“You were behaving outrageously.”
“You didn’t seem to mind. I’ve heard you used to be a lively girl.”
Rose gasped. Good God, did she have a reputation as someone whom a man could kiss at will? Yes, she had been lively though never immoral. Never that! Was she considered loose? Her mother would kill her. That was, if her mother would ever come out of the fog she’d been in for so long. What that woman was pondering for hours on end, Rose had no idea.
She yanked her arm from William’s as they approached the opposite end of the rink.
“You are as insulting now as you were boorish the other night.”
“Please, Rose, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“No matter your intention, you did. Moreover, you will call me by my family name until I give you leave to do otherwise.” She exited by the closest gate before he could stop her.What a jackass!The kiss had been nice, true, but if he thought she was going to fall all over him or let him do it again, he was sadly mistaken.
William blasted Woodsom! He could go to the devil.
She ended up on the bench next to Robert Appleton. “Everything satisfactory?” he asked.
“Yes, fine.” Quickly she unbuckled her skates from her shoes and made quick work of shoving the metal contraptions under the bench. “I’m going to get a beverage, maybe lemonade. Would you like anything?”
He started to stand. “I’ll come with you.”
“No!” she blurted out. “I mean, you’ve still got your skates on. I’ll be back soon enough.” With that, she hurried away. She seemed to be much in demand at present, though she doubted that Claire’s brother had anything in mind like William.
She doubted he could kiss like him either.
Rose!she scolded herself.What a thought!Good thing her improper notions stayed locked in her head.
At the refreshment stand, she waited while the gentleman pressed some lemons. All at once, she realized it was Maeve Norcross at her elbow.What timing!
“Maeve, how are you? I didn’t see you at the Tremont the other night. What a fabulous dress you’re wearing!” Goodness gracious, she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. “The color, like a lavender-blue, perfect for your hair and eyes.”
Maeve smiled as warmly as ice water. “Nice to see you, too, Rose.” Her pretty violet eyes didn’t look happy however. “Did I see you skating with Mr. Woodsom? Are you two forming an attachment?”
Goodness, there were at least 300 people there. Maeve must have eyes like a hawk to have spotted her and William. How quickly rumors could begin.
“No, not at all,” Rose assured her. “Mr. Woodsom crashed into me. I’m here with the Appletons and my own niece and nephew.” She gestured to the rink where her friends were starting to come out of the gate. “Oh, and your cousin Franklin is with us, too.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll warn you off from Woodsom, dear. That is, if you don’t mind my telling you something.”
“Do tell,” Rose urged her. She wished she could say she was above enjoying gossip, but it was at least half the fun of her otherwise tame life.
Maeve needed no further encouragement. “You may be fine in such a public place as this withhim. However, I caution you — do not find yourself alone with him. In fact, I beseech you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rose asked, hoping she wasn’t blushing at having already been alone with him. “Whatever can you mean?”
Maeve gestured with her head that they should walk away from the listening ears of the lemonade server. Rose picked up her glass, and they walked toward a large window that looked out onto St. James Street.
“I hate to speak out of turn, but since my great uncle was the mayor, I try to help my fellow citizens.”
Rose nearly rolled her eyes and only managed to stop herself by widening them and not blinking. She was sure she looked like a barn owl. When the danger of any such rudeness had passed, she blinked and urged Maeve to speak.
“Mr. Woodsom attempted to take liberties with my person. I had to firmly rebuff him. Of course, I told him then that any attachment between us was impossible. I, for one, will have a marriage license in hand before any man tastes my lips.”
Rose couldn’t help her mouth dropping open slightly. Really? Did Maeve truly intend to marry — or at least become engaged to marry — before even kissing? What if the man kissed like an eager puppy, all sloppy and wet, or like parchment paper, dry and light, and Maeve found out such crucial information too late?
William Woodsom kissed very well, though perhaps that was because he had practiced quite a bit on willing females, which was not particularly a good thing. Rose frowned. Especially if he wanted to practice on Maeve one day and on her the next.
“I shall keep that in mind. Thank you for confiding in me.”
