“And?”
“I’m glad you showed them to me. Thank you.” Sighing, she leaned back in her chair. “I suppose I shall have to thank Noah, too, eventually…after I’ve boxed his ears for keeping me in the dark.”
Jonathan smiled crookedly. “His methods may have been a bit underhanded, but I daresay he had your best interests at heart.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, flapping her hands at Jonathan. “You’ve made your point. I’ll make friends with him again, never fear.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Catching one of her hands, he drew her to her feet. “May I escort you in to dinner, madam?”
She didn’t answer right away, for she’d found herself quite close to him. Close enough for his body to fill her vision.
His impeccably tailored suit revealed the width of his shoulders, the solidity of his form. Her eyes were level with his mouth, its contours emphasized in the play of the firelight.
Gazing up into his face for a moment—or an hour—she could not but marvel at the miracle of having him here.
Was this real?
After all this time, was he truly hers?
On impulse (and heedless of the public setting), she went on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes before they drifted closed.
Though this was not their first kiss, she’d never been the instigator before. She liked the feeling of power it gave her. And when he pulled her flush against him and deepened the kiss, she equally liked how it felt ceding that power to him.
When she was ready to take it back, she freed her arms so she could bury her hands in his hair, that thick, silky mass more luscious than any woman’s.
With a strangled laugh, he broke away. “Confound it,” he groaned, holding her at arm’s length as he caught his breath. “Are you trying to make me duel your brother?”
“Oh, dear! I’ve made you all rumpled…” She reached up to smooth his disheveled mane.
“Don’t!” He leapt away from her.
“Sorry!”
“No, I’m sorry!” Looking foolish, he dragged his own hand through his hair—which only made it look worse. “But if you do that again, I’m not certain of keeping my wits about me.”
She flushed with pleasure. Too giddy to form a proper response, she settled for silently directing him to a looking glass. While he stood before it to repair the damage, she stationed herself behind him.
“I’ve wanted to touch your hair,” she found herself confessing, “ever since I first saw you. Imagine my regret all this past year that I’d never done it when I had the chance…”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “Was it worth the wait?”
She nodded seriously. “But if you don’t like it?—”
“Claire, stop,” he growled in that way that made her shiver. “You have my permission, or rather my encouragement, to touch my hair as often as you’d like—the very instant we are married.”
She caught his eye in the mirror. “And when might that be?”
“Just as soon as you like.” He grinned, slightly abashed. “Don’t think me overbold, but as soon as we landed in Dover, I put Andrews on the stage to Canterbury…”
Claire half-gasped, half-laughed. “That is bold! Were you so sure of succeeding with me?”
“Not at all! But I was sure if I did succeed, and any legal niceties sprang up to hamper us, I’d go stark-raving mad.”
“As would I,” Claire said fervently. “Have you had word from him?”
“I have not.” His hair back in order, Jonathan turned from the mirror to offer his arm. “But if he isn’t at Twineham by now, with the special license in hand, I should be very much surprised.”
Claire took the arm. Now she was grinning too, so wide her cheeks began to hurt. “We could leave the party a day early,” she ventured, “and ride to Twineham Park on Sunday…”
