They sipped in silence, and she wished she could think of a funny story. Or better yet, Beatrice almost wished she could feel crabbed at him as she had in the past. Instead, her thoughts of him were all warm and happy. He was awfully nice, far too appealing for her to ignore his appearance, and on top of that, he smelled good. Pears soap, if she wasn’t mistaken.
She cleared her throat. “Of course, this business of taking tea is all easier when seated and with a table between.”
“It is nicenotto have a table between us,” he said.
Again, she froze. Looking up from her cup, she found his eyes trained upon her and experienced a strange twinge in her stomach. She’d hoped to feel the very same with some gentleman the previous evening but, alas, had not.
“A biscuit,” she offered in order to have a reason for turning away.
“I will not say no. Although by the time I leave here, I believe I will have eaten all the sweet things I can handle for one day.”
She found a tin of Amity’s favorite Cadbury’s chocolate-covered biscuits and offered him one. They munched happily, and he watched as she dunked hers in her tea.
“What are you doing? Is that something only females are allowed to do, or may I do that?”
“Of course,” she said and laughed. “Don’t dip it in too long or you’ll have crumbs and grease floating atop your tea, but a little warmth makes the chocolate taste even better.”
He did as she said, took a bite, and made a face. “And it gives you a soggy biscuit.”
“I told you not to immerse it for too long.”
“There are rules in England for everything,” he said.
“Most probably true,” she agreed.
“I’m sure there are rules against my being here this very instant, having tea with a beautiful woman.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.He thought her a beautiful woman?
“Probably,” she said finally, thinking she should tell him how, if discovered, he might damage his chances of securing a lady. And if her mother were the one discovering them again, he might get whacked heartily with the shop’s broom.
“Sorry, I embarrassed you,” he said, draining his cup. “I should let you get back to whatever you do when the toffee has been made.”
She nodded. It would be best if he left. When they were alone, without the distraction of dance lessons, without Charlotte to interject every few moments, there was entirely too much time to simply contemplate the man himself.
He handed her the cup and their fingers touched. They both stared at their hands, and the next thing Beatrice knew, he’d set the mug down and pulled her into his arms.
In the blink of an eye, she was drawn against Mr. Carson’s broad chest, and instinctively, she raised her hands up to his shoulders, feeling his strength beneath her fingers.
Looking up at him, Beatrice knew what would happen next. And if it didn’t happen directly, then the moment would be lost. She would pull away, and he would probably mumble an apology.
The American claimed her mouth swiftly, his warm, firm lips covering hers. It was as if someone had stoked the embers of a banked fire. One moment she was placidly drinking tea, and the next, her body tingled with sizzling heat.
His arms went around her, and his hands rested low on her back, cinching her in against him.
She focused on tasting him, breathing him —yes, the fresh woodsy smell of Pears soap —and memorizing every second of her first real kiss. His head tilted, and, naturally, she tilted, too. In the wrong direction, as it turned out, for their noses bumped awkwardly.
Quickly, before he gave up, she slanted the opposite way, and their mouths seemed to fit perfectly. His lips moved against hers as if he were consuming her. Shocked to her toes but delighted, she did the same. It was wickedly exciting.
And then she heard the shop bell.
