“He did. Nothing wild or salacious. It was a gentle kiss, and sweet, but I sensed some emotion behind it.”
“Or did you onlywantthere to be emotion behind it?”
Genevieve shrugged. “I’d have to repeat the kiss to be certain, and I cannot do that.”
“But you want to. I can see it in your face.”
“It was a very good kiss.”
Her mother blew out a breath. “A man like that has probably had quite a bit of practice. You are correct in one thing—you cannot repeat the kiss.”
“I won’t. I apologized, and he said we should put it behind us and not mention it again.”
“Very reasonable. I think that’s a sound plan. Unless…”
Genevieve frowned. “Unless?”
“He feels something for you too.”
“I’m sure he sees me as nothing more than another member of his staff.” But even as she said it, she was remembering the kiss and the hint of passion and something more behind it. He hadn’t kissed her like she was his valet or footman. He’d kissed her like she was a woman he desired.
“Just be careful. He has a questionable reputation already, and if you’re dismissed from his employment, you might not find a decent position again.”
“You’re right, Mama. I know you will always put things in perspective for me.” And she did have clarity now. A kiss was enjoyable, but certainly not worth losing her position and her good name.
Chapter Eleven
Rory was waitingin the foyer when Miss Brooking returned. “Where have you been?” he demanded as soon as she stepped inside. She looked up at him with those lovely green eyes, so cool and calm, and untied her bonnet, which was damp. It must have begun to rain, and damn if he needed one more thing to worry about. His nerves were so on edge, they might fall off a cliff at this point.
“I was with my mother,” she said. “Today was my day off.” Her hands stilled on the ribbons as she studied his face. “What’s wrong?”
“We cannot find Frances.”
“What do you mean? Were you playing hide-and-seek again?”
“No. No games. She’s run away. You should have been here.” He knew blaming Miss Brooking would solve nothing, but he couldn’t stop the accusation. His daughter had not been seen for almost two hours now, and he was panicking. He hadn’t panicked like this since he’d been informed of the carriage accident that killed his family, and he’d raced on horseback to the scene, hoping against hope to find his wife and child alive.
Now the panic was back, and he couldn’t seem to focus his thoughts. All he could think was that he couldn’t lose Frances. He’d lost everyone else. He couldn’t lose her too.
“Where is Mrs. Mann? And Mary?” Miss Brooking asked.
“Out looking for Frances. I was about to send a footman to fetch you from your mother’s. If you had only come home earlier—”
Miss Brooking raised her gloved hands. “I will not apologize for visiting my mother or taking my full day off, but I am here now, and we will find Frances. Let’s not stand in the foyer. Come to the parlor, sit down, and tell me everything.”
He had the urge to argue with her, but her words made sense. Standing in the foyer and making accusations would not help them find Frances. He needed to give Miss Brooking all the information and make a plan. But he didn’t have to do it her way.
“Parlor be damned,” he said, and headed for his library. He needed a drink. Once in the library, he poured himself three fingers of brandy. “Want some?” he asked.
“No. Tell me what happened.” She retied the ribbons of her bonnet.
“Frances has been misbehaving all day. I don’t know the half of it, as I had correspondence to attend to, but I heard some of it. She broke a vase, argued with Mrs. Mann, refused to eat her dinner.”
“What did you do?”
“Me? You think she ran away because of me?”
“I just want all of the facts,” she said, her tone the one she might take with a young child trying her patience.
