“A valid argument.” Ambrose’s thumb lightly caressed her chin. “In that case, Miss Page, since you’re here of your ownaccord and I have absolutely no intention of throwing you out, I wonder if I might be allowed to kiss you.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “I believe that would be acceptable, my lord.”
Ambrose smiled, tipped her chin up, and lowered his lips to hers. Mindful of her innocence, he kept the contact gentle, nuzzling her lips softly, encouraging her to respond in a like manner. She did so, copying his movements with naïve hesitation, which Ambrose found to be incredibly arousing. Lifting his head for a moment, he used his thumb to gently coax her lips apart, and then met them again with his mouth, touching his tongue to hers.
Miss Page moaned softly, a sound that went straight to Ambrose’s groin. He tightened his hold, drawing her firmly against him as he continued to explore her mouth. To his delight, she responded, meeting the thrust of his tongue with hers, her hands traveling up over his shoulders to clutch at his collar.
Self-control dwindling, Ambrose lifted his head, chest rising and falling as he gazed down at her, aware of a stirring deep inside unlike anything he’d ever felt. Lydia Page was lovelier than he’d expected or imagined her to be. In hindsight, Sylvie Grissom sharing kisses with the stable master had turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
“Given what has just taken place between us, Miss Page,” he said, “I trust it is clear that I seek permission to court you.”
“And I give it gladly, my lord, but please, call me Lydia,” she replied. “I would much prefer it, especially given what has just taken place between us. ‘Miss Page’ sounds so formal. I will, of course, adhere to the correct form of address for you if that is what you pref—”
“Ambrose,” he said. “My name is Ambrose.”
Miss Page’s eyes widened slightly. “Not ‘Pendlewood’?”
“In company perhaps,” he replied, “but not when we’re alone like this.”
“Ambrose,” she repeated, as if trying the word on her tongue, followed by a soft sigh. “Tonight has been truly magical, Ambrose. Like a fairy tale.”
As if by design, at that precise moment a bird somewhere in the garden began to sing, an enchanting crescendo of chirps and trills that filled the air.
Lydia gasped. “Is that…?”
“A nightingale,” Ambrose replied, silently thanking the little bird’s timing. In a moment of uncharacteristic fancy, he dared to believe it was a sign, one that told him he’d found his countess at last. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard it, but I hoped it would sing for us tonight. I hoped it would sing foryou, Lydia.”
When the nightingale at last ceased its song and a noticeable chill had sneaked into the air, Ambrose led Miss Page indoors, and specifically into the library. Being in such close quarters with her was a test of his control, of his ability to prove his trustworthiness. She had welcomed his kiss in the garden, but instinct told him that pursuing more physical contact in the confines of the library might be misconstrued. So, he merely took pleasure in talking with her, listening to her, and watching her face as she explored the contents of his book collection. It was well past the midnight hour when Ambrose noticed her stifling a yawn.
“Let me take you home, Lydia,” he said, and then proceeded to throw all sense of propriety to the wind. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to stay here with me. There’s plenty of room.” He groaned. “I cannot believe I asked you that. Please forgive me.”
Lydia laughed. “You are forgiven, my lord. And my answer is ‘not tonight.’”
Ambrose, catching the connotation in her response, grinned. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll summon a carriage.”
Chapter Twelve
Lydia’s dreams wereforgotten the instant she opened her eyes, but they left her with a warm sense of pleasure. She squinted at the clock on her dresser. Almost half past eight. Still quite early, and a sliver of sunlight sneaking through her curtains hinted at good weather. Yawning, she rolled onto her back, arched into a brief stretch, and then folded her hands behind her head as she smiled up at the ceiling. Was it wrong to revel in one’s own happiness? To embrace the joy in one’s soul and the undeniable stirrings of love in one’s heart? Surely not.
Almost three weeks had passed since the enchanting, moonlit night in Ambrose’s garden. Eighteen exhilarating days, each one spent in the company of a man who had turned Lydia’s life upside down in the sweetest way. She dared to believe she had done the same to him. Two unique parts that somehow fit together. Perfectly.
She smiled as she reflected on the previous evening’s dinner with Lord and Lady Eskdale at their Mayfair home. Wonderful food, entertaining conversation, and some questionable musical distraction at the pianoforte, the latter provided by Harriet and Lydia. The tangible sense of friendship gave Lydia a true sense ofbelonging. If only her father was still here, that he might share in her happiness!
“A ride in Hyde Park this afternoon, Papa,” she whispered. “Weather permitting, of course. I shall be renting Cleo from the livery. Ambrose has his own horse.” This would be their second outing to the park on horseback. That being so, Lydia mused, perhaps they might not invite quite as much attention as on the first occasion. The Earl of Pendlewood’s courting of a well-shod tradesman’s daughter continued to be a conversation piece in the Assembly rooms and private salons. So far, they had attended the theater once and been present at two Society gatherings. Overall, the reception to Lydia had been positive, though she remained fully aware of the whispers taking place behind gloved hands. “Ignore them,” Ambrose had told her. “They’ll find a new bone to gnaw on before long.”
Lydia fidgeted beneath the covers, shifted her thoughts back to the present day, and continued her quiet chat with her father. “If it rains, Ambrose has challenged me to a game of chess at his house.” She chuckled. “I told him I used to play chess with you, but led him to believe I’m not a terribly skilled player, so I hope he’s not a bad loser. And this evening, we’re going to a charity event for the Foundling Hospital. Ambrose is very philanthropic, as were you, Papa.”
Another thought slid into Lydia’s head, but she didn’t voice it. It was merely a suspicion at this point, one that set her heart racing. If she wasn’t mistaken, a marriage proposal was imminent. Not that Ambrose had said as much, but she had no doubt about his feelings for her, or her feelings for him. The courtship was wonderful, but the thought of being married to Ambrose, of being with him day and night, made her lightheaded. It would be a dream come true.
At that moment, she heard the distant but familiar jangle of the front doorbell. A bit early for a caller. There followed a faintexchange of conversation between a man and a woman, though Lydia couldn’t make out what was being said. The man’s voice, however, sounded decidedly familiar.
“Ambrose?” Surely not at this hour. Lydia sat up, ears straining to hear more, but the conversation had ceased. Then came the sound of footsteps on the landing, followed by a knock at her door, and Doyle stepped into the room. “Lord Pendlewood is here and asking for you, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia raised her brows and slid from her bed. “At this hour?”
“Yes, he apologizes for the intrusion, but says it cannot wait. I’ve put him in your father’s study.” Doyle took Lydia’s dressing gown off the hook on the door. “Here, let me help you.”
It cannot wait?Lydia felt a touch of trepidation as she shrugged the gown over her shoulders and put on her slippers.
