Chapter Five
My breath hitched. Would Julian expose us as women?
I squared my shoulders. No. He wouldn’t dare. He’d already vouched for us.
Jitterbugs of excitement danced under my skin. Mere feet away waited the hall in which I would attend my very first lecture. I’d take my own notes, rather than relying on someone else’s or waiting longer to read a discourse on the subject. A grin found its way to my lips as I answered, “I’m attending a lecture on botany.”
He raised his eyebrows, both of them this time. “That seems like the sort of thing you would share through our correspondence.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Maybe I would have if you’d bothered to answer me these past months.”
He held my gaze a scant second more before averting his eyes. My triumph wavered. I would rather he’d simply written to me.
Mary stepped between us, folding her arms across her chest. She glared in his direction. “Her presence here is none of your concern. You do not own her.”
Julian blinked rapidly in confusion. His wary gaze trailed from Mary to me and back again. “I don’t aspire to own her,” he said.
Mary’s transformation was nothing short of miraculous. She dropped her hostile stance. I heard the smile in her voice as she answered, “Good. Who are you?”
I shuffled forward. “Julian, this is my friend Mary.” I didn’t bother referring to her as Miss Babington-Smith. She hated being addressed as “Miss.” Turning to my friend, I murmured, “This is Julian Beckwith, the old friend I mentioned earlier.”
“The one who injured your ankle?”
“That was hardly my fault,” Julian said while I simultaneously protested the same. We exchanged a terse smile.
To Mary, I added, “I lost my footing. It wasn’t as though he tripped me.” Or, to his credit, trod on my foot.
Seemingly oblivious to the emotional turmoil she incited, Mary shrugged. “In that case, did you happen to see Lord Sutton arrive? I must speak with him.”
Julian reeled from the abrupt change of subject. A baffled look clouded his features like smog. “Who?”
“Lord Sutton,” Mary repeated.
“Julian is from the country,” I said. “He likely hasn’t been introduced and doesn’t know what Lord Sutton looks like.”
“Oh.” Her expression turned glum.
I winced, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer, but I had to ask, “Why are you interested in speaking with Lord Sutton?”
She perked up immediately. “He’s been manhandling his staff. I intend to confront him.”
I should have known she would only accompany me to a lecture about botany if she had an ulterior motive.
Julian frowned. “Isn’t that unwise?”
Mary bristled. Her face darkened like a fast-approaching thundercloud. I stepped between them before any damage could be done.
“He didn’t mean it,” I said, palms raised toward Mary in surrender.
Behind me, Julian muttered, “Yes, I did.”
Why wasn’t he helping? Didn’t he see that Mary was about to start a scene right here in the middle of the corridor?
She stood, hands on her hips, staring over my head and into Julian’s face. The look she nurtured was far from flattering. “Are you trying to say that Sutton should be allowed to continue harassing his female servants?”
A pair of men—university students, judging by their ages—stepped through the front door and craned their necks in our direction. My skin flamed in mortification to the roots of my hair. I shut my eyes, praying they would move on and not examine us too closely. Mary and I committed a faux-pas by dressing as men; our reputations might be compromised. Not that Mary’s hadn’t been dozens of times over with all her antics over the years. By this point, she was only accepted into polite Society because of her godmother and the scattered hostess who hoped she would be an amusing distraction.
Julian cleared his throat. He lowered his voice considerably, as though hoping to cajole Mary to do the same.
Not likely.
“I didn’t mean to imply that at all. Perhaps the middle of a crowded lecture hall isn’t the best place for a confrontation.”
Mary harrumphed. “Maybe it is the best place. Plenty of his peers to hold him accountable.”
Behind me, Julian tensed. He stood so close I felt the muscles in his abdomen bunch. Hoping to stop him from whatever ill-advised thing he intended to say or do, I leaned back against his frame. He raised his hands to bracket my shoulders. A cascade of tingles ignited from where our bodies touched, like we were flint and steel. I bit my lower lip but didn’t move.
