Chapter 7
Nicola lost her grip on the notebook, and it fluttered to the bench. She tucked the pencil in her pocket. Clearly she should not have looked out the window to see the top of Jack’s dark head bob over the gate. Should have locked herself in her cottage when she did catch sight of him. Put a blanket over her head. Tied herself to a piece of furniture. Not chase after him, wondering which way he’d turned on his perambulations, slipping and sliding all the way in her search. Not feel so…thrilled when she found him.
Not write anything about kissing when she meant just to arrange for his outgoing mail.
She’d been awake a good portion of the night thinking about their kiss. It had, to put it plainly, knocked her sideways. She had little to compare it to—Richard had not been a demonstrative fiancé. Why should he be, when their relationship had been practical and more or less businesslike? There had been no stars behind her eyelids, no tremors shooting off like fireworks, no tingling lips, no want.
Nicola had practiced kissing her bare arm as she lay in the dark, feeling ridiculous but determined. Her skin was a poor substitute for Jack’s mouth. His neatly trimmed beard and mustache had had been as soft as mink fur, quite unlike Richard’s coppery bristle. Richard was attractive, but Jack was…um, beautiful. See, she could be inarticulate too.
She didn’t feel the cold at all, just a wild sense of anticipation. Jack was very close, his quick breaths visible in the air between them. The last time they’d kissed, it was she who initiated the lip-to-lip contact. Nicola knew she’d taken him by surprise; now she waited to see what he would do. She imagined he was a man of experience—no one of his looks and charm and age could be expected to be celibate.
He leaned in, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand. “You don’t regret your offer?”
She shook her head. If she’d had access to the notebook, she would have written get on with it.
“I’ve never kissed a woman in a churchyard before with, uh, graves about. Are we risking thunderbolts?” His eyes danced with merriment.
What a way to go, she thought. They weren’t being disrespectful—babies began with kisses, and death eventually, inevitably followed. It was all very circle-of-life, wasn’t it?
His mouth loomed, and she closed her eyes. He exerted the barest contact, just a whisper of a kiss. She held herself still, letting him set the pace.
But soon she was squirming a little, swept away by Jack’s skillful tongue. Nicola had the strongest urge to lie down on the bench, which would indeed risk thunderbolts, and frostbite to boot. If her parents divined what was happening to her here, they would remove her posthaste.
Or perhaps not. Though they loved her, she was a burden to them now. Maybe they’d like to be rid of her permanently. Have someone else worry about her.
But Jack, like Richard, deserved a more participatory partner. He was so full of life and devilry. No matter how marvelous his kiss was, he was no doubt taking pity on a shameless spinster who, against all caution, had invited him to take liberties.
Do you want to kiss me again? Really, what man in his right mind would refuse? She wasn’t a complete antidote, and men were known for their hotter natures. They sometimes were not discriminating at all.
Nicola realized her random mental meanderings were spoiling the moment. Who knew when she’d get the opportunity to kiss anyone save for her wire-haired fox terrier, Tippy? She hoped he was being well looked after—she missed him. Who would watch him when they all went to Scotland? When she wrote to her parents…
Oh! No more thinking of dogs. No more thinking, period. Nicola threw herself into Jack’s embrace with enthusiasm, allowing herself to nibble his lower lip as she’d nibbled the soft spot above her elbow. He groaned and returned the favor. The brush of his suede-covered fingertips on her cheek brought on her blushes. She was quite warm everywhere despite the temperature. The kiss deepened with tangled tongues, and Nicola felt something loosen within, like a hopeless wet knot that suddenly gave way.
Jack drew back suddenly, holding on to her shoulders with some force. “I say! You made a noise!”
Nicola covered her damp mouth. Had she? She opened her lips to speak, but the usual nothingness came out.
“It’s all right. I’m sure you’ll do it again. We’ll keep kissing until you’re chattering like a magpie. You know, I did wonder if I was Prince Charming enough to kiss you awake. At least I don’t have to climb a tower like that Rebecca story? You’re looking at me funny. Rihanna? Whoever—the girl with the long hair. I’m not up on my fairy tales. And I’m not that fond of heights. You will be fine, I promise.”
When he said it, she almost believed it. She grabbed her book from the bench.
What did it sound like?
