Page 17 of If a Lady Lingers

“Golly, I hope so!”

He took both of her hands in his and bounced them lightly with a light laugh. She knew then that everything would be all right between them.

“Come out of hiding, Daisy Daring,” he cajoled. “Let the rest of the world discover how brilliant and creative you are.”

He reached into his waistcoat and removed a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her.

She frowned. “What’s that?”

“The King and John Nash have announced an architectural contest. They’re looking for architects to design one of the villas that’s to be built in Regent’s Park. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to showcase your ideas.”

Well, he was wrong about that. Yet curiosity won out, and she unfolded the announcement to read it.

“The winning architect receives a cash prize, their plans built, and all kinds of recognition.” Excitement pulsed from him. “Just imagine what it would do for your career as an architect.”

Yes. Destroy it before it ever began, right along with her father’s. If anyone discovered that she’d been creating house plans, she’d never be able to work again in Papa’s stead without raising questions. Their ruse would end, and then where would they be? Completely without income and in danger of being labeled as frauds. She couldn’t risk that.

Still, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have her ideas evaluated by the judges?

Yet sharp reality won over her senses, and she glumly shook her head. “This contest is for architects. What makes you think I’d be allowed to enter, let alone win?”

“Because youarean architect. Look around you!” He held out his arms to indicate the shell of a house. “You built this. You—not your father. And it’s spectacular.”

She arched a challenging brow. “You said it was a hole.”

“Well, it is.Now. But give it three months, and it will be the envy of the entire west side of London. Those other architects who’ll enter Nash’s contest won’t even consider the kinds of technologies and modern improvements you’ve implemented here. Skylights! Gas! Shower tubs! Dear heavens—for the shower tub alone you should be given a medal.”

She looked away, the impossibility of what he was suggesting grating her chest raw. No one would care about any of her ideas once they realized that a woman had suggested them. Instead of granting her the due she deserved, the judges would pat her patronizingly on the head and send her away with orders to marry and birth babies. She’d be publicly shamed for daring to overstep her place and showing that a woman could be as talented as a man. The architectural world would never forgive her for that.

“The others will be stuck thinking inside the box of a typical townhouse,” Whitby went on, “doing nothing more than fiddling with the front façade and the placement of the stairs, while yours will be revolutionary.”

“Because they lack imagination,” she whispered so softly that her voice was barely above a breath.

“Exactly! Besides, you’re Daisy Daring.” He took her arms again. As he leaned in toward her, his gaze dropped longingly to her mouth. His voice lowered achingly. “The most wonderful, most special woman I’ve ever met.”

She held her breath, knowing he was going to kiss her, and a kiss not at all like the chaste ones he’d given her before. She wanted it. At that moment, she wanted to feel special, brilliant, creative—all those wonderful things that Whitby claimed she was. She wanted to believe in herself the way he did, even if it couldn’t last more than this moment.

When his lips touched hers, her heart soared at his tenderness. She tasted his affection for her, the close friendship they shared, and more. She also tasted a yearning in him, not of desire but to please her. That thoughtfulness threatened to unleash new tears from her.

When she slid her hands over his shoulders to encircle his neck, he slipped his arms around her and gently brought her against him. The kiss deepened, its intensity growing, yet she knew he would stop and release her if she breathed a single word. But she didn’t want to stop. Something had changed in the way she saw him, in the way it felt to be with him. Now she welcomed his embrace and pressed herself against him.

He murmured her name and touched the tip of his tongue to her lips, lightly caressing their seam and softly cajoling her to open to his kiss. With a sigh, she capitulated. His tongue slipped between her lips in a silken glide that left her breathless. He was no longer kissing her— God help her, he wasexploring her, learning the dark recesses of her mouth and stirring a faint ache low in her belly. His hands swept up and down her back in soothing circles that only increased the odd sense of need blossoming inside her. Need for Hugh Whitby… Whoever would have believed it? Yet that was exactly what she felt, and she melted against him, fisting her hands in the lapels of his purple jacket to keep him close as she dared to touch her tongue to his.

A low groan sounded from the back of his throat. She smiled triumphantly at enticing such a reaction from him, only for her smile to vanish with a gasp when he began to move his tongue inside her mouth. He twirled between her lips, encircling her tongue in a decadent and sensuous motion that turned her legs boneless.

She was shocked—not at the wonderful kiss he was giving her but that he was so skilled at kissing, so able to do things with his tongue and lips that she’d never dreamt men could do. Just as she was shocked to find that despite his slender frame his shoulders were solid beneath her fingers as she clenched them, his chest hard when her hand trailed down his front and played idly with the buttons on his waistcoat.

He slid his mouth away from hers and left her panting to gain back her breath. He nuzzled his cheek against her temple and tremulously whispered, “May I…may I touch you?”

The sweetness of his request warmed her all the way down to her toes. So did the uncertainty behind it, as if he worried that she might reject him.

He had no reason to worry.

“Yes,” she whispered, “you may…”

Excitement rushed through her on the heels of a shiver. Even though this was Whitby, even though nothing more could happen here in the openness of the house site than a few stolen kisses, she was nervous despite craving his hands on her. Nervousbecauseshe craved his hands on her in a way she’d never wanted any other man to touch her. She trusted Whitby and knew that he didn’t want to caress her because he would enjoy it but becauseshewould. He wanted only to please her, and this moment became all the more precious because of it.

As his lips returned to hers, his left hand slipped slowly down her back to stroke her bottom in slow circles, and his right moved upward along the side of her body until it cupped her breast. Then he stilled to give her the opportunity to refuse him now that his hands were on her. But she didn’t want him to stop and leaned into his palm to bring him harder against her.