Isabelle’s breath stopped as the horrifying possibility of having to kiss, well, anyone else flitted through her mind—not only due to potential further rejection, but because of the distinct possibility that kissing anyone else would not be nearly as good.
She shook her head. No. That was illogical. And ridiculous. Kissing her future husband would be perfectly fine. Enjoyable, even.
Clearing her throat, she reached for a proper, appropriate response.
“You know as well as I that it doesn’t matter what other people do. I’m not other people. I’m supposed to be a symbol or what have you.” She waved her hand, her gold bangles clanking together. “So no, I plan to only kiss the one I’m going to marry.”
“So kissing is only for your husband and Aaron Ellenberg?” An obnoxious smile spread over her friend’s freckled face.
“Has anyone ever socked you?” Isabelle grumbled, but the lump in her throat dissipated just a little.
“No.” Rebecca gave a bemused sniff. “But except for you, most people don’t tell me their nonmedical secrets.” The carriage lurched forward, and her friend braced herself against the pink silk cushioned seats. “They find me haughty and say I stand in judgment too much.” This time, her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.
Forgetting her own troubles for a moment, Isabelle reached out and squeezed Rebecca’s palm. “We all judge. That’s what we’re supposed to do: study, learn, and use good judgment.”
“You’ve been reading too much philosophy.” Rebecca released Isabelle’s hand to glance outside the carriage at the crowded streets bustling with afternoon business. “And probably got hit on the head one too many times as a babe.”
“You would know.” Isabelle giggled. “You were already six when I was born.”
“I tried my best. I couldn’t help it if you weren’t always so skilled at walking. Or jumping. Or diving off tables.” Her friend’s smile became full again, and the two dissolved into even more raucous laughter, snorting until they were both out of breath.
And yet the pressure in her head remained. And the worry.
How could she have behaved so inappropriately? His rejection served her right. She should not and could not want Aaron. And she’d force herself not to want him if she had to.
Though why couldn’t he have wanted her just a little? Not that it truly mattered, but . . . She pressed her fingers to her temples, shaking her head. “What am I going to do, Rebecca?”
“About what?” Her friend fingered the thick tufted fabric of the seat, clutching the cloth as they rolled over another bump. “Yes, you kissed him, but what does that matter in the grand scheme of things?”
“I don’t know.” Isabelle squeezed her thighs together.
“You didn’t enjoy it, did you?”
“No.” Isabelle shook her head. “Well. Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m not sure.” She lifted a hand to her still-tingling lips. “I mean, I thought I enjoyed it. A lot.”
“But?” Rebecca asked. “Because there’s most certainly a ‘but.’”
“But he pulled away and looked horrified by the whole thing.” All over again, the tears threatened, moisture pushing dangerously close to the surface. Which was . . . awful. She did not cry. Not even a little. “And it was more than a kiss.”
“What do you mean ‘more’?” Her friend squinted suspiciously.
Isabelle ran her tongue over her teeth. She should probably keep this to herself, but Rebecca was her dearest friend, and she had to tell someone. She squeezed her hands together. “Well, there was touching too. Lots of touching. His arms were around me, and I made—” She grimaced and stared at the tiny gilded beads dotting the leather seams of her shoes. “Noises.” Her cheeks were on fire. “Embarrassing noises. And rubbed against him, and there were tingles, and I became all wanton-like and he was repulsed. Completely repulsed.”
And the catch was back in her voice, even as she fought against it. She was supposed to be perfect and well mannered and contained with her emotions, and this was anything but.
“How do you know he was repulsed?” her friend asked, and Isabelle rolled her stinging eyes.
“He stopped,” she told her friend. “One minute he was stroking me and kissing me and his body was pressed against mine, and everything was hot and wonderful and firm but also welcoming, and then he just . . . pulled back. Completely.” Her vision blurred. “What’s wrong with me?” She hiccuped as the shameful tears began to fall.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Except that you kissed someone you shouldn’t have, who was most likely not repulsed, but afraid.” Her friend pursed her lips. “No matter what angle you approach it from, he has a lot more to lose if he upsets you than the other way around.” Rebecca scooted next to her on the seat, her petticoats rustling against the soft cushioning, and pulled Isabelle into her arms. “Now, if I was giving advice, I’d tell you to forget about him in all ways, cut him out of your life so there’s no muddle. But I suspect that isn’t possible.”
“No.” Isabelle shook her head between sniffles. “I need the information.”
“Right.” Rebecca gave a skeptical huff. “And there’s no other way to get it?”
“Not in time.” Pulling out her handkerchief, Isabelle patted her eyes.
“Naturally.” Her friend sighed once more. “Then I suggest instead that you make yourself more interested in one of the other men. Fast.”