Mary turned on her heel and said, “I’ll go find us seats.” She strode across the runner to the left side of the manor and the open door beckoning.
I let out a sigh of relief.
Julian dropped his hands as I rounded on him. Despite the pronounced summer heat, a prickle crawled over my skin at the absence of his warm body at my back.
“You shouldn’t rile her,” I said.
A laugh escaped his lips. “She’s smaller than you. What will she do?”
He clearly hadn’t visited Town long enough to find out. Mary had quite the reputation. For all her size, she didn’t shy away from anything. I admired that trait in her, even if it sometimes mired me in less-than-ideal situations.
“We should follow her,” I said, sidestepping the question. I turned to Julian. During his rescue, he’d been most cordial about what he no doubt deemed inappropriate behavior. “Unless, of course, you’d care to shout at me due to my deplorable attire?”
A grin flourished across his face. “A tempting scenario. You look ridiculous.”
“Don’t I know it,” I muttered under my breath.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You resemble a man in no way.”
I had to giggle. “Of course I do. The doorman allowed entry to Mary and me, and none of the other attendees have noticed me at all.”
“Your friend Mary does not have the well-rounded figure men worship. You do. I recognized you instantly.”
He worshiped my figure? I averted my gaze. “Only because you know me so well.”
Side by side with Julian, I strode into the cozy lecture hall. It seated fifty, at most. Old men dotted the seats; young men trussed around the edge in clumps, chatting before the lecture started. Mary stood on a chair in the very back, waving her arms. I lifted mine to acknowledge her.
As Julian and I picked our way along the perimeter of the room, I cast him a sidelong glance. “You know I’m mad for botany. I’m much more likely to be here than you are.”
He shrugged. “You know I have several plots of land in Leicestershire. I farm them.”
He’d mentioned his farm in his letters over the past two years. With so much land, I’d assumed he hired help, but the defined muscles in his arms bespoke of a fair share of the physical labor. I pictured him with his sleeves rolled up or his shirt doffed. Suddenly hot, I fanned myself and squeezed around a cluster of men, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush staining my cheeks.
“What does a farm in Leicestershire have to do with desert plants in the Viceroyalty of New Spain?”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “But I often come across investment opportunities. I’m partners in a plantation in the Caribbean Islands that has proven quite lucrative. While in London, I thought it best to attend as many of these lectures as I can so I’m prepared if another opportunity should arise.”
I doubted anyone would try to sell him desert cacti, but I dropped the subject. We reached the seats Mary had earmarked for us and I claimed the one next to her. Best to use myself as a buffer between her and Julian, just in case.
Once settled in my seat, I opened my journal to a fresh page and set my charcoal pencil within easy reach. To my surprise, Julian also prepared paper, a pen, and a jar of ink to take notes.
Mary unabashedly peered around the room, searching for Sutton. I groped for her sleeve as she stood to get a better vantage. I didn’t want to risk unveiling my disguise. I didn’t know what the Royal Botanic Society would do if they found two women amongst them, but I didn’t care to find out. I yanked her down next to me.
More men filed into the room. Some chose seats, others joined various groups. Over forty people must be gathered now. Any more and some might have to continue standing.
“There he is.” Mary jumped to her feet in triumph.
A large sable-haired man stepped into the room. He straightened his lapels, gauged the crowd, and took a seat in front. When he took a slim volume and a pencil from his coat pocket, my heart skipped a beat.
I clutched Mary’s arm, anchoring her in place. “He’s a botanist?”
A man with a love of plants and a titled lord. If any man existed who met both Papa’s and my standards for a husband, it was him. But it seemed he also manhandled women. Fungus took root in my stomach. Could no man be perfect?
Mary glanced down at me uncertainly. “Did you want me to introduce you?”
