That dangerous feeling stirred, the one that wanted his kiss to follow where his hands had touched—weak temples, a lonely arched neck.
His beard skimmed the top of my brow, furry and soft. Such a sweet bear.
My pulse raced like it was in a marathon, but my headache eased.
He sat again beside me, shoulder to shoulder. “Now open wide. Let me put some of the good bread to your mouth. Open for me.”
Hesitation wouldn’t do, not for Wycliff. I lowered my lip and stuck out my tongue.
His chuckles trembled through me as his fingers went to my mouth. Then I tasted a piece of fresh bread that had absorbed the gravy of the sliced meat. The tang of the mustard seemed to head straight to my nostrils.
“The bread is so good, but the mustard is so strong.”
“Do I stop feeding you, Ruth?”
“No. Less mustard.”
He laughed again and things were good, almost perfect.
Perfect would be Wycliff asking again to be more than a good cousin. This time I’d let him.
Chapter Twenty
When Worlds Collide
The sun had begun to lower when Wycliff carried the sleeping Christopher out of his carriage. The boy snored like a mill saw but had a tight grip about Wycliff’s neck.
Between this pressure and all the yelling and laughing he’d done, his throat was sore. His voice would be very hoarse if he was lucky enough to still have one.
Freeing his neck, he shifted the boy. Christopher was good and pure. He must take after his mother completely.
Wycliff stuck his free hand inside his carriage and clasped Ruth’s. “Let me help you.”
“Yes. I wonder if we have an audience looking out of Mama’s parlor.”
He half turned and saw lights burning in the front room of the Croome townhouse. “Well, they’ll be pleased. I have returned you two at a respectable hour.”
Ruth nodded and came close to his side.
She’d been silent in the carriage, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. It felt like the peace of old comfortable friends.
The little boy yawned, his cap falling. Wycliff stooped, and he felt Ruth jerk a little.
“Just getting this.” He handed her the knit bonnet then put his hand on her waist and headed to the entry. “You think he had fun?”
“Yes. You’ve been so good to him and me.”
Christopher fit with them. Wycliff had thought it would make a difference, not knowing if the boy was his flesh. It didn’t. All the feelings—the protectiveness, the wariness, and the pride he associated with his own father, bubbled. It grew more and more for Christopher.
Her fingers tangled in the strings of her bonnet. A few curls dropped about her darkening cheeks. “Did you say something?”
“Maybe. My thoughts might be too loud, unlike what’s left of my voice.”
“Your voice is not so bad. Not when you get used to it.”
He adjusted the boy and then took the first step of the entry. “Christopher is amazing. If I can teach him to fish, he will make a fine Baron of Wycliff.”
“That’s my son, but he’s only your heir until you marry, my lord, and have a son. We know you shall marry. Peers must.”
