“Why, make kissing balls out of them, or prepare to answer to the kissing ball committee for your negligence.” Francesca nodded toward the group of ladies in the corner, her mouth twisting. “I confess I don’t see why we need quite somanykissing balls.”
“I daresay Lady Emily is plotting to steal a kiss from Grantham.” A sly smile curved Prue’s lips. “A lady must make the most of her opportunities, mustn’t she?”
Francesca snorted. “If she hasn’t gotten one from him yet, then she isn’t going to.”
“I daresay you’re right, and it’s just as well.” Prue cast a look in that direction then shrugged. “I don’t think they suit, and from what I’ve observed, neither does Grantham.”
Rose said nothing, but her cheeks were positively scorching.
“Do sit down, Rose.” Francesca patted the settee.
“What do you think?” Prue asked once Rose was seated, with a rather daunting heap of pine boughs in her lap.
Rose stared down at them in dismay. “I think I haven’t the faintest idea how to make a proper kissing ball.”
“Oh, as to that, simply cut the branches to a proper length, then tie the ends together with the ribbon.” Francesca passed her a pair of sewing scissors and a length of white silk ribbon.
“No, no.” Prue waved the ribbons away. “Never mind the dratted kissing balls. I meant, what do you think about Grantham and Lady Emily, Rose?”
Rose kept her head down, because her cheeks had burst into flames, and her friends were sure to notice it. “I don’t.”
It was nothing but the truth. She’d gone to great—some might say even extraordinary lengths—notto think of Max and Lady Emily, and consequently, she had no opinion regarding them at all.
No opinion whatsoever.
There was a heavy silence, then Francesca asked, “Do you suppose he’s kissed her?”
Kissed her. Max, kissing Lady Emily with those firm warm lips, his hands roving over her back, her hips, her breasts, his low voice rasping in her ear, telling her how sweet she was, how he couldn’t stop thinking about her—
Dash it, this was the very reason she didn’t want to think about it, but there went all her determination, scattered like leaves in the wind. “I couldn’t say. I, ah, I don’t know a thing about the duke’s kissing habits.”
Another silence, then Prue asked Francesca about . . . something. Rose couldn’t hear them over the sudden roaring in her ears.
HadMax kissed Lady Emily? He must have done, mustn’t he? That is, he hadn’t singled her out with any particular attention, but if he hadn’t kissed her since she’d come to Grantham Lodge, then surely he must have done so in London. If hehadkissed her, then he hadn’t any business at all kissing Rose. Really, it was very badly done of him!
But she’d kissed him back, hadn’t she? Oh,whyhad she kissed him back? How could she have been so stupid? No proper young lady went about kissing a duke. Abby had warned her that no good would come of her permitting the Duke of Grantham to trifle with her.
But it hadn’tfeltlike trifling. It had felt like . . . love.
And there was her answer before she even had a chance to draw her next breath.
She’d kissed Max because she couldn’tnotkiss him. Even before his lips had touched hers, when his mouth had still been hovering close, his breath warming her lips, she’d already been lost to him.
“What about you, Rose?” Francesca said, interrupting Rose’s guilty musings. “What—”
“Me!Why should I have kissed the Duke of Grantham? I haven’t . . . I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . .” But try as she might, she couldn’t quite push the rest of the denial past her lips. She had in fact kissed Max, quite a few times, and done much more than kiss him besides, and oh, why couldn’t she manage to tell one little lie without blushing? “It would certainly be very foolish of me to kiss the Duke of Grantham, wouldn’t it?”
Dear God, could she have made any more of a mess of that? For pity’s sake, that bumbling reply was as good as a confession.
Francesca made a faint choking noise. “Er, I asked what you intended to wear to the ball tonight.”
“Oh.” Oh,no. Rose opened her mouth but snapped it closed again without saying a word. What was there to say? And now here was that silence again, and a deafening one it was, too, teeming with unasked questions.
Rose waited, her hands clenched together, a patch of sticky pitch on her thumb and pine needles poking into her palms, for one of her friends tosaysomething, anything, but she couldn’t help cringing when Francesca cleared her throat.
Oh, dear. Perhaps silence was better, after all.
“I’m going to wear my dark blue silk. Basingstoke asked for it particularly, which makes me think the foolish man has gone and bought me jewels to match it.” Francesca shook her head, but her voice was fond.
