He was aware of her ragged breathing for a few moments and had a ghastly thought. That was probably—no, undoubtedly—her first kiss. And yet it hardly qualified for the name. But he could not now make the occasion more memorable for her by returning his lips to hers and doing the deed more thoroughly and more expertly.
It would be the very worst thing he could do.
He ought not to have kissed her at all.
He just did not go about toying with the sensibilities of innocent young schoolteachers. Or with his own for that matter.
Good Lord, they were just friends.Just friends!
“I think,” she said softly, “we ought to go back to the inn, Lord Whitleaf. I see that people are coming out, and I cannot hear music any longer.”
He ought to apologize, dash it all. But that would draw attention to what had not really been a kiss at all.
He could still feel the shock of her warm, soft mouth against his.
Dash it all, why had he not listened to her when she told him over a week ago that a friendship was impossible between a man and a woman? He had used the example of Edgecombe and the countess to prove her wrong. But he had failed to consider the fact that they were lovers as well as friends.
A single man and a single woman could not be both.
Nor could they be just friends, it seemed. The devil of it was that he wanted her—sexually. And it simply would not do.
“I will escort you,” he said, vastly relieved that the assembly had ended in time to avert further indiscretions.
Edgecombe and the countess were waiting outside their carriage. Other people and carriages and horses milled about them in high-spirited disorder as everyone called good night to everyone else.
Peter smiled and looked cheerfully about him.
“Miss Osbourne and I have been wiser than all of you,” he called as they approached the crowd. “We have been strolling quietly out here and enjoying the cool air.”
She too, he saw when he glanced down at her, was smiling brightly.
“Frances,” she said, “this has been a lovely evening, has it not? Thank you so much for bringing me.”
Edgecombe smiled kindly down at her while offering his hand to help her into their carriage, the countess bade Peter a good night before climbing in after her, Edgecombe vaulted in behind, and within moments their coachman was maneuvering the carriage out of the crowd.
Peter heaved a silent sigh of relief as he lifted a hand in farewell and then gave his attention to Miss Raycroft, who had grasped his arm and was prattling excitedly to him about the delights of the evening.
But he was only half listening to her.
What you need is a dragon to slay,she had said while they were still inside the refreshment room.
What you need is a dragon to slay.
When Frances tapped on the door of Susanna’s bedchamber, Susanna mumbled something that was certainly notcome in,but she must not have spoken clearly enough. Frances turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and peered around it.
“Oh, youarestill up,” she said, opening it wider when she saw in the light of a single candle burning on the dressing table that Susanna was standing by the window. “I thought you might welcome someone with whom to mull over your first-ever ball. You were very quiet on the way home after saying it was a lovely evening. Alovely evening,Susanna? Is that all? Lucius said you were probably too shy with him to talk volumes. But now I have left him in our bedchamber, and it is just you and I.”
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Oh,” Susanna said brightly as she busied herself with closing the curtains and realized even as she did so that now she would have no excuse not to turn around, “it was all very pleasant, was it not?”
“Now it is onlypleasant? Andlovelytoo? Is that not damning the evening with faint praise?” Frances laughed softly. And then she fell silent as her friend fussed with the fall of the curtains. “Susanna? You are notcrying,are you?”
“No, of course I am not,” Susanna protested. But her brief words ended on an ignominious squeak.
“Youare. Oh, you poor dear!” Frances exclaimed, hurrying across the room toward her. “Whateverhappened?”
Susanna laughed shakily and fumbled in the pocket of her night robe for her handkerchief as she turned. Frances too, she saw, had undressed, ready for bed. She was wearing a long, flowing dark blue dressing gown, and her dark hair lay loose down her back.
