The Sum of All Kisses

Sarah gritted her teeth. If this were anyone else, she would have thrown up her arms and stalked off. But Honoria wasn’t trying to play the matchmaker. She wasn’t that sly, and even if she were, she would never be that obvious. Rather, the bride’s bliss was such that she wanted everyone to be just as happy as she was, and she could not imagine that anyone could be happier than they were right here in this very room.

“I am sorry, Lady Chatteris,” Lord Hugh murmured, “but I fear I must rest my leg.”

“Oh, but then you must make your way to the drawing room,” Honoria replied instantly. “We are serving cake there for guests who do not wish to dance.”

“Sarah hasn’t had cake!” Frances exclaimed. “I was supposed to get some for her.”

“It’s all right, Frances,” Sarah assured her, “I—”

“Oh, you must have cake,” Honoria said. “Mrs. Wetherby worked with the cook for weeks to get the recipe just right.”

Sarah did not doubt it. Honoria was mad for sweets; she always had been.

“I’ll come with you,” Frances said.

“That would be lovely, but—”

“And Lord Hugh can come, too!”

At that, Sarah turned to Frances with suspicion. Honoria might simply be trying to make the entire world as ecstatic as she was, but Frances’s motives were rarely so pure.

“Very well,” Sarah acquiesced before she realized it was really Lord Hugh’s place to do so.

“Marcus and I will be going to the drawing room soon to greet people there,” Honoria said.

“As you wish, my lady,” Hugh said with a little bow. Nothing in his voice betrayed irritation or impatience, but Sarah was not fooled. Strange that she’d got to know him well enough in the last day to realize that he was absolutely furious. Or at the very least, mildly annoyed.

And yet his face was as stony as ever.

“Shall we?” he murmured. Sarah nodded, and they continued toward the door. Once in the hall, however, he paused and said, “You need not accompany me to the drawing room.”

“Oh, I do,” she muttered, thinking of Iris, who was rubbing it in, and Honoria, who was not, and even Frances, who fully expected her to be there when she arrived with cake. “But if you wish to leave, I shall make your excuses.”

“I promised the bride.”

“So did I.”

He looked at her for a moment longer than was comfortable, then said, “I don’t suppose you’re the sort to break your promises?”

He was lucky she’d released his arm. She’d probably have snapped his bone in two. “No.”

Again, he stared at her. Or maybe it wasn’t a stare, but it was very strange the way he so frequently let his eyes linger on her face before he spoke. He did this with other people, too; she’d noticed it the night before.

“Very well, then,” he said. “I believe we are expected in the drawing room.”

She glanced at him, then returned to face forward. “I do like cake.”

“Were you planning to deny yourself merely to avoid me?” he asked as they continued down the hall.

“Not exactly.”

He gave her a sideways look. “Not exactly?”

“I was going to return to the ballroom once you left,” she admitted. “Or have some sent to my room.” A moment later she added, “And I wasn’t trying to avoid you.”

“Weren’t you?”

“No, I—” She smiled to herself. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” he echoed. Again.

She didn’t clarify. She couldn’t, because she wasn’t even sure what she’d meant. Just that, maybe, she didn’t completely detest him any longer. Or at least not enough to deny herself cake.

“I have a question,” she said.

He cocked his head, indicating that she should proceed.

“Yesterday, when we were in the drawing room, when you, erh . . .”

“Woke you up?” he supplied.

“Yes,” she said, wondering why it had felt embarrassing to say it. “Well, after, I mean. You said something about ten pounds.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that was born deep in his throat.

“You wanted me to pretend to swoon,” she reminded him.

“Could you have done?” he asked.

“Faked a swoon? I should hope so. It’s a talent every lady should possess.” She shot him a cheeky grin, then asked, “Did Marcus really offer you ten pounds if I fainted on the lawn?”

“No,” Lord Hugh admitted. “Your cousin Daniel felt that the sight of us both armed with pistols might be enough to make a lady swoon.”

“Not just me,” she felt compelled to clarify.

“Not just you. And then Daniel announced that Lord Chatteris would pay us each ten pounds if we managed it.”

“Marcus agreed to this?” Sarah could not think of anything less like him, except possibly jumping onto a stage and dancing a jig.

“Of course not. Can you imagine such a thing?” Lord Hugh smiled then, a real, true one that curved more than just the corners of his mouth. It reached his eyes, sparkling in those green depths, and for the most staggering, horrifying moment, he turned almost handsome. No, not that. He’d always been handsome. When he smiled, he turned . . .

Lovable.

“Oh, dear God,” she choked out, jumping back. She’d never kissed a man, never even wanted to, and she was starting with Hugh Prentice?

“Is something wrong?”