“My parents died when I was sixteen. I lived with my grandparents briefly before I convinced Grandfather to buy me colors. My father’s older brother and his son still lived. Grandfather let me go because I wasn’t close to the succession.”
“I’m so sorry for your losses,” she murmured studying his face.
“Don’t be. Reacquainting with the old gentleman has been a joy. I always knew I had their love and respect, but it was a distant thing. I didn’t know the extent to which I missed having family near.”
Her throat felt thick and moisture pooled in her eyes, to her consternation, yet she couldn’t look away.
“And now I know I must form one of my own. Grandfather instructed me to find a lady of character and ability. One with the strength to be my partner in what is coming when I inherit. Pedigree, he believes, matters little.” John laughed lightly. “He growled that those ‘fools in the Ton wouldn’t know quality if it bit them.’ He was never much for London society, though he encourages me to navigate it cautiously. He only goes down for parliamentary affairs.”
His intense gaze sent her emotions into a maelstrom. The moment stretched unbearably until Bel had to break away. She took two steps when an impulse struck. She leaned over, scooped up a handful of snow and hit him square in the chest with a snowball.
“I heard you were a deft hand with snow the other day,” she challenged holding her breath and immediately regretted it. She gasped at John’s predatory expression.
Bel, you damned fool. That was a reckless way to deflect an uncomfortable moment. She broke into a run, but wasn’t fast enough.
John didn’t hesitate. He prowled in her direction with two hands full of snow. Icy cold hit the back of her neck and dripped under her cloak. The other handful went down her chin. She scrambled to pick up another handful, but he reached her quickly with more.
The two of them wrestled with each other, laughing like fools, painting one another with snow, until Bel slipped on her cloak and fell over pulling John with her. They lay tangled, Bel on her back, John over her.
While they stared at each other, Bel surreptitiously scooped a handful of snow at her side.
No slow-top, he clamped his hand on her wrist forcing her to drop it. “Clever tactic, Miss Westcott. Wellington would admire it.” He kissed her lightly. “Unsuccessful though,” he murmured kissing her again.”
“Was it?” she asked, kissing him back. “That depends on my intention, don’t you think.”
He kissed her again, sliding his tongue along her mouth, seeking entrance. When she gave it, all coherent thought fled. He kissed his way along her chin to the spot below her ear, and Bel’s body felt as if it burst into flames. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, pulling him close until his mouth returned to hers and his clever hands began to explore her beneath the cloak.
When John started to move away, she groaned and tried to pull him back. “Why Miss Westcott, delightful as this is, I best stop while I still have some claim to the name gentleman.”
Startled back to reality, Bel started to protest, but good sense suggested better. She let him help her to her feet, not meeting his eyes. She patted and shook her cloak to remove the snow.
“You know, Miss Westcott, I do believe you have snowed me completely,” John laughed, knocking the melting stuff from his clothing. The movement of his hands along his trousers and his cheeky grin sent bolts of heat through her whole body, melted her frozen knees and robbed her of speech.
“Shall we go back while we have only your kitchen friends to face?” he asked.
Her hand trembled when she took his arm. He started to speak, but she shook her head. He ignored her. “I apologize if my behavior offended, but I rather think you enjoyed it. If you don’t wish to speak of it now, fine, but we will. We must.”
Chapter 10
Bel soughtrefuge in the kitchen, her place of comfort, her emotions a seething mass of confusion, mortification, and delight over what passed between her and Ridgemont.
With breakfast finished and preparation for the midday nuncheon well underway, Bel poured herself tea and sat at the battered kitchen table to rest.What in the name of all that’s holy just happened?
She closed her eyes and let the fine China tea warm her, her thoughts in a muddle.The wretch wants to ‘talk about’ what passed between us?She took another sip and gave herself a mental shake.Since when are you a coward, Bel? What do you want to make of it? Where do you hope it will lead? Another woman would have a betrothal in hand after that assault.
Another sip.Assault? Don’t be a ninny. You were laughing and having fun one minute, and kissing him as if your life depended on it the next. Perhaps it does.
She shook off that bit of drama and poured more tea. She pretended not to see the sly glances Annie and the others shot her way periodically, and the notice they took of her wet cloak. The girls seemed to ponder whether Bel had becomeoverwhelmed with joy or out of sorts with Lord Ridgemont. She couldn’t have told them.
Annie shyly brought her a plate of Chelsea buns. “You look distressed, Miss, and you missed breakfast.”
Bel smiled at the girl. “Not distressed, Annie, merely thinking something through.”
It was true she realized. Nothing he had said or done distressed her. She simply wasn’t sure what it meant.If something puzzles me in the kitchen or the lab, I analyze it, sort out the variables and perhaps experiment. That’s what I ought to be doing. Listing the possibilities.
Two buns later a thought struck her.Was that kiss an experiment? If so, what did I learn?Bel was too honest not to admit that one thing she learned was that she liked kissing Ridgemont, liked it very much.
She shook off her abstraction to oversee midday nuncheon. The work distracted her as it always did. Time flew until the footmen arrived, and she gave serving instructions. “Is everything ready in the large drawing room?”