Being introduced by Mary would be social suicide, especially considering she only informally knew the man because she’d taken it upon herself to belittle him. I shook my head rigorously.
I released her. “No, thank you.” If I was ever presented to Lord Sutton, I insisted upon doing it in my own clothes.
No—if he was no better than a rake, I’d best think of him differently. Lord Cypsela. I inwardly grinned at the botanical insult, though I would have to explain it to anyone else.
With my refusal to interfere, Mary seemed to regain her equilibrium. She cut through the crowd at a brisk pace, stalking her prey.
Julian tapped the nib of his pen on the table twice, catching my attention. “What does it signify if this lord likes botany?”
I fiddled with my stick of charcoal. My cheeks heated. I ignored the blush, hoping it would dissipate. “It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”
The weight of his stare prickled along my neck, though for a long moment, Julian kept quiet. I risked a glance at his pensive expression. Could he tell I was lying? A commotion at the front of the room saved me from finding out.
“Lord Sutton.” Mary’s loud summons rent the air.
Upon spotting her, he blanched as white as a daisy. Hastily, he stuffed his journal into his coat pocket again. She squeezed herself into the open seat next to him, barring his exit. He shouldn’t have chosen to sit in the front corner, far from the door.
“You must make amends.” She snipped off each word. Her spectacles were perched precariously atop her nose and her cheeks bloomed rosy with anger.
Lord Cypsela bristled. Although not as large as Rose’s husband, Lord Hartfell, he loomed at nearly twice Mary’s size, even while seated. She didn’t seem intimidated by his bulk or his hulking stance.
“Just what are you accusing me of?”
I gulped. One of these days Mary would confront the wrong man and pay the price. I prayed today was not that day.
When I stood, Julian gathered hold of my hand and pulled me down beside him again. “He hasn’t noticed you. Don’t put your identity at risk.”
“I can’t leave her there.”
Creases formed between Julian’s eyebrows as he frowned in disapproval. “She knew what she was getting into. She instigated this. He can’t harm her here, not in front of everyone.”
Maybe not, but given the sour look on Cypsela’s face, he dreamed about it. In his shoes, I might have strangled her, too.
Loudly, Mary announced, “Last week, you threw a house party. At that party you demonstrated your clear lack of respect for the well-being of those poor females under your protection.”
A baffled expression knit Lord Cypsela’s features. “To which females are you referring? I have no wards.”
“Your maids, of course. They rely on you for safe employment. In other words, to avoid being groped or ravished like a common doxy. Such behavior is unacceptable in Town and it is unacceptable at your country estate, as well.”
Undoubtedly, Mary had a few things to say about the treatment of common doxies, as well. Thankfully, she kept them to herself.
Even from across the room, I noticed the muscle in Cypsela’s clenched jaw twitch. “I haven’t visited my country estate in the past week.”
“Then who do you propose threw this lewd house party in your place? A relative, a friend?” She didn’t pause for breath long enough to allow him to answer. “If you’re not to blame for such crass behavior, perhaps you ought to choose your associates more carefully.”
“I certainly need to choose my conversation partners more carefully,” he muttered under his breath.
Mary heard. Her mouth gaped in affront. A cluster of university students staring openly at the exchange sniggered.
The guest professor, a distinguished gentleman with short-clipped gray hair, a thick mustache, and an air of resentment, stepped to the front of the room and called for order. Cypsela faced forward. Mary, glowering so fiercely a dark cloud all but formed over her head, did the same. I sensed the conversation was not at an end.
The other men in the room bustled to take their chairs. Many also carried journals or sheaves of paper with which to take notes. The second their rumps kissed their seats, the professor launched the lecture.
The American spoke with such an accent I had trouble understanding him. I strained my ears as I tried to make out his words and take the appropriate notes. He didn’t take pity on us poor Londoners and slow his speech patterns. I hoped my notes would make sense later.
