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Then she made a gesture with her hand. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was certain it was not a suitable action for a lady. He’d noticed it before. Her wrist would turn quickly and her lips firmed and words formed in her mind, but her fingers executed the phrase he didn’t know.
‘You should not say such,’ he said, testing his theory.
‘A society woman would not,’ she agreed. ‘Another reason to remain as I am.’
‘I surrender,’ he said, moving to the desk. He caught her gaze and smiled. ‘I have a surprise for you.’
He did not want to argue with her, but he did want to hear her voice. He had lost his mind somewhere among the pins in her hair, but as long as no one else knew and he recovered soon, all would be fine. He hoped.
He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a book, holding it aloft. Cobwebs to Catch Flies. He brushed a hand across the leather cover. ‘I don’t know where it was or which servant found it, but they have all been rewarded.’ He smiled. ‘Geoff, my sister and I all read this.’ For a moment he was held by memories, all good. ‘Sit near me.’ He waved the book towards the cushions. ‘This one will have you reading.’ He opened it, moving to the section with the three-letter words.
Bellona settled on to the sofa and he put the book in her hands and sat beside her. Spices flowed into the air. The memories and scent of Christmas around her made the present feel as good as the best of the past did. He could hardly wait for her to begin.
She took the tome and her lips moved the barest bit, saying the words silently while she studied the page.
Her mouth. He watched it, willing her to repeat the action. She didn’t, but she still held the book.
A weakness plunged into him. He relived a memory that kept him strong.
He’d written some bit of fluff to the girl who’d given him his first kiss. The moment had been...a surprise.
He’d not really thought much about what a kiss could feel like. And he hadn’t meant to be alone with the girl. They’d happened upon each other by chance. She’d rounded a corner and he’d caught her just as she stepped into him and then she’d trounced his boot and he’d been worried about his boot being scuffed. She’d purposefully rested her foot on his other boot and he’d meant to remove her, but her waist had felt more important than any new boot had ever felt in his life and he’d not been able to budge the little wisp of her. He didn’t remember the conversation or how long they’d stayed there, but she’d reached up and kissed him.
His world had changed.
Later, he’d written to her about how her lips tasted—but the letter had been stolen from his chamber before he could give it to her and it had somehow ended up in his father’s hands—thank you, Geoff—and his father had called Rhys into the library, told him to shut the door and they had had another talk. The letter had been returned to Rhys and his father said it was Rhys’s choice whether he gave the letter to the chit or not, but to remember that words written could never be changed. He should consider how a wife might feel some day to read something which might concern her. Or how their servants might snicker to learn of such a thing about their master.
Rhys’s father gave him the letter. Rhys threw it in the fire. He’d disappointed his father.
Just as his father would be disappointed now if he’d walked into the room. Rhys shoved the thought aside.
‘Why don’t you read aloud?’ Rhys suggested, and she did.
Initially, she stumbled over the words, but she could understand them, slowly at first and then more easily.
She closed the book, but held the place with one finger. ‘I did not know books were like this. Cats and rats and dogs.’ She looked at him. ‘I would wager there will be a pig in it, too.’
‘I do not want to give away the ending.’ He leaned closer, pretending to look at the pages. ‘Keep reading. It is good for you.’
‘I do not like to hear something is good for me. That usually means I won’t like it.’ But she wiggled a bit, reminding him of a hen settling into her nest.
Again she read the words aloud.
He watched, half his vision on the book and half on her. The only other noise in the room besides her voice was the occasional sound of the page turning. He listened and then forgot everything else as her fingertips touched the paper.
His thoughts were much safer when he imagined only her hair. Now he watched her hands, heard her voice and could not stop his fascination from growing.
She reminded him of childhood and innocent times, and then she’d turn the page and he’d be ever so thankful to have left all that behind him and be alone with her. She made his chest feel broad and his skin vibrate just because her voice moved towards him through the air.
