“There is no reinvention, Miss Tinker. There is only five hundred acres, eighty-three families, a foundry, four ancient structures in various states of modernization, a mother and three sisters, and countless sheep. The lot of them cannot mind themselves.”
She opened her mouth to contradict him and then closed it. He knew his responsibilities obviously. Anything she offered was only conjecture.
She studied his profile: his shoulders, large and powerful beneath his coat; his broad chest, exactly at the level of her gaze. His body seemed impossible to defeat; he was muscled and nimble and effortless. Why, then, did she want to reassure him? To lay her cheek against his heartbeat? Why did she clasp his hand as if the next strong gust might blow him away?
She wanted to kiss him.
No, that was inaccurate, the desire to kiss him had been an ever-present hum in the back of her mind since Grosvenor Square. Now her mind’s eyeenvisionedthe kiss. She saw herself step forward, go up on her toes, and tip her face up. She saw him manage the rest.
One of the many lovely things about the Duke of Northumberland was that he would manage the rest.
“I want to kiss you,” he said suddenly.
Isobel’s eyes snapped to his. Had he read her mind?
He went on. “You’ve said that we will not, and for good reason, but I cannotnotsay it.”
“If there is a pretty girl in the vicinity,” she guessed, “of course you must kiss her.”
“No. If I initiate a kiss, I guarantee that it’snotbecause she’s convenient.”
Why is it?Isobel thought, her breath held.
“It’s because,” he whispered, reading her mind again, “I’ve the feeling that I’m flying, and I don’t want to do it alone. Are we flying, Isobel?”
“Northumberland,” she said breathlessly.
“Please call me North,” he whispered. “My friends call me North.”
“Are we friends?”
“We are not enemies. You are not my family nor my commanding officer nor anyone I’m trying to impress.”
I’m so impressed by you, she thought. She looked into his amber eyes and saw patience and longing and sweetness reflected back. He cocked an eyebrow.
He said, “Or you could simply call me Jason. My given name.”
Jason.The shimmer inside her chest made a swooping revolution. She cleared her throat. “ ‘North’ will be sufficient, thank you very much.” She repeated it. “North. Like the star.”
“More like you’ve bitten off the first mouthful of the title and spat out the rest.”
She giggled and he laughed with her.
“North,” she sighed, feeling the shimmers flick on and off.
And then, before she allowed herself to think, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him. Just a quick peck, her cold lips against the warmth of his mouth. A confirmation. She was flying too.
North made a noise, half surprise, half delight, and scooped her up. His hands went around her waist and she was against him. His mouth moved possessively, kissing her like he’d stolen her. She relaxed in his arms, allowing the kiss to launch them higher and higher.The peck melted into a real kiss, and she wound an arm around his neck and sunk a hand in his hair.
She could barely breathe, and standing upright was out of the question. He leaned against the railing of the ship and held her.
For a minute, or an hour, or a year, they were lost in the roiling sensation of that kiss. The boat rocked and swayed, and their pressed bodies rocked and swayed together. The wind whipped around them and they clung, warm and secure andflying.
“Isobel,” he whispered gruffly, pulling away to breathe. “It doesn’t have to be—”
“Don’t say it,” she begged, panting for breath.
“You don’t know what I’m going—”
