But still. Maddie couldn’t help but remember their kiss and how it had made her feel—hot, melty, and delicious. It made her miserable to think of him doing that with someone else.
She whirled around. There had to be something else in this blasted bedchamber to fold, hang, or clean.
Later that night, after Maddie had seen Lady Elizabeth off with her sister and mother for yet another pre-Season dinner party, she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. A book that Lady Elizabeth had encouraged her to borrow lay abandoned on her nightstand. She’d tried to read it, but every time she started, an image of Justin’s handsome face, just before he’d kissed her, loomed in her memory. His hooded eyes. His long dark eyelashes. His firmly molded lips.
She got up and paced around the room. She should go down to the kitchens and make friends with some of the other maids. Not having a roommate was nice in some ways, but it was lonely here without Anna. Yes, that was it. She would go downstairs, but she would not stop on the first floor. She would go directly to the basement, to the kitchens. After all, she had made a vow. She’d vowed to stay away from him. Promised herself she would not go looking for him. She would keep off the main floor unless Lady Elizabeth needed her there.
Maddie began her descent to the kitchens, but somehow, the moment she made it to the first-floor landing, she was entirely unable to stop her feet from taking her directly to the door of his study.
She lingered outside the room, arguing with herself about whether she should peek inside. He probably wasn’t even there. The door was slightly ajar. She only had to push it a bit to open it. She stepped inside and caught her breath.
She’d been wrong. Justin was there. He stood by the window, a drink in hand, staring out into the dark night behind his imposing desk. He turned quickly once he realized she had entered the room.
“Madeline,” he breathed.
Her only response was a nod.
“What are you doing here?”
Why was she here, indeed? She’d better think of something quickly. “I wanted to thank you.” The words flew from her lips before she had a chance to examine them.
“Thank me?” His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For not sending me away when you found me playing the pianoforte last night.”
“Of course. No need to mention it.”
Was it her imagination, or did he look uneasy? Uncomfortable? As if he wanted to rush past her from the room? Even sensing all of that, instead of leaving, she shut the door behind her and boldly stepped forward toward his desk.
He watched her advance with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity in his eyes.
When she reached the desk, she glanced at the contents atop it. There wasn’t much there. Lord Whitmore was quite tidy. She picked up a small smooth stone that sat atop a neatly stacked pile of papers. She turned the stone over and over in her hands, trying to determine what to say next.
“That was my father’s,” he finally offered.
“The stone?” she asked, hefting it in her hand and offering it to him.
He took it, and the slight brush of his fingers against her palm sent warmth through her entire body. “Yes. He found it on his first outing with my mother. They went on a picnic to the park. Mama kept it until he died. Now I use it as a paperweight.”
Maddie blinked at him. Well, that was unexpected and terribly romantic. “Were your parents very in love?” she ventured.
His reply was a mixture of a snort and a cynical laugh. “Hardly.”
She frowned. “They weren’t in love?”
“My mother was,” he replied, a note of regret in his voice. “My father never understood the meaning of the word.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She trailed a finger along the top of the stack of papers, keeping her eyes downcast. “My parents loved each other very much. Before Mama died, that is.”
“You mentioned your father died too,” Justin replied. “You and your sister are alone?”
She dared a glance up at him to find him regarding her with a tenderness in his eyes. “Yes, it’s just the two of us now. That’s why Molly is so important to me. She’s the only family I have left.” She swallowed and turned away from him, desperately trying to think of something to say to change the subject. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel pity for her. “How was your outing last night?” Her voice squeaked. She turned back to face him.
He lifted a brow.
She self-consciously crossed her arms over her middle. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, it’s fine. I did go out,” he offered.
