With a reluctant smile, she passed him the sherry.
He took it with a nod of thanks, sipped, and let out a contented sigh. “If I must be tethered to anyone for life,” he murmured, “let it be a woman who smuggles spirits into the library and shoots to wound, not kill.”
Hetty let out an exasperated breath that was, against her better judgement, nearly a laugh.
“I am sincere,” he said, setting down the glass, rising with care, and extending a hand. “And perhaps something more besides.”
She narrowed her eyes warily. “What are you about now?”
“I am,” he said, in a tone almost solemn, “attempting not to kiss you while seated, because I rather think this ought to be done properly.”
Slowly, very slowly, Hetty placed her hand in his. Theo’s hand was warm as it closed around hers and he drew her to her feet, cautious of her balance and his aching ribs.
“I mean it, Hetty,” he breathed. “I should like to do this well.”
Hetty swallowed hard, pulse fluttering beneath her stays. “Is that… is that what this is?”
“I believe it must be,” Theo murmured, his voice low, imbued with that quiet assurance that often heralds the most dangerous resolutions in a gentleman.
He drew her towards him with a care so deliberate it made her breath catch. His hand came to rest at her waist lightly, splaying his fingers over the fine muslin of her gown. The heat of his touch bled through the fabric and into her very skin, until all rational thought began to slip from her grasp.
At last, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers with exquisite restraint, a kiss so gentle it could scarcely be called such, and yet it sent a shiver through her limbs all the same. When he spoke again, it was against her mouth, his words coloured by mischief and warmth. “You wanted a scandal, did you not, Miss Tolliver? Well, I confess I am strongly inclined to render you most scandalously late to your own wedding tomorrow morning.”
“Well, I suppose if I am to marry you, we ought to have a very, very good reason for it.”
He kissed her once more. “I shall endeavour to provide you with several.”
Before she could forget herself entirely, Hetty stepped back from him, only a pace or two, and turned towards the door.
He straightened as well, clearing his throat in a manner that might have been dignified, had it not been so wholly betrayed by the disorder of his cravat and the flush across his cheekbones. “Is this the part where you come to your senses and flee?”
“No,” she replied, with something very like a giggle, though she mastered it at once. She crossed to the door, and with the utmost dignity, turned the key in the lock. “My senses are precisely where they ought to be.”
—♥—
Theo could not quite believe he was kissing Hetty Tolliver in the library of her family’s townhouse – dishevelled, half-dressed and only half-mended, with a bandaged rib and a devil’s worth of temptation in his blood.
“You are quite certain?” he asked again, though it taxed every ounce of gentlemanly restraint he possessed merely to ask.
“Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “But you must not laugh at me. Do you promise it?”
“I do,” he said, gravely. “Upon my honour.”
“And you must not tease.”
“Well, now you are being unreasonable. That may be beyond the bounds of my nature.”
She pulled back, bracing her hands against his chest. Her expression, so often all sharp wit and mischief had settled into something far more uncertain. “Theo… I do not think I entirely comprehend what it is I am consenting to. Beyond… well… the kissing.”
He stilled at once. Ah. Of course. She was clever, ferociously so, but even the cleverest of well-bred young ladies – perhaps especially those – might remain quite in the dark when it came to certain matters.
“You are not permitted laugh at me,” she repeated, quietly but with great dignity. “But you must forgive me if I am not entirely certain what is expected of me… I have been taught how to curtsy before a duchess, how to embroider without bleeding on the linen, and how to ensure one’s dance card is never too full nor too empty. But no one ever thought it necessary to explain what comes after the wedding breakfast, or indeed after a kiss.”
“Yes,” Theo said gently. “I believe that is the accepted definition of a young lady’s education… comprehensive in all things irrelevant, and silent on everything of importance.”
She let out the ghost of a laugh, though it was tinged with nerves. “I do not wish to be foolish or naïve, but I cannot pretend to know what I do not.”
“My dear Hetty, there is no foolishness in honesty. And no shame in inexperience. The fault lies not with you, but with the world that insists a woman must walk blindly into her own marriage while all the knowledge is locked away in the heads of men and scullery maids.”
