“Yes,” she said.
“I have the feeling,” he said, “that I am to be totally nameless for the next three days. You can no longer call me ‘your grace’ since I have specifically asked you not to, but you find it quite impossible to call me Gerard. Am I right, Claire?”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I am afraid I have always moved in less exalted circles.”
“If you pinch me, you know,” he said, “I sayouch.If you cut me, I bleed. Say Gerard.”
“Gerard.”
“Good,” he said. “That point is settled. Do you like Florence’s Valentine’s idea?”
“It is suited to the occasion,” she said. “She thought to bring some sense of romance to the festival.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Romance.” The wind was blowing the feather of her hat across her chin. He reached out one hand to move it aside and looked down at her mouth. It was a rather wide mouth that was made to smile, he believed, though he had never seen it do so. “Do you really believe that is her purpose, Claire?”
She licked her lips in a gesture that he guessed was not meant to be provocative. “Yes,” she said. “Valentines chosen by lottery, rides to places of beauty like this.” She gestured at the miles and miles of country visible from the top of the tower.
“I wonder if you believe your own words,” he said, moving his hand to beneath her chin and rubbing his thumb across her lips. “Can you be that naive?”
“It is meant to be more, then?” she asked.
“More, yes,” he said, and he leaned forward and laid his lips against hers for a brief moment. Her own lips remained still. He found her passivity strangely arousing. Perhaps because he was unaccustomed to it, he thought.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” he asked her. “Is a kiss not appropriate between valentines?”
“We are not—” she began.
“Oh, yes, we are,” he reminded her. “You have a lacy heart pinned to your wool dress with both our names on it. I won you by lottery.”
She said nothing but merely looked at him. Her eyes were a mixture of blue and gray, he thought. Rather lovely eyes. He touched the pad of his thumb to the center of her lips.
“Is a kiss sinful between willing adults?” he asked. “I do not insult you by assuming that you have passed your majority, do I?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I have—several years ago.”
“Well, then,” he said. “Are you repulsed by me, Claire?”
“Repulsed?” she said. “Of course not.”
“And neither am I repulsed by you,” he said. “And we are valentines, after all. For three whole days, Claire.” He was going to addand for three whole nights too,but he stopped himself in time.
“Yes,” she said.
“And there is nothing improper about valentines exchanging kisses,” he said. “Not when they are both adults and in no way repulsed by each other.”
“No,” she said.
“Then we have no quarrel,” he said, setting both his hands on her shoulders and drawing her upper body loosely against his before kissing her again, parting his lips in order to do so. Her own stayed closed, though they trembled as her shoulders trembled beneath his hands. He licked her lips from one corner to the other before raising his head and setting her back away from him.
“It is my guess, Miss Claire Ward,” he said, “that you considered flight both last evening and this morning. Am I right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“But you had a little too much courage to give in to the urge,” he said.
“A little too much stubbornness, I think,” she said. “And a little too much curiosity, too.” There was the suggestion of a smile about her lips for a moment.
