“Because what? Because I’m an actor?”
Her voice lowered. “Because you’re not Blackamoor.”
His race was a concern? Stunned, he almost dropped the reins. His profession and class, maybe, but never had he thoughthisskin would be an objection. Finding a safe spot on the side of the road, he stopped his phaeton. “So, an actor, who’s not one of you, has stolen the fabric princess. That is how you put it over tea. I’ve accomplished more than I thought.”
“Don’t be so smug. You’re not what my parents would expect, any more than I was what you expected when you saw the lilac in my palm—my olive palm. I know Miss Burghley’s advertisement did not mention race.”
“You had on gloves, Miss Croome.”
“You know what I mean, Bex.”
“I was stunned at the reply being from a Blackamoor. My first thought was that you were part of an elaborate ploy, a Blackamoor and abolitionist. Very rich. When I discovered you were serious, I noted how charming you were, compared to the other advertisements I’d answered. Then I noted that glorious figure you keep trying to cover up. I am very attracted to you, despite our differences.”
“You’re attracted to me?” She stopped fidgeting with her shawl and sat up straight. “You haven’t said that before.”
She couldn’t tell that he was soundly entranced by her, and that made him like her more. “A modest, beautiful woman is a blessing as a wife. Let’s take a walk.”
“But you said we need more distance.”
He jumped down and came around to her side. “You need to stretch, too.” His outstretched hand remained lonely, so he shoved it to his side. “We should clear the air. Get a few things settled.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t do this with you still up there.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her up from the bench.
Her arms scrambled about his neck as if she feared falling, but Arthur never let anything that he thought was his go away. The way she’d felt in his arms as she jumped to him from that window, and now with his palms encircling her waist, hers snug about his neck, he could easily think of Ester Croome as his. “I have you. You don’t have to be uneasy.”
He lowered her to the ground but didn’t move his hands. She didn’t seem to mind, either, for she didn’t swat at his fingers as she had over tea at the White Horse Cellar Inn. “See. Much better. No stiff limbs.”
“You are wonderfully tall.” She released him and stood directly under the lantern attached to his phaeton. The light shone in her toasty, topaz eyes.
His hand was bare, and he placed it on her cheek. “Such supple skin.”
“Lotion.” Her voice sounded breathless. “Plenty of it. Always after a bath.”
“I take it you enjoy a good soaking.”
Her cheek burned beneath his fingers. Surely, if it were daylight, he’d catch her blushing again. “I like your confidence and your vulnerability, Miss Croome.”
“Then why do you keep wanting me to give up?”
“I won’t lie to you, Miss Croome. I had no expectations outside of a woman of grace with kind eyes and humor in need of a husband. The fact that you are a Blackamoor and I’m not doesn’t seem to matter to either of us anymore.”
“It doesn’t, does it? I’ve been infatuated with you since the first time I saw you on stage, but I like the man in front of me now. I like you, Bex.”
He lifted her chin, bringing her lips closer. “Miss Croome, my attraction to you doesn’t care about our differences other than the important one.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m a man with eyes, and you’re a woman. I delight in your delectable curves, which are noticeable even as you try to hide beneath layers of fabric.”
With his other hand, he tugged at her shawl, freeing one shoulder. “I’m growing more curious about other secrets you have.”
Pushing at his hand, she turned away. “You like making me blush.”
“I like a lot of things.” He circled her until he captured her eyes and put his arms about her, pulling her to him. “You’re not afraid of being alone with a man by the side of the road at maybe four or five in the morn? Nothing fearful about being in my embrace?”
Her fingers went to his mangled cravat. “Not with Arthur Bex.”
