“Watching the raindrops run down the window.”
“That sounds boring.”
“No, not at all. Rain is never boring.”
“But people are? Is that why you are in here, because the raindrops are more interesting than the company next door?”
“The raindrops are more in tune with my mood.” There was the lightest touch, so light she might almost have imagined it, on one of her shoulders. “What are you doing?” she said sharply.
“Kissing your shoulder.”
“You should not be doing that.”
“I know, but you have the most enticing shoulders, do you know that?” His lips moved delicately along and then up her neck. How improper it was! Yet she made no move to stop him. If only he were not so tempting! Life was much simpler when he did nothing but rant at her, his face stern and unyielding. But this gently affectionate man was very, very hard to dislike.
“Have you ever wondered why it is,” she said pensively, “that a lady prepares for the evening by exposing her neck, her shoulders and half her chest to the world, while covering her bare arms decorously with long gloves? A man, on the other hand, is covered from neck to toes. Only his face is uncovered.”
The kissing paused. “I suppose it must be because a man chooses a woman for her beauty, so she must needs display her charms, whereas a woman chooses a man for his position in society, and he has no need to display anything.”
“Yet in reality both choose according to money — her dowry and his income.”
“You are cynical, my love. You forget that some people, men and woman alike, may choose for love. As I do.”
“What is love?”
He shifted a little at her back, and she heard the surprise in his voice. “A profound question. Who can say? Writers from time immemorial have tried to encapsulate it, but I suppose we each of us experience it differently.”
“But how can one tell one is in love?”
“One simply knows,” he said, his arms tightening around her momentarily, as if for emphasis. “You knew you were in love with Shapman. I know I am in love with you.”
“But if I were to fall in love with someone else, would it be the same or different?”
He chuckled, a low rumble that she felt in her back as he held her tight. “An unanswerable question. But you will know. Are these questions leading anywhere? Or are you merely tormenting me?”
“Tormenting you? How am I tormenting you?” She slithered out of his hold and spun round to face him.
“Dearest Tess, you know how I feel about you. If I thought you were talking about me—”
“You flatter yourself!” she said coldly, then winced at the pain on his face. Impulsively, she reached out and laid a hand on his chest. “Forgive me. I spoke thoughtlessly. I am only… it is just that… I cannot tell…”
She drifted into silence, quite unable to formulate a coherent sentence. How could she raise his hopes by telling him anythingof her confused feelings at that moment? These intimate moments brought her very close to loving him, and she was not at all sure she wanted that. It would only complicate her life still further.
“Shall we play chess?” she said briskly. “There is a set in the other room.”
His expression shifted, no longer hurt, merely resigned, she thought. But he nodded, and they joined the others in the saloon, and no one commented on their long absence.
She could not concentrate on the game, and expected to lose, but perhaps Edward was out of sorts too, for once again she defeated him, which he accepted graciously.
“My mind is elsewhere tonight,” he said. “I think I shall retire.”
“Of course. Are you quite well?”
“Oh… I suppose so. What ails me is not anything which can be fixed by a sleeping draught or a dose of laudanum, anyway. Goodnight, Tess.”
The Edgertons and Rycrofts had got up a game of whist, but between rubbers, there was a shift as Sandy begged for a turn, so Captain Edgerton wandered across to the chess table.
“May I give you a game, Miss Nicholson? Or backgammon, if you wish for a change.”
