To him, though, a revelation, a secret as well-kept from him as his sisters’ reading habits.
A cold truth, an uncomfortable truth. One he damn well wanted to vanquish, banish to the realm of myth.
“I should take you to task for calling me silly and old,” he said, picking over each word carefully. “But I admit to finding more to object to over the notion that you or any of my sisters might feel unwanted.”
“Oh, but we do.” She stole his gaze for several breathless moments. Damn. How did she do that to his heart? She must possess a lever that controlled it, making it go faster or slower or stop entirely at the moments she desired. “But I will not hold your ignorance against you. I think… I think those articles you wrote did you a disservice.”
“Clearly.”
“They did not reveal you truthfully. As the Duke of Courtship, you are abysmal. You are”—what a delightfully sly little grin—“Duke Clearly Lacking.”
“A direct hit.” He winced, he shifted, he tried not to show how clever he thought the insult. “Your aim, too, is quite excellent. But are such jabs truly necessary?”
“Let me follow it up with a compliment to soothe the burning embarrassment.” She held his gaze, no hint of hesitation in whatever she was about to say. “As a brother, you are quite spectacular.”
Where’d she come by that knife? How did she possess such a wondrous aim? It thunked right in the middle of his chest. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I can be abysmal at that, too. But I am trying.” He startled halfway to standing. “Is that man too close to Felicity?”
Lady Emma’s hand fluttered onto his forearm, settled in strong and warm, bringing him back to the bench. “No, he is no closer than he was a moment ago.”
Samuel rubbed the back of his neck. “After last Season, I worry more than I used to.”
“Why?”
“I came to better understand my sisters, and such familiarity bred fears. I… perhaps you can answer something for me.”
“I will try my best.”
“When is a man to kiss a woman?”
Her mouth hung open, and it never quite closed as it curved, flashing even teeth, then the wet, pink tip of her tongue as she spoke. “Not ten minutes after they meet, Your Grace.”
He searched the ground for a hole to throw himself into.
She removed her hand, settled it in her lap, and the place where it had once been burned with the absence. “The timing does not matter so much as the nature of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“That the kiss, too, must reveal a couple’s compatibility. Does the gentleman give the lady what she needs? Does she open to him and give back?”
“How do you know?”
“I-wh-what do you mean?”
“You must have kissed the right man, the one who gave you what you needed, in order to know that is the answer to my question.” It was what everyone had told him, that he couldn’t know a thing—courtship in particular—until he’d done it.
“My kissing history,” she hissed, “is not for you to know.”
“The kisses could not have given you what you need. Or you’d be married.” Ignoring Emma had been his target to begin with, but now it became the little triangle of skirt that flung toward him across the bench. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into the bench on either side of his body, capturing and pinning that length of her skirt. “Is that it, Lady Emma?” His voice low and meant to rush red across her cheeks, though he did not look at her to see if he succeeded. “No man’s kiss has ever given you what you needed?”
The velvet of her pelisse was thick yet cold, keeping, hopefully, the late winter chill away. It felt like an unused couch beneath his palm, ready to be warmed by two tumbling, entangled bodies.
“Once,” she whispered. “Only once.”
He curled her velvet in his fist, kept it for a breath, then stood. “I’ll see you in five days. Early morning. My Aunt Millicent shall chaperone. I hope you have much to relate.” He walked away, the feel of her velvet still heavy in his hand.
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He was interested in her expertise, in what she could do for Felicity. Not in where her lips had been, not in whether thatonceshe’d uttered so softly was also…him.
Chapter Seven