Mary resumed her tirade in a ferocious whisper. Cypsela returned her quips with just as much heat and vehemence. They spoke too low for their words to carry, but the indecipherable exchange interfered with my concentration.
The professor stuttered over his words. Presumably, the disturbance had interrupted his train of thought as well. He scowled at Mary and Cypsela and demanded they leave the room. At least that’s what I thought he said. His accent was rather dense.
The end result was the same. Cypsela stood in a jerky, angry movement. He stomped from the room. Mary trailed in his wake, taking two steps for every one of his.
I nibbled on my lower lip. Should I follow them? But I’d scarcely written half a page of notes, and the professor resumed his lecture. I tucked the stick of charcoal into my palm.
Julian laid his hand over mine. Like me, he sported no gloves today. The heat of his bare skin sent tingles up my arm. Some emotion I couldn’t name bloomed in my stomach.
“Let her go,” he said softly.
I stared at the door, hoping Mary would decide to come back. Seconds stretched as they passed by. She didn’t.
The calluses on Julian’s palm scraped against my skin, inducing a shiver as he retracted his hand. “What if Cyps—what if Sutton hurts her?” My stomach tied itself into intricate knots.
“He won’t.” Not a twitch of his expression or quaver in his voice belied his words as false. He believed them. “You heard the man, he’s innocent.”
I hoped he was right. The conviction in his voice eradicated most, if not all, of my fears.
I attended the lecture once more as the professor cleared his throat loudly. He glared in our direction. Oh, no. Surely he wouldn’t eject us from the premises, too! I hunched over my journal, pretending to take notes. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand the man without concentrating. An impossible task with the memory of Julian’s touch invading my mind. He shifted position, settling so close beside me he brushed my arm with his as he took notes.
I glanced over at his page, which seemed a sheer and utter mess.
“Can I help clarify something for you?”
He dropped his gaze to his notes. A wry smile teased the corner of his mouth. I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t say all of it. That might take the entire afternoon.
He settled on, “Perhaps you could explain to me what an epi—” He squinted at the page, trying to make the word out.
“Epiphyte,” I corrected. “And you’ve spelled it wrong.” I wrote the letters in clear, legible print on my page, then turned it toward him for him to copy. While he scribbled down the word, I explained, “It’s a plant that grows on another plant or sometimes on a rock. Like how moss often grows on trees.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned on his face as he jotted down my explanation in the margin. He pointed to another word. “And this one?”
The rest of the lecture passed quickly, as I tried simultaneously to take notes and to explain certain terms. Julian understood the speaker a lot better than I, so we worked in tandem. By the time the professor deigned to take questions, Mary still hadn’t returned.
Julian turned toward me with a winsome smile. “If you’re still taking questions, I have a dilemma at my estate.”
I leaned toward him. “Ask me anything.”
“I had issues with low nutrients last year, so this spring I put down new fertilizer. In one corner of my fields, no seeds will take. I’ve tried growing the plants indoors and transplanting them, but they die within days.”
I tilted my head to the side. “I’ll need more information than that.”
He shook his head. “That’s all the information I have.”
“What did the plants look like as they died?”
His mouth puckered as he thought. “They turned yellow and shriveled up. The rest of my fields are fine. The estate isn’t suffering from a drought.”
“You said you put down fertilizer this spring?”
He nodded. “Over every field.”
“Possibly, you laid down too much in that area. If the plants are overfertilized, they’ll die. Water the ground heavily—it’ll leach some of the nutrients out of the soil and leave it safe for the plants to thrive.”
Julian smiled. “I’ll write back to the estate for my farmhands to try your solution. How long will it take before I can plant again?”
I shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. Each kind of fertilizer lingers for a different length of time. It also depends on how much was tilled into that particular area. You might be able to plant again in a couple days, or it might take a couple weeks.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know how it turns out.”
Would he? He hadn’t written to me for months, and he could easily have asked me this question by letter had we still been corresponding. I wondered if he would return to his estate and all thought of me would evaporate from his mind once more.
