“Who would that be?”
The earl dropped the mechanical pencil into his hands. “The Duke of Ashmore.”
Philip returnedwith a whirling mind to Rosethistle Cottage. He saw a light burning in the parlour room.
“Miss Weston! What are you doing up so late?”
She rose from the armchair. The candlelight cast shadows on her face. “I wanted to wait for you to ask: how did it go?” She looked very pretty in a simple blue gown that matched her eyes and the pink flush on her cheeks.
He tugged at his neckcloth. A man couldn’t breathe in these damnable things.
“Strange.” He pulled the cloth off his neck and took a liberated breath. “Very strange.”
He crumpled the cravat into a ball, threw it on the table, dropped into a chair and motioned for her to sit. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on the edge of the chair.
“Strange. Is that good or bad?”
He reflected. To be fair, they hadn’t been awful towards him. “They were surprisingly accepting of me. They were very curious.”
“Of course. The Earl of Threthewick has been somewhat of a mystery thereabouts. How was supper?”
Philip reflected. “The meat was bland and the soup too salty.”
Arabella smiled, and a dimple formed in her cheek. “I meant in terms of handling the utensils, of course.”
He shuddered. “A nightmare. I may have used the fish fork for the meat.”
She chuckled. It was a low laugh that gurgled in her throat. “And your invention?”
He furrowed his brows. “I am not certain. The earl seemed rather bored with my explanation of the problem. He did like this, though.” He pulled the propelling pencil out of his waistcoat.
“What is it?”
“What do you think?” He leaned forward, eager for her opinion.
She turned it in her slim fingers, clicked on the top and when her lips formed an “oh,” he saw that she understood instantly what it was. “It’s a writing device that you don’t have to sharpen. It is brilliant.”
He grinned at her. “Yes, it is. It’s nothing monumental. Yet the Earl was as fascinated as a child. But he did promise to help me.”
“It looks like the effort you put into this was worth it. That is great news, Mr Merivale.”
“Philip. Call me Philip.” Dash it, that had just come out of his mouth. Suddenly he wanted nothing more in the world than to hear his name on her lips. His gaze fell on the gentle curve of her mouth.
Her eyes grew round.
“Say it,” his voice was hoarse.
Her lips trembled. “Philip,” she whispered.
“Arabella.” He took a deep breath. “Arabella. I would like to kiss you.”
Chapter 24
Part of her had known it would happen.
It had been in the air. A sizzling energy that surrounded them and drew them closer.
They’d risen simultaneously. With a quick intake of breath, she lifted her head. Slowly, very slowly, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. She felt the sweet warmth and softness of his lips, at first hesitating, then growing more insisting, demanding.
