Lottie would never understand them.
Worse, what did it say about her that she was . . .
Well, that she felt . . .
Oof.
She was . . .disappointed.
Had the kiss been as uneventful for him as he implied?
She still thrummed from it nearly a day on. But Cousin Alex appeared utterly unaffected.
Again.
Men.
He stopped in front of her after another circuit of the room, that impish grin still in place.
“I feel like I’m a prisoner set free. Giddy on power and not sure what thing I wish to do first,” he said.
Right.
Their kiss was to be forgotten.
They were to be friends and nothing more.
That was good.
That was right.
That was the loyal-to-her-family thing to do.
Lottie nodded and shooed away the flutter of disappointment in her chest.
“Where would you like to go?” she asked.
It was February, after all; the ground outside was a boggy swamp.
“Not too far,” he said. “I hear tell of a painting in the library that is most lovely.”
“Lovely?” she repeated and then laughed. “I think I shall have to allow you to be the judge of that. But, yes, the library is an excellent choice for an excursion.”
Lottie kissed him.
She kissed me.
Instead of counting sheep the night before, Alex had fallen asleep withthatthought leaping fences over and over in his mind.
At the moment, Lottie had quit his bedchamber so Alex could finish dressing and join her in the library.
A footman helped him don a waistcoat and banyan.
All the while, Alex struggled to puzzle out—
Whyhad she kissed him?
Was it truly as she asserted? That Newton’s Third Law of Motion compelled her lips to meet his?