The young man in the seat in front of me stretched his arms out over his sandy-haired head, twisting his torso as he surveyed the room. His journal was littered with drawings rather than notes, the most prominent a portrait of the professor and his prominent mustache.
The man’s gaze settled on me. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
I shook my head, but recognition petrified me. We had met. In fact, we’d danced once. He was the second son of the Duke of Beaufort. Lord Panicle, I called him, for his easy, airheaded manner.
Julian hastily folded his papers and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. When I remained mute, he yanked me into a standing position and spoke for me.
“I doubt it,” he said, slashing his hand through the air to punctuate the statement. “This is his first time in Town, isn’t it, Frank?”
“What? Oh.” I lowered my voice as much as I could. “Yes, it is.”
I followed on Julian’s heels as he cut a line around the perimeter of the room. Unfortunately, Lord Panicle stood and tailed us.
A lump formed in my throat. Julian had said I still cut a womanly figure. Would Panicle notice? He strode a scant pace behind me. I urged Julian to a faster pace with my hand at his back.
“I must have met you somewhere,” Panicle persisted. “Maybe at Oxford. Do we share any classes?”
A cluster of men vacating the room jammed the exit. My heart sped as I searched for another exit. Only the windows, but that was far from inconspicuous.
“You’re mistaken. We haven’t met.” My voice caught on the last syllable.
Julian latched onto my wrist, his touch hot. He dragged me forward as he forcibly cut a swathe through the crowd. Panicle followed hot on my heels.
“I never forget a face,” he said. “And I’ve seen yours. Maybe—”
The lull of sound weighed heavy on me as Julian broke through the head of the crowd and into the less crowded hallway. I gulped in a breath.
Lord Panicle’s voice followed us out. “Oh.” The syllable was heavy with recognition.
Panic seized my lungs like rootbound runners. I wrenched free of Julian’s hold. Blindly, I dashed for the door. The sunlight dazzled me. I stopped to get my bearings. To the left, a row of hackney cabs waited, but the one Mary and I had taken to this venue was missing. She must have taken it in pursuit of Cypsela. It was a long walk down the drive to the distant road and the chance of another hired hack. I couldn’t traverse that length without being seen.
Julian erupted from the open doorway. Spotting me, he crossed to my side and latched onto my arm just above the elbow. “This way,” he said, towing me away from the hacks. The corner of the stone building loomed. Julian tugged me behind its cover and pressed me against the stone with his body. He pressed his hand over my mouth as he peered around the corner.
I thrashed, shaking off his hand long enough to gasp for air. I welcomed the building’s support of my weight; my ankle throbbed with a fervor. The shadow of pain almost blotted out the sizzle of awareness that gripped me at the feel of his body. I battled to ignore it.
“Did he follow?”
“Yes. Hush.” Julian glanced at me only briefly. His body tensed against mine as he eased his head around the corner once more. He withdrew it hastily. “With luck, he’ll think we left in one of the hacks.”
He tugged on my hand, drawing me toward the rear of the mansion. “We aren’t safe here. Come around back.”
He hauled me behind him, far more swiftly than I cared to walk on an injured ankle. I let out a gasp as I stepped wrong. He pulled me forward when I faltered. “Francine, hurry.”
“I’m trying,” I said on a wince. The manor was much longer than it seemed from the front. But we were almost to the corner. Hopefully, we would be safe back there.
Julian glanced up, but his gaze aimed at something behind me. He cursed under his breath, lifted me by the waist, and spun us around the back of the manor. He pressed his body against mine once more, shielding me. When had he grown so protective? Ten years ago, he would have shoved me into the open and saved himself. Granted, we’d been children then. Some time in the interim, he must have grown up.
Although we’d grown apart these past few months, deep down, I trusted him. He was—and always had been—my dearest friend.
