The handsome man holding her hand captive suddenly made a noise of surprise and yanked her hand. “Och, Miss Fokette, how unfortunate!” he exclaimed as he peered at her palm.
Barbara worked hard not to wince. “Yes, sir, that is a phrase often associated with me. But to what, exactly, are you referencing?”
“Yer buttons have come undone!”
With that, the rakish Sir Kenneth Fraser pulled her very-much-buttoned-up-begloved-hand into his lap and bent over it, fiddling with the buttons.
The practiced ruse was so unbelievable, so patently false, that Barbara began to giggle. He glanced up at her, and she saw the loveliest brown eyes; warm and soft, with a ring of topaz around the outside of the iris.
“Miss Fokette?” He was still fiddling with the inside of her glove, as if helping her with her buttons.
“I am sorry, sir,” she gasped, trying to stifle her giggle. “But you are bad at buttons. You must be new at them?—”
As the callused tip of his first finger slid along the soft skin at the inside of her wrist, Barbara bit down on her teasing. In fact, her entirebeingwas suddenly focused on that touch, the warm tingly sensation which crawled up her arm and down her chest to settle somewhere in her stomach.
Andlower.
“Ye were saying?” Sir Kenneth murmured, his warm gaze holding her captive.
She’d forgotten how to breathe.
Oh Lord, she’d forgotten how to breathe.
She was going to tip over and expire, sitting here in her cousin’s ballroom, because she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Try inhaling.
She sucked in a breath.
Oh yes, that was it.
Change the subject! Change the subject!
What had they been speaking of before his attempts at buttonry? Oh yes, her family. A nice safe, appropriate topic. “My parents are…”Here. Pleasant to speak with. The type who enjoy asparagus. She needed to finish that sentencesomehowbecause he wasstill touching her skin. “M-My father and the Earl are likely discussing taxation on antiquities somewhere. Mother will be bored.”
Why did it matter? Why did she think he cared? Why was she blathering? Why was hestill touching her?
Barbara’s pulse throbbed against the tip of his finger, and she swore she could feel his caress through every vein and artery.
“Bothyer parents are here?” Sir Kenneth did seem genuinely interested. “I didnae expect that.”
She’d remembered how to breathe, good, but now it was happening too quickly. “You did not expect my parents to attend the ball hosted by their cousin?”
“Nay, I didnae expect them both to be alive and interested in yer well-being. Ye understand that usually, the lady in these sorts of stories is a puir wee orphan with nae protection—or she has to make do with only one parent, and then it’s either a hysterical mother or a distant father. Conversely, a doting father or an imperious mother is acceptable.”
His words had finally broken through her singular focus on his touch, and now Barbara frowned. Was Sir Kenneth doing the blathering now? “Whatareyou speaking of, sir?”
“The narrative causality of such a situation?—”
“This is what reading too many novels will do to you, sir.” She managed to pull her hand back, carefully forgetting the many novels she and Margaret consumed.
“Indeed.” He nodded solemnly. “A deliciously wicked habit. You dinnae read?”
“I read.” Rather overmuch. “I just prefer the better sort of book.”
“Better than novels?” Sir Kenneth crossed his legs while keeping her pinned under his charming gaze. “Impossible.”
Barbara sniffed. “Homer. Voltaire. Herodotus. I am currently working my way through the latest volume of theCommission des Sciences et des Arts d'Égypte.”
