When Kit straightened, his eyes danced with laughter. She had to keep her eyes lowered or she’d go into whoops. In her most demure voice, she responded, “Thank you, sir.”
At the top of the stairs, she slapped her hand over her mouth as she began to giggle. “Oh my. I didn’t realize you heard me.”
His shoulders shook. “It’s a good thing I’d finished swallowing or my food would have been all over the table.”
“I remember something of the same being said when I’d first come out. I had hoped that part of the Season was over.”
His hands clasped her shoulders, and he studied her with an expression she didn’t understand. “Mary.”
“Mr. Featherton?”
His smile died. “Have I fallen so far in your esteem?”
She glanced around. Servants appeared to be everywhere. “No, but we are not alone. I would not wish to cause talk.”
A footman passed them.
“You are correct, of course.”
She nodded. “If you’d like, I will still call you by your given name when we are alone.”
“That is my desire.” He appeared to focus on her lips for a moment, then said, “I wanted to tell you—”
Voices floated down from the nursery. If he didn’t say whatever it was soon, there’d be no chance. “Yes?”
Too late, Rutherford entered the landing.
Kit bowed to her. “I’m looking forward to this afternoon.”
Of course that was all it was. What had she expected? He was Mr. Perfect and would never have made a declaration at the top of the stairs in a busy household. Yet before she’d spoken, he’d appeared not to notice anyone else was around. Would she ever learn to hold her tongue? Now she might never know what he would actually have said.
Drat, drat, drat!
If only she could bring herself to at least kiss him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kit watched Mary stride away. All he had wanted to do was kiss her, and he’d stupidly picked the busiest part of the house. Then he’d forgotten to address her properly. What a sapskull he was turning into. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d never done anything so outré in his life.
“Featherton.”
Rutherford’s voice startled Kit.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“That,” his friend said dryly, “was apparent. Do you know if there are plans for us to-day?”
“Yes. Lord Titus is taking us around while the ladies pay morning calls.”
“That might not be so bad. I have to admit that the Scotch whisky was extremely good last night. I never would have thought it.”
Kit shook his head. “As long as we are not subjected to any separatist political talk, it will be fine. Living in England, one forgets how the Scots consider us.”
“I believe we have worse relations with them than we do with the French.”
“Considering we smuggle in brandy and have onerous taxes on Scotch whisky, I can see their point.”
Still, as long as it didn’t interfere with Kit’s courtship of Mary, he couldn’t care less about the cross-border enmity. Then he remembered that Lady Theo wanted to introduce Mary to prospective husbands. Scots or English, he’d protect her from all of the scoundrels.
