He glanced over and saw she was staring at him, rather than the view.
He turned to face her. For a moment, as the street noise faded and the homely sounds of Mrs. Lewis sweeping the downstairs entry hall disappeared, they were alone together, caught in a bubble of perfect of awareness.
He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. That smaller top lip, out of balance, but perched so perfectly on the lower, plumper lip . . . if he kissed just the top, felt that petal softness, caressed it with his own mouth . . . would it swell a little? Make a more even pairing?
“Do you know,” she said absently. “I think if I had a right-angle square, I could use your nose as the hypotenuse of a triangle.”
“What?” He touched his nose. “Yes, well, I suppose it is rather long and—”
“Splendid,” she interrupted, her gaze still focused intently. “It is straight and strong and rather . . . perfect.” She blinked suddenly and her gaze darted away. “For your face, I meant, of course. Wonderfully proportionate.”
“Thank you. I think.”
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Oh, I do apologize.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “My first day in Town and I’ve done it already.”
“Done? Done what?”
“What my mother warned me I must not. I have a habit of going off inside my head at times, usually when I’m making a discovery, connecting things for the first time, or obsessing over something.” She ducked her head. “I daresay you don’t know what I mean.”
“I do, though.” He stared at her mouth again as her head rose slowly.
“I tend to just blurt out what I’m thinking, when I get in such a state,” she said on nearly a whisper. “My mother swears it will get me in trouble in Society.”
He should stop. Stop staring. Stop noting the increased shallowness of her breathing. Stop wanting a girl who was not meant for him. “Perhaps, then, we should focus our thoughts away from noses and lips and—”
He froze. Devil take it.
“Lips?” she asked. Then she flushed a glorious, rosy red and turned away, her fingers rising to lightly touch her mouth.
He nearly shook his head at his own inept blunder.
He didn’t, though. He reached for her and kissed her, instead.
It was an impulse that broke over him like a wave, impossible to resist. He went along with it, tumbling and reaching, and pulling her into his embrace and into the roll with him.
The scientific part of his brain protested. There was no logic to it. No common sense. He shut it up, shut it harshly down, with a masterful, possessive, heated kiss. He spread his fingers amongst her dark curls and kissed her with all of the fiery passion that had been building in him for weeks, and thank every saint in the heavens, she kissed him back.
She tasted of tea, and of fine, French brandy. And devil take it, those soft, sweet lips were as luscious as he imagined. He indulged his earlier fancy and sucked at her upper lip, then delved his tongue deep, partnering hers in the time-honored dance of back and forth, of sensual, playful give and take.
Down the passage, his door opened. Tensford stuck his head out and bellowed. “Sterne!”
They jumped apart. The movement caught the earl’s eye. “Oh, there you are. Sorry, didn’t mean to shout. I thought you’d gone down. Has the carriage arrived?”
Sterne turned away, thankful for the excuse. He peered out of the window for a moment, reaching for control. “It’s coming down the lane now,” he reported.
“Good.” The countess had followed her husband out. “We can all go on and call upon Mr. Simon. He’s expecting us sometime today.”
“The hell you say.” Tensford bent and literally swept his wife off of her feet. “You are going straight home and you are not leaving the bed until a doctor has seen you.” He adjusted his grip and started for the stairs.
“Oh, dear.” But Sterne noted the grin at the side of Lady Tensford’s mouth and how her arms tightened around her husband’s neck. She looked over his shoulder. “It will be up to you two, then, to meet the man,” she called.
They all trooped down the stairs and Sterne moved ahead to open the door as the carriage pulled in close. Tensford carried his wife over and got her settled. “I’m sorry, Sterne. I know this is important to you, but I have to see to Hope’s health.”
“Of course you do. Shall we fetch the doctor?”
“I already sent someone from the house. He might even be there when we arrive.”
“You must keep our appointment,” the countess said from the window. “You know Mr. Simon travels so often. We were lucky to catch him in Town.” She beckoned both Sterne and Miss Munroe close. “Get a hack. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.” She speared him with a look. “If anyone asks, you are Penelope’s cousin. Do you understand?”
