Genevieve tried to figure out where to put her arms. She rested them on his chest then quickly put them at her sides, but her hands tangled with his. She didn’t have enough room to squeeze her hands behind her back, so she had to place them on his chest again.
“I should find another hiding place.”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“Stay here or she’ll find us both.” The rumble of his voice seared through her like velvet heat. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the emphatic tone of his voice. She realized he was invested in this game.
“Do not tell me you are the competitive sort,” she whispered.
“What other sort is there?” he replied, his breath feathering over her hair.
“The sort who plays solely for entertainment.”
“What’s more entertaining than winning? Shh. She’s near.” He put an arm around her and drew her close. Genevieve went somewhat rigid. Was this a way to silence her? She thought it must have been, but now that she was pressed against him, all thoughts of the game fled. In the darkness, she was all too aware of the solid feel of his body, the warmth of his hand pressed against her back, and the scent of clean linen, wool, and amber. Beneath that was another scent, one undeniably male.Hisscent.
Genevieve feared she might be tempted to bury her nose in his neck and breathe it in, so she lifted her head.
That was a mistake, because her nose bumped his. Her breath caught in her throat.Oh, dear Lord.They were so close she might kiss him. And then, of course, once she had the idea, she couldn’t put it out of her head. Shewantedto kiss him. Was it her imagination, or did the hand on her back tighten? Did he inhale sharply? Did his mouth lower to hers, or did she rise on tiptoes to reach his? In the dark, she couldn’t say what had happened. All she knew was that suddenly they were kissing, his lips sliding over hers gently and hers reciprocating. She slid her hand up his chest and wrapped it around his neck, so she could feel his soft hair on the back of her wrist. He slid his other arm about her waist, so he held her with both arms, somehow pulling her closer. She hadn’t thought they couldbeany closer, but now her breasts were pushed against his chest. One hand was in his hair and the other closed around the hard muscle of his bicep.
The kiss seemed to linger and build, although as kisses went it was relatively chaste, just a meeting of lips, the soft brush of mouths. Genevieve felt as though she were on fire. If she had been able to force herself to break the kiss, she might have looked down at her feet to see if flames were licking at her boots.Hours or seconds passed as time stood still, and then she heard pounding.
One of them broke the kiss, or perhaps both of them, and she drew back, listening. The sound of pounding came again.
“Someone is knocking at the door,” Lord Emory said, speaking her thoughts aloud.
Chapter Ten
Rory released MissBrooking and fumbled for the door latch. Even when his hand brushed over it, he couldn’t quite grip it. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t breathe. Damn close spaces. He’d never liked them, ever since the sadistic headmaster at St. Andrew’s had locked him in the broom closet for two days as punishment for some crime or other he couldn’t remember.
Except Rory hadn’t thought about that incident in years. And he was afraid he was only thinking about it now to try to justify the way his entire body was trembling after that kiss.
What the devil was he thinking? Why on earth would he kiss his governess?
He moved quickly down the corridor and started down the stairs. Below, he could hear Gables opening the door and greeting someone.
Rory didn’t need to think very hard to know why he would kiss Miss Brooking. When she was pressed against him, she’d felt so soft and warm. The faint scent of mint and soap made with rose petals teased his senses. He’d been able to clearly imagine her lovely pink lips.
And then she’d kissed him.
He was almost certain she had kissed him. He’d kissed her back, though, so he had no excuse.
“My lord,” Gables said as Rory reached the bottom of the stairs. “Doctor Acton is here to examine Miss Lumlee.”
“Doctor Acton?” Rory stared at the middle-aged man dressed in black, who was dripping all over the marble in his foyer. “Is something wrong with Frances? We were just playing a game.”
In fact, he could hear Frances cry out, “I found you!” to Miss Brooking, who was either still in the cleaning closet or had emerged after him.
Doctor Acton bowed. “My lord, I was told the young lady may need spectacles.”
“Oh, yes.” Rory had forgotten about the spectacles. He’d forgotten about everything except that kiss. “If you will join me in the parlor, sir, Gables will fetch my daughter.”
Gables bowed and started up the stairs while Rory gestured to the parlor. Once inside, the doctor asked permission to arrange his medical instruments. Rory went to the window and looked out at the sodden lilac bushes and the gray afternoon.
“Here she is, my lord,” Gables said.
Rory turned and spotted Miss Brooking. He was dimly aware Frances had entered with her, but he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the governess. Her cheeks were pink, her mouth rosy, and her green eyes looked quite large. She didn’t meet his gaze but studied the doctor.
“I don’t need a doctor, Papa,” Frances said. “I’m not sick.”