We both breathed heavily. “What did you see?” I whispered, as loud as I dared. “Did Lord Panicle follow us?”
“Lord Panicle being the fellow who followed you?”
“That isn’t his name—he’s the Duke of Beaufort’s son—but yes.” I nodded, but Julian was too busy peering around the corner of the manor to notice the gesture.
He let out a prolonged breath. “We’re safe for the moment.” Shutting his eyes, he rested his forehead against mine. Not even my friends touched me so intimately, but I found myself relaxing. I took solace from his presence, after we’d been separated for so long. It almost felt like a dream.
We stood like that for several minutes as the heat of the direct sun mounted. Sweat broke out along my neck where the bushy tail of my hair scratched my bare skin down the back of my shirt. I squirmed. It didn’t help to ease the discomfort.
Julian opened his eyes, separating from me so we no longer touched. But something dangerous lingered in his eyes. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”
I shivered despite the heat. What would I have done? I doubt I would have been able to outrun Lord Panicle on my own. I shrugged. “I doubt I would have been let in to begin with.”
Shaking his head, he leaned closer. Did he notice? I couldn’t seem to dispel the mounting awareness of his nearness. I hadn’t grown much since we were children, but whereas he’d been near my height when I’d left Leicestershire, now he surrounded me. The heat of his body burned along mine, reminding me that he was a man now.
And I was a woman, not a plant. His proximity awakened desires in me I’d thought dormant, or perhaps nonexistent. It didn’t seem to matter that he was my dearest friend, the one person I’d always been able to count on.
Until six months ago, I reminded myself. He’d proven that he wasn’t dependable when he’d answered none of my letters. No friend would do that, let alone…
I smothered the thought.
“Maybe not, but I’d rather not take the chance.” He raised his hand. It hovered just out of reach of my cheek. Confliction crossed his features, as though he battled an internal struggle.
In the end, he only tucked away a flyaway strand of my hair and dropped his hand. But he said, “Before you launch another harebrained scheme, ask me. At least while I’m in London.”
His proposal took me aback. I stared at him, mouth agape, as I tried to discern whether or not he meant the offer. I shifted my arms to cross them in front of my chest, but he stood too near. I couldn’t cross them without brushing his chest. The thought of touching him sent odd tingles over my skin.
“Why?” I asked finally. “So you can stop me?”
“Hardly.” He emitted an odd sound. I couldn’t decide if it was closer to a snort or a chuckle. He shook his head ruefully. “I doubt I can stop you once your mind is made up.”
I matched his smile. He had that right.
But…could I still trust him? This was Julian, the boy I’d known from birth. We’d embarked on more escapades than I could count, but never before as adults. Much had changed in the ten years since we’d lived adjacent to each other.
And my freedom was about to be cropped short.
On a whim, I said, “Kiss me.”
It was madness. He’d never do it.
He flinched. “Are you mad?”
“Hardly. If you want to fulfill my requests, then kiss me. Otherwise I’ll have to turn elsewhere.”
I didn’t mean it. I was the staid one of my friends, the voice of reason. Despite the way Mary flouted convention, I never stepped a toe out of line of my own volition. Maybe I should start.
He scraped a hand over his mouth. My pulse beat faster. To my astonishment, he considered the request. My head spun. How far would he take his offer? I suspected he’d only made it to be polite.
Any respectable lady would have retracted the request for a kiss. I was many things, but thanks to Rose and Mary, “respectable” didn’t quite make the list.
I pushed the issue. “After the Season is through, I will never get the chance.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “Is this some bizarre age restriction I don’t know about? Plenty of women marry after twenty-three.”
Not me, but I refused to explain my father’s decision. I didn’t want his pity.
At his hesitation, I shrugged. “I knew you weren’t serious.” I turned toward the corner of the manse, the way we’d come.
“Wait.”
