Chapter Two

Liza intended to focus on Defoe’s words, but her thoughts returned to Lord Thomas’s kiss. She hazarded a glance at him over the top of her book. He sat across from her father, his strong profile toward her.

She’d never told a soul about their kiss. Not even Fanny, her dearest friend. Certainly not Prudence, who would have blabbed to the world. Liza knew about the rumor Prudence had started about Fanny the previous season. The unkind prank had turned out well, but Prudence had not been very kind.

Liza dropped her gaze to the words on the page, but she couldn’t get that night out of her mind. It was the first time, the only time, she’d been banned from the library. No one had warned her, so she hadn’t had time to fetch a book. Mother had simply met her in the hall and turned her back.

Eighteen and not terribly well-behaved, being forbidden entrance to the room only made her want to know why. After a dinner eaten without her father, she’d claimed fatigue, but instead of retiring, she’d sneaked down the candlelit hall and pressed her ear to the closed library door.

She quickly discerned her father’s and Lord Thomas’s voices, which only confused her all the more. Her father and Lord Thomas never seemed to mind her presence in the library. She’d strained to make out their words.

“…kind of you, Phillip,” Lord Thomas said, the words slurred as if he were drunk.

Liza recalled her surprise. Lord Thomas never drank.

“I didn’t want you to be alone on your birthday, Thomas,” her father replied. “I know how hard it’s been for you since Mary died.”

“Not even two years,” Lord Thomas lamented. “We didn’t even have two whole years together, from the moment we met, to the moment I lost her. Why did I let her tend her family in their illness? She was with child. I could have forbidden her to travel in that state.”

“I know, I know.” Her father’s voice held so much pain, Liza recalled the lump that had formed in her throat. “Have another brandy, Thomas.”

“You know I never drink. Can’t stand the stuff.”

“I know. Have one more tonight, though,” her father said. “Tomorrow, you can go back to being stoic. Tonight, I think it’s time you finally cry for Mary and your child.”

A sob sounded behind the library door. She’d backed away, trembling hands pressed to her mouth. She’d never heard so much pain before. It scared her. She turned and fled to her room. She should have listened to her mother and stayed away.

As Liza had readied for bed that night, the snippets of her father’s and Lord Thomas’s conversation replayed endlessly in her thoughts. Her heart brimmed with a sorrow she couldn’t banish. She’d sent her maid away, so the girl wouldn’t see the tears on her cheeks.

Hours later, unable to sleep, Liza had risen. She’d needed a book, which meant another trip to the library. She hadn’t wanted to go, somehow afraid Lord Thomas’s pain still remained there, but she could conceive of no other way to turn her mind to less soul-wrenching thoughts.

In a white, lace-trimmed nightgown and bare feet, a single candle in hand, she crept through her family townhouse. The library door opened with a gentle push. Shakespeare was her goal, her obsession at the time, though she didn’t know if she sought tragedy or comedy. She had Romeo and Juliet pulled halfway from the shelf when a sound behind made her whirl.

Lord Thomas stood before the sofa. His coat, balled up, rested on one end as a pillow. He swayed on his feet, black vest and trousers dark shadows against the darkness. In contrast, his white shirt seemed to reflect back the flickering candlelight. The open vee at the neckline gave way to chest, neck, and face.

“Are you an angel?” he breathed. He took a step forward, bracing one hand on the arm of the sofa as he tilted.

“I’m so sorry, Lord Thomas,” Liza whispered. “I had no idea you were sleeping there.”

“Sleeping?” he repeated, and blinked owlishly. “Then you’re a dream.”

She stepped nearer. Her gaze traced the lines of sorrow etched on his face. She wished she had comfort to offer, but could think of none. Best would be to see him safely return to the couch and sleep.

“You should rest. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said softly.

He took another unsteady step. He swayed, his expression confused. Liza set the candle on a table and hurried to him. She clasped his arms to brace him. How could she get him back to the couch? If this was what drink did to him, she could see why he didn’t partake.

He stared down at her, eyes unfocused. A smile up-turned his expressive lips. “You’re so beautiful.” He freed an arm from her grip and slid warm fingers along her cheek and into her hair.

All at once, Liza became aware of her thin nightgown and her chestnut locks, hanging free to her waist. Cravat gone, shirt open, she could see Lord Thomas’s well-muscled chest. Below that scandalous vee of skin, his black vest hugged his torso and accentuated the muscles in his tall frame. She swallowed.

He cupped her face between her palms. Liza braced her palms against his chest. She wasn’t sure which of them swayed anymore, only that she didn’t want to topple. Not in that moment, for it seemed like the most important moment of her life.

Slowly, eyes locked with hers, he lowered his head. When their lips touched, her world exploded with light. His mouth was strong, his kiss insistent. The heady aroma of brandy filled her nostrils. She never wanted his kiss to end.

But it did. He lifted his head…

Seated by the window in her father’s library, Liza closed her eyes and held Defoe’s book higher to ensure her father and Lord Thomas didn’t see her face. After his searing kiss, Lord Thomas had blinked down at her in confusion. Fresh pain lanced through her as she recalled how he’d turned her name into a question. “Liza?”

She’d stumbled back, aghast. He’d kissed her without knowing who he kissed. It still baffled her. How could she have felt such magic, such rightness, when he’d mistaken her for another?

He’d swayed again and stumbled back a step to catch the arm of the sofa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he’d mumbled.

“Think of it,” she’d blurted, and fled the room.

All that long flight back to her bedroom, she’d corrected her fumbled speech. Think nothing of it. Nothing. Oh, how could she leave out that word? Her mother was right. Liza had opened her mouth and nonsense had spewed out.

When next she saw Lord Thomas, he’d acted perfectly normal. There was no hint he remembered their kiss. Liza found herself blushing around him for a week before she concluded he didn’t recall the encounter. He’d been, after all, very intoxicated. That was three years ago, yet still, she struggled to put the memory of her first kiss, her only kiss, behind her.