Hugh was having some sort of internal argument before he finally spoke. “May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside me.
“Of course,” I replied. “It is your home. You may sit wherever you like.” He froze in midair, turning to Michael for some incomprehensible reason. He only finished the task of sitting when his brother responded with a halfhearted shrug.
Jules met my gaze with an equally bewildered expression.
“We should return home, actually,” Michael offered.
“But—” Juliet’s protestations were interrupted when he pulled her more firmly against his body. Another whisper in her ear and they evaporated entirely.
She melted into him, her body slid into place against his naturally. They fit in a way Hugh and I just… didn’t. Where they were elegant in their similarities. We could not be more physically different. Hugh was tall, broad, hard in the way I was short, small, and soft.
Juliet addressed me, “I’ll call on you on Wednesday?” She paired the question with a significant look, and I nodded.
Michael tugged her away and I was left alone with my husband once more.
With the departure of our guests, a poignant silence overtook the drawing room. Hugh was poised on the settee next to me, close but not quite touching. Even still, I could feel his presence nearly as strong as a physical touch. He adjusted slightly next to me, and gooseflesh rose along the side closest to him.
He cleared his throat before breaking the silence. “They seem happy. I’m glad for it.” I nodded in agreement while he continued. “I was thinking I might go for a ride tomorrow morning. Would you be interested in accompanying me?”
His offer was a pleasant surprise because it seemed as though we had been staring at ledgers for days. I longed to agree because I missed riding terribly, but I knew I couldn’t manage the exercise with all due propriety.
Sensing my hesitation, he added, “only if you wish. I recall you mentioning that you enjoyed the activity in the country. I would be glad of the company if it would please you.” This man, whoever he was, was not my husband—such hedging.
I owed him an honest response. An explanation to soothe his apparent agitation. “I would love to join you, only… I don’t know if I can manage sidesaddle on an unfamiliar mount.”
Relief overtook his countenance. “I promise not to alert the scandal sheets.”
“A joke again?” I asked. His brow raised and his lip quirked again. “Then yes.”
“I must ask, how do you ride astride in a gown?” His tone was light with no hint of judgment.
It fortified me to answer with a cheeky, “I don’t.”
His owlish blink was all the answer I received for a moment. His astonishment was comical, a chuckle broke free. At the sound he remembered himself. “You don’t?”
“I wear breeches.”
“Oh, that’s…” I feared the worst, that I had shocked him with my uncivilized manners. But then he finished. “That’s quite nice.”
His expression was quite dazed. It seemed far from disapproving. He was intrigued. At least if the way he was adjusting in his seat was any indication, it was interest. “You will wear them? Tomorrow? With me?”
“If it will not shock you too terribly.”
“It may give me a fit of apoplexy, but I shall die with a lovely view.”
He wasflirtingwithme. I had no doubt of that. It was a rare occurrence, but I was finding that I quite liked it.
His gray eyes held none of the ice I was used to. Instead, there was a teasing light in them that softened his entire expression. His accompanying smile brought tiny crinkles to the corners of his eyes. I was possessed with the inexplicable desire to press a kiss to them.
I managed to refrain and instead strove to continue the banter we created. “I had no idea that breeches were all it took to receive your admiration, my lord. If you had informed me earlier, I would have incorporated them into my wardrobe sooner.”
His mirth evaporated. I had seemingly made some sort of misstep. Parsing my response, I couldn’t see where I brought the mood down.
He cut through the rising frustration. “Kate, you’ve always had my admiration.” His voice was deeper than usual, softer too. His palm rose, hovering over my cheek, unsure. “Even when I had no wish to bestow it, it was yours. I am so sorry that it’s taken me so long to let you know.”
I had no idea what to say in response. He started to pull his hand away from the air near my cheek. Without thought, my own caught his and pulled it back toward its original destination. My stomach flipped pleasantly at his touch. His fingertips slid lower, curling around my jaw while his thumb brushed my cheekbone. The touch was so achingly tender I pressed my own hand down, ensuring he remained there.
“Is this all right?” I felt his question more than heard it, it was little more than a breath.
