Oh, that voice. Rough and raspy. She thought no orchestra in the world could play a tune that would rival it in creating a deeply enamored response within her breast. If she carried on with these unsuitable thoughts, she feared she might swoon, when she’d never swooned in her life—although the finishing school she’d attended had held a lesson on how to do it gracefully. She’d considered it a silly waste of time, but how was she to have known then that a man’s nearness could make it feel like one’s stays were slowly shrinking, making it difficult to breathe? Time to concentrate on the reason she was now locked within his arms. “Can you feel the breeze buffeting the kite?”
“I can.”
“Can you imagine how lonely the wind must be up there with only the birds for company?”
“It’ll have your leaves to toy with once the trees grow.”
She smiled with pleasure at the acknowledgment her meager efforts would have far-reaching consequences, just as the reading lessons she taught did. It was impossible to know how the smallest of actions might eventually make an incredible difference. “Yes, it will, but that is years from now. Shall we take the kite a bit higher, give it more freedom?”
“If you like.”
“We’ll slowly turn the reel, letting out more string but carefully. We must pay attention to ensure we don’t lose the interest of the wind. Otherwise our kite will fall.”
“Did your siblings teach you that?”
“They taught me everything of importance. They also made sure I had everything they didn’t: dolls, tops, kites. My mum says they lived their childhood through me. They never really had one of their own, you see. It wasn’t Mum’s fault. It’s just the way it is in the rookeries. I think we’ve given it enough lead.”
Glancing back over her shoulder in order to glimpse his joy, she discovered his intense gaze focused on her and was left with the impression he’d been studying her profile for some time. “You’re not watching your kite.”
“I’ve found something far more interesting.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be up there with it?”
“I’d rather be down here... with you.” His sun-weathered skin growing darker as though he was quite possibly blushing, he gave his attention back to the kite. “I rode in a hot air balloon once.”
“Really? I’d love to do that. It must have been grand to see the world from up there.”
“It was like stepping into the pages of a book, visiting an entirely different realm. At the time I wanted to stay up there. Now I’m glad I didn’t. Otherwise I’d have never learned how to fly a kite.” He slid his hands from hers and quickly stepped back, leaving her feeling somewhat abandoned and forlorn. “Thank you, Miss Trewlove, for sharing your kite with me.”
Turning around partially, she faced him as much as possible while still maintaining control of the kite. “You’re welcome to borrow it anytime you like.”
“You’re far too gracious, Miss Trewlove. I’ll see you Monday night.”
It felt as though her heart was about to follow the way of the kite and go soaring. “You’re willing to teach now?”
“I’m willing to see what it’s all about. Seven, correct?”
“Come a little early, so I can explain a few things before people arrive.”
He doffed his hat. “Monday.”
As he strode off, she realized she didn’t need to travel in the wicker basket of a balloon to know what it felt like to float on air.
Chapter 9
Glancing around at the reading parlor of Miss Trewlove’s shop, Matthew remembered one of Aesop’s fables warned that when a man faced temptation, he was likely to give in to it. That had certainly been the case yesterday afternoon. He never should have approached Fancy Trewlove, and he most certainly should not have stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Even now, if he had pen in hand, he would be able to outline exactly where her body had nestled against his.
With her in his embrace, his sister’s remark regarding finding a woman well suited to him had bounced around his mind like tumblers at a circus.
Her hunt for a title aside, what if Fancy Trewlove was well suited to him? Where was the harm in exploring the possibility? He couldn’t deny being intrigued by her and enjoying her company. It was unlikely she would attempt to trap him into marriage, because she was unaware he possessed that which she yearned so desperately to acquire.
Or what her family wished her to acquire, if she’d spoken true about her own dreams.
He was fascinated by her makeshift classroom. And it was makeshift. No desks. No proper tables. A few low ones designed as a place to set a cup and saucer or a glass. Or a pair of feet if a rude person took up position on one of the nearby settees, sofas, or chairs.
Yet a coziness enveloped the room, very much like that found in a library. In the corner rested a mound of pillows that he knew children sat upon while listening to Miss Trewlove read. On the walls throughout were the paintings her brother had created. Whimsical forest animals and mythical creatures reading. Although he was most intrigued by the hanging over the mantelpiece. It reflected Miss Trewlove lounging on a sofa with books scattered on the floor around her.
When he’d peered into the room a few days earlier—was it only a few days?—he’d not noticed the artwork or the shelves lined with books on either side of the fireplace. He’d been arrested by her, all his attention devoted to her. It was always that way with her.
