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“It would not have answered your question,” he told her.

“No.” She stared at him. “I don’t suppose it would have.” How was she supposed to respond to him?

He smiled slightly. “Was I too honest?”

She looked down at the wine in her glass. “Perhaps I asked too much.”

“I did not mind,” he said softly.

Later, she would remember very little of the rest of the questions. When the company moved toward the card table to investigate an accusation of cheating, Charlotte stayed put. Alexander remained beside her. “You have not asked whether your hope has been fulfilled,” she said.

“I thought I might wait until you wished to tell me.”

She turned toward him. The candlelight caught the gold in his hair. He had loosened a little over the evening, settling into the sofa, his hand resting on the cushion between them. Charlotte looked at it, then placed her own beside it.

Their fingers touched. Alexander went still. She could have moved away. Instead, she turned her hand until her fingertips rested against his. “I should like to see you again,” she said.

His fingers closed gently around hers. “I am very glad.”

There was no clever reply. Charlotte found she did not want one. Across the room, Amelia laughed at something Dominic said. Charlotte glanced toward them, then back at Alexander. “Will you show me the painting in the next room?”

His eyes searched hers for a moment. “Of course.”

She rose with him, feeling his hand on her back as they crossed the threshold. The smaller room held two lamps, a low fire, and a landscape she had no immediate interest in examining. Alexander stopped beside her. “That is the one Elizabeth admired,” he said.

“It is very fine,” she said.

“You have scarcely looked at it.”

“No,” Charlotte admitted.

He turned toward her, his hand falling from her back. She had been kissed since her husband’s death. She knew the difference between desire and a sensible decision, and she had no intention of pretending they always went hand in hand. But she wanted this kiss. Had wanted it since Thursday, perhaps since the moment Alexander walked into Rosedale House. She stepped closer and laid her hand against his lapel. His breath changed. “Charlotte?”

“I am trying to decide whether you kiss as well now as you did then.”

He looked at her mouth. “I should be pleased to assist you.”

That nearly made her laugh. Instead, she lifted her face and kissed him. For an instant, he did not move. Then his hand settled at her waist, warm and firm. Then he returned the kiss with a care that made her fingers tighten upon his coat.

She had expected familiarity. She had not expected the pleasure of discovering him again—the changed shape of his mouth beneath hers, the steadiness of his touch. The quiet sound he made when she moved nearer. When she drew back, his hand remained at her waist. “Well?” he asked softly.

Charlotte looked up into his blue eyes. “I believe further acquaintance may be worthwhile.”

He smiled, though his voice was less steady. “I had better invite you to see another painting then.”

She laughed, quietly enough to keep the sound between them, and let her hand rest on his coat a moment longer. Perhaps she had made a mistake, but she did not believe so. She wanted to get to know Alexander again. That kiss had been just the beginning…

Four

Alexander had written three perfectly respectable invitations before deciding that respectability had very little to do with what he wanted. He wanted Charlotte to laugh when she opened his note. Then he wanted her to come.

The memory of her hand on his coat had been a nuisance all morning. He could still recall the moment she lifted her face, the brief warmth of her breath before her mouth touched his. She had kissed him deliberately, then looked pleased with her decision. He had spent much of the night being pleased with it himself.

Now he sat at his desk, turning his pen between his fingers. Inviting her to admire another landscape seemed a poor reward for such encouragement. Charlotte would recognize the excuse, certainly, but he preferred to offer her something worth accepting.

His gaze settled upon the small box beside his inkstand. He had found it while searching a cabinet for sealing wax. The wooden lid bore several scratches, and one corner had darkened where his brother had once set down a candle. Inside lay the little ivory men they had used as boys, along with a pair of dice. Alexander drew a fresh sheet toward him.

Charlotte,