I gasped. “It was an accident! I have no doubt one of your competent servants can wash out the stains.” My gaze traveled to his cheek again, where the splatters of dark paint looked like a trail of freckles. “You do have some on your face,” I muttered. Before I could lose my nerve, I lifted my fingers and wiped at the splatter on his cheek.
One at a time, I smeared away each droplet.
My face was hot, but I didn’t dare look at his eyes to see his reaction. I made my way to the edge of his face but stopped at his ear. There was a large freckle there, just off-center on his earlobe. I had nearly tried to wipe it away, but it was real. It was perfectly round. How had I not noticed it before? Perhaps I hadn’t been looking closely enough. I lowered my hand, finally daring to look at his eyes.
There was a quiet awe in his gaze that I had never seen before. It set my heart pounding. Slowly, the look intensified, until it was no longer quiet. It was loud, obvious, and caused my stomach to swoop with sudden longing. Once again, I saw my own feelings reflected in his eyes, staring back at me. I could no longer hide from them.
His gaze lowered to my lips. He leaned closer. His chest rose with a deep breath, and I found myself staring at his mouth just as unabashedly. I felt untamed for even thinking of kissing him, but I knew he shared the same thought. Though society liked to pretend otherwise, I was certain people stole a kiss or two during their courtships.
Especially if their chaperones were asleep.
Until that moment, I had contained my thoughts of Mr. Campbell in a small box. He was my means to an end, my source of escape from ruin, and the small glimmer of hope that I might save my brother. In that box, he was stoic, vexing, and I was not to become attached to him. I had gone to great lengths to keep myself from thinking of him while we were apart, and I had certainly never permitted myself to dream of kissing him.
But now, my thoughts carried me away to the idea of tugging him close by the front of his waistcoat, feeling his arms around me and his lips on mine. Longing for such an experience overwhelmed my senses.
Ever so slightly, I leaned forward.
It must not have been enough, because Mr. Campbell slipped one hand around the back of my neck, his fingers curling into my hair. The soft pressure of his hand moved me closer, until my lips hovered just inches from his. A shiver raced across my spine, spreading down the length of my arms.
His eyes connected with mine before returning to my mouth. He seemed to be waiting for permission of some sort, but I had no idea how to give it. My heart thudded fast as he lowered his head toward mine. My eyelids fluttered closed as I felt his breath against my lips.
He was certainly taking his time.
Impatience bloomed inside me, and I nearly reached up to take his face in my hands.
But then a deep snort sounded from across the lawn.
I jumped back with a start, my heart in my throat. From her place on the bench, Aunt Julia sat up, dazed, but wide awake.
My face was on fire. I realized I still held my paintbrush, so I hurried my attention back to my canvas. I didn’t dare look at Mr. Campbell, but I saw him move back to his station from the corner of my eye.
My pulse took at least a full minute to slow.
What on earth could I say to him now? We both knew what had almost occurred between us. With Aunt Julia now watching my every move, I tried to act nonchalant as I added to my painting, though my stomach still fluttered with the remnants of the longing I had felt. I should never have been so vulnerable with Mr. Campbell. Now that he knew who I truly was, he had far too much access to my heart.
Was that such a terrible thing?The question forced its way into my mind. I hoped to marry him, after all. It would be much easier to marry someone I had feelings for. But much more difficult tolosesomeone I had feelings for. The fear that he was still not as serious about our courtship as he seemed came over me, and my hand shook as I tried to fix the wings on my butterfly.
“I’m glad your brother allowed you to keep your ducks.” Mr. Campbell’s voice was low, returning effortlessly to the subject we had previously abandoned.
I looked up, surprised at how calm he appeared. Was he not experiencing the same turmoil I was? I had forgotten the subject of our conversation before he had nearly kissed me. I gathered my wits about me. “He had no choice. I would have died for them.”
Mr. Campbell laughed, and I managed to relax. It would be much easier to pretend the last few minutes had not occurred. “Do they have names?” he asked.
“What do you think?”
“Yes.”
I grinned. “Charlotte, Matilda, Jane, and Fanny.”
Mr. Campbell dipped his brush in his paints again, setting to work on his canvas as he spoke. “Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh, I could never choose.” I shook my head fast. “I love them all very dearly.”
I thought he would tease me for it, but his amusement was contained to his eyes as he focused on his canvas. “I find it endearing that you love so many small creatures. I quite enjoy learning these things about you. Please do not hide who you are any longer.”
“Only if you promise the same,” I said with a soft smile. “I should like to know you as you truly are, not for what you possess.” I meant it. Deep in my chest, I felt a confirmation of my words. I wanted to know him—everything about him. I had obviously been quite wrong in my first assessment.
Mr. Campbell’s eyes met mine above his canvas before flickering away. Was he feeling shy? I couldn’t read the expression before it was gone. “I promise.”