“Hm. Don’t cosh me, but rather like a cow—a quiet sort of ladylike one, just a little moo. More of an oo than a moo, actually. You’ve not spoken at all since your accident?”
Nicola shook her head. A cow was better than a chicken, she supposed. She tried again as the doctors had taught her, brought in air, expelled it. Nothing.
“Don’t force it. When you’re ready, it will happen. That’s what happens with some of my ideas, you know. I can think and think on a problem until I feel my head exploding, but when I least expect results, there they are. There is no physical damage to your vocal chords, I take it.”
No. Everything internal was just as it should be, which was why it was so very frustrating that she’d lost her voice. There was no reason that made any sense.
One of the doctors had accused her of faking to get attention. Nicola had wanted to scream at him, but of course she couldn’t. Why would anyone deprive themselves of being able to communicate? The attention she had received had been entirely negative until she came to Puddling, where people were friendly and didn’t pepper her with questions she couldn’t answer. Nicola felt bathed in kindness. Every effort was made to relax her and accept her just as she was.
As Jack had. Unless he was just a bored rake who was taking advantage of the situation they both found themselves in.
Why are you here?
Jack sat back on the bench and tugged up his collar against the chill. He was hatless, as usual. “What an excellent question. I guess I came to find some solace. Something bad, very bad, happened on my watch. And, no, I’m not in the military—at least I haven’t caused a war. Yet. Everyone tells me I’m not directly to blame, but I feel to blame anyway. I was hoping to learn how to work through the guilt. Sleep soundly again. So far, that hasn’t happened.”
The skin under his eyes was dark, his voice a bit bleak. Nicola gave his hand a squeeze.
“Thank you. I do feel a bit better having met a friend. A kissing friend. Maybe you can kiss me happy and I can kiss you into talking.”
We can try.
His lips quirked. “That will be fun, won’t it? If I’m not run out of town first. My time is up on January 9th. Yours?”
Nicola’s parents had spent a small fortune to enroll her in the Puddling Program, but now that she had money of her own, she could pay her way for a while.
I can stay as long as I like, I think.
“Won’t your family miss you?”
They know I’m safe here.
Was she? The man next to her had potential to upset her constrained world.
What did she know about him really, besides the fact that he was well barbered, rather gorgeous, and visibly well-to-do? She’d seen a heavy gold signet ring with an inscription in the onyx, and his clothes—when they weren’t slept in—were impeccably tailored. He appeared to be some sort of inventive engineer, which was unusual for a man of his class. Nicola suspected he was not a mere mister. Mrs. Grace had let something slip at the doorway the first day Jack had come to call. She’d said “milord.”
It was against the rules to inquire further. All Nicola knew was that she felt comfortable with him, and flattered by his concern and kisses, even if he might be a cad. She didn’t think so, however. There was just something about him that made her feel comfortable for the first time since the accident. Maybe even in years.
And playful. Nicola had never been a playful sort of person. Earnest, yes. Serious. Interested in doing good works, as long as they didn’t involve knitting. Once she was done with Puddling, she vowed never to pick up another knitting needle unless her life depended on skewering someone with it.
What about your family?
Jack made a face. “My mother is in France at the moment. It’s somewhat of a relief not to have to force myself to be jolly for the season with her. It’s difficult at any time of the year, in fact—the mater is not a warm and fuzzy creature at the best of times. She is unusually sharp-tongued, blunt, and far too honest for anyone’s good. Right now, I am in her little black book. Punishment is always nigh. If she was home for Christmas, I’d get a lump of coal.”
Why?
“I’m a disappointment to her, I suppose. In trade.” He exaggerated the word as if it were excrement. “She has an idea that I’ve betrayed my upbringing, disrespected my parents, although wolves would have been more sympathetic.” His mouth turned upward, but the smile was not real. “I’m sorry—it’s rather pathetic for a man my age to whine about the shortcomings of his family. I take it you are close to yours.”
Nicola nodded.
“Lucky you. Here, you look chilled to the bone. Shall I return you to your cottage?” He extended an elbow, and she took it. “I shall get the letters to our hiding spot first thing in the morning. Thank you very much for facilitating my rebellion.”
Nicola stood, planting her cane in the slush. She’d like to spend more time with Jack, but they had probably garnered too much notice already. Her afternoon was bound to be boring.
And kissless.