Kitty glanced down at her pale blue skirts. “You like it?”
“Very much. It brings out your eyes.”
Kitty blinked at her. “You’re very kind.”
“No, really. I’m glad we finally got a chance to get to know each other.”
Kitty smiled, and Norman saw her shoulders relax for the first time since the accident.
“And now we’ll have two whole weeks together at the estate!” Eleanor added, eyes gleaming. “It shall be grand!”
Kitty laughed, light and clear. “I shall do my best not to make you regret it.”
“Impossible,” Eleanor declared.
Norman watched them. Kitty’s face had changed—she was warmer, more open, her eyes lit with amusement and perhaps a little curiosity. It stirred something in him he couldn’t quite name.
But he couldn’t allow it.
He shifted slightly, careful not to let his thigh brush hers again.
He would keep his head. No matter how charming her laugh. No matter how good it felt to see her smile. No matter how utterly maddening it was to have her this close.
Because if he let his guard down?—
He might want something she would never give him.
“We’re almost there!” Eleanor announced.
Everyone leaned slightly to peer out the window.
“It’s going to be a perfect fortnight,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “I just know it.”
Norman swallowed hard and glanced at Kitty.
She was still smiling.
And for the first time, he realized just how dangerous that smile might be.
Eight
“Come in!” Kitty called over her shoulder, attaching the last pearl earring to her ear. She barely paid the door a flicker of attention, expecting Jane’s calm presence, but the shift in the air apprised her otherwise.
Her fingers stilled. A quiver coursed down the back of her neck.
She spun—and there he was.
Norman stood just inside the doorway, the door swinging shut behind him, his eyes intensely tracing over her like a smoldering wick.
Kitty felt it—every measured inch he took in, his gaze following the glinting silver fabric that shrouded her form, the soft contours of the gown curving just enough to tease what lay hidden beneath.
An unwanted flush burned inside her stomach. She swallowed hard, struggling to breathe, to blink, to remember that this was the man who had accepted to take her hand out of strategy, not desire.
“You’re not Jane,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt.
“A keen observation,” he murmured, the edge of his mouth tipping up, but his eyes never wavered.
She curved her spine, ignoring the manner in which her pulse beat beneath her skin.