His voice halted me in my tracks. I pinched back a sudden tide of nervousness. Would he agree to kiss me—and more importantly, did I want him to? I swallowed heavily. For an adventive idea, it quickly took root. Fitting, for my first kiss to come from the boy who gave me a peck on the cheek as a child. Schooling away my apprehension, I turned to face him.
His expression was unreadable, as impenetrable as hardpan.
“A kiss.”
“Only one.” Then, because he’d be just as likely to press his lips to my cheek like he had last night, I added, “And not on the cheek.”
Lifting my chin, I puckered my lips, closed my eyes, and waited.
I half expected him to walk away. Well-bred young ladies did not ask men for stolen kisses, even if said lady had known the gentleman in question for forever and a day.
His hand found mine. Slowly, his fingers explored every inch of my bare skin. They traced the rolled sleeve of my stolen shirt, where it left the skin of my wrist bare. Goose bumps erupted from his touch. He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my skin. The burn of his mouth coursed all the way to my toes. I gasped. Who knew my wrist was so sensitive?
I covered my reaction by opening my eyes. “I meant to my mouth.” Although I intended the words to be demanding, they emerged somewhat breathless.
He didn’t seem to notice. His eyebrows knit together in a scowl. “I know. Don’t rush me. I have a process.”
“Your process is lengthy and tedious. Kiss me!”
He lifted my chin with the rough jab of one finger. His gaze smoldered. I licked my lips in anticipation. Would he kiss me, after all?
“Are you sure?” he asked. His tone was just as demanding as the finger preventing me from lowering my face.
I rolled my eyes. “Before I die of old age, please.”
His mouth descended upon mine. I offered myself up, ready to be swept away by the kind of passion Rose described.
He lingered for only the briefest of moments. The delicate brush of his lips against mine. Nothing more. He moved away. I touched my fingertips to my mouth.
“That was a kiss?”
A thunderhead of broken pride gathered across his features.
I hurried to correct my hasty words. “Granted, it was lovely, but I expected it to be rather…longer.”
The cloud of anger evaporated. He sighed, running a hand over his chin. He didn’t meet my gaze.
“No, that was not a kiss.”
I frowned. “But I asked for you to kiss me.”
“I did kiss you.”
“I don’t understand. You just said you didn’t.”
He raised his gaze heavenward. “I kissed you, but it was not a proper kiss. Or rather, it was a proper kiss. Too proper.”
He spoke in circles. I wondered if he understood his own words.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re a virgin.”
I recoiled. “Is that meant to be an insult?”
“No. It is an unmarried woman’s greatest virtue.”
“Yet it is never insisted of a man.”
He glanced at me curiously. “You aren’t one of those long-suffering women, are you?”
“Like Mary?” I tossed at him. “No. But I do crave freedom. A freedom you men have in spades.” I stepped closer. He retreated by a pace, his expression wary. I refused to grant him a single reprieve.
I moved until we stood toe-to-toe, very like the kiss he delivered. The one he called “proper.” I lowered my voice. We stood so intimately, he undoubtedly heard me. “I want this other kiss you speak of. The improper one.”
“Francine…”
“Miss Annesley,” I corrected, just to be ornery. If he insisted on being proper, I would, too.
“Francine,” he said again, this time with feeling. “If we’ve been intimate, I will call you by your Christian name.”
“By your own admittance that was not an intimate kiss.”
Challenge sparked in his unwavering brown gaze. “No,” he said. “But this one will be.”
He clasped me by the back of the neck. The collar of my shirt tightened as his fingers snagged it. The added restriction to my breathing tripled my heart rate. I shut my eyes, waiting.
His breath teased my lips, hot and ardent. I stood on my tiptoes to close the distance between us. An instant before our lips met, his body stiffened against mine and he raised his head. “Forgive me. I can’t.”
I curled my fingers into his jacket. “Why not?” Did he not feel this…this pull between us?
A voice punctured the intimate moment before Julian could answer.
“I can’t say I expected to find this.”