“Do not jest,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“I am not jesting,” he replied, closing his eyes. “Merely… profoundly resigned.”
Hetty inhaled, slow and unsteady, fighting against the rising tide of feeling in her chest. “You are remarkably composed for a man bleeding upon the grass.”
“I find it difficult to panic when the lady pressing on my wound looks quite so unimpressed with my suffering.”
“Well. I did warn you not to get shot.”
“Another fine entry for the pamphlet,” he said weakly.“Tolliver Wisdom: Avoid Bullets When Possible.”
“You had better live long enough to see it published.”
“I shall make the attempt,” he said slowly, pausing between sentences for pained breath. “It would be a shame to miss the scandalsheets…‘Earl Felled by Tolliver Pistol, Noble to the Last…’I imagine there shall be an engraving.”
“If any attempt a caricature in your likeness, I shall ensure they render your nose incorrectly.”
Theo opened one eye, pained but amused. “How very cruel.”
“Your mouth as well.”
“I see,” he murmured, closing his eyes once more. “A full character assassination to accompany the attempted literal one. Though I must assume… you must recall my mouth rather well, then.”
She swallowed, for she did recall his mouth, far more vividly than she ought.
“It was a good kiss,” he added as an exhale, closing his eyes once more.
Her lips parted, but there was no quip poised upon them. There was nothing in her arsenal of wit or sense that could meet such a declaration with any degree of poise. In truth, she found herself entirely bereft of language.
“Was it not?” he asked, opening one eye again with great effort.
She looked away, busying herself with smoothing her skirt, brushing non-existent grass from the folds.
“Well?” he prompted at last.
“If you must know, Lord Langley,” she replied with studied dignity, “I have had better.”
“Have you?”
She blinked. Bother… He knew perfectly well she had not kissed any man but him, and worse, he seemed thoroughly entertained by the knowledge.
“I – well – not precisely better,” she conceded. “Merely… different.”
“A poor attempt, Miss Tolliver,” he whispered. “Though I commend the effort.”
“If you had even an ounce of decency, you would cease talking.”
“If I had any decency,” he said, grimacing as he shifted minutely beneath her, “I should not have kissed you at all.”
“Where, in Heaven’s name, is that blasted carriage?” Hetty exclaimed, casting a glance over her shoulder as though sheer vexation might conjure it forth from the mist. “And for the record, sir, you did not kiss me – I kissed you.”
He gave a pained chuckle that caught in his throat. “Ah… yes. So you did. I recall being rendered… quite defenceless.”
She glared, resisting the impulse to seize him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, which would be entirely counterproductive, considering the blood loss.
“I shall do better next time,” he said softly, his breath catching through the declaration. “Assuming, of course… I survive… and cease leaking vital fluid.”
“There shall not be a next time,” she said primly.
