Zachary pushed away from the window. He could always just apologize again.
"You're moving. Stop moving."
He ignored her admonishment, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her, perched on her prim little stool. "Miss Witfeld," he said, tilting her chin up again with his fingers, "I don't think you know me quite well enough yet to comment about my virtue—or lack thereof." Slowly he leaned down toward her.
"Oh," she breathed.
He meant to stop an inch away from her, meant only to point out that he wasn't merely a clay model waiting to be drawn onto paper, or a jester because he liked to jest. Instead her soft mouth, the startled but unafraid expression in her deep green eyes, beckoned him. Closing his own eyes, he touched his mouth to hers for the second time that morning. A moment later the pencil hit the hardwood floor and her hand slid around the back of his neck.
"You know Caro must be sketching him," a female voice came faintly from the bottom of the stairs, and he broke the kiss.
Her eyes were still closed, her face upturned. "Miss Witfeld," he murmured, "we're about to have company."
"I'm going to take up painting, if it means I get to spend time with Lord Zachary," another voice said from closer by.
Caroline's eyes flew open. "Get back over there," she hissed urgently, grabbing up her pencil and jabbing it toward the window.
"I am," he returned in the same low voice, backing to the row of windows and returning to his pose.
So she truly wasn't interested in trapping him into marriage, then. If she had been, wrapping her arms around his shoulders or falling on him would have taken care of that. The first time, he could claim an honest, if witless, mistake on his part. But now Zachary was sweating. Good God, that had been a stupid, reckless thing to do. And as before, it left him not precisely reeling, but tingling all the way down his spine.
"Caro?" The first girl scurried into the room, one, two. five others on her heels. All six dipped into a wave of curtsies in his direction, so many skirts waving he could practically feel the breeze. "Lord Zachary."
"Good morning, ladies," he returned, smiling.
"We looked everywhere for you," the youngest, Violet or Viola or something, said. "Breakfast is ready, Lord Zachary."
He looked over their heads at Caroline. Her color was high; if the sisters' attention hadn't all been concentrated on him, she and he might still have been in trouble. "May I move now, Miss
Similar Books
