Page 48 of Courting Elizabeth

“My mother was much more amiable.”

“Georgiana did not seem to share that opinion.”

A comfortable silence settled. Elizabeth recounted a conversation with Mrs Reynolds, then a letter from her mother containing fifteen requests for advice about Jane’s wedding. I listened, conscious of every detail of her presence: her bare feet hidden beneath the fabric, the braid resting on her chest, the shadow of her lashes.

“You are looking at me again,” she observed.

“Always.”

“What are you thinking?”

The truth was too direct.

“You do not wish to know.”

“I came to your room in the middle of the night. I can hardly demand a conversation about the weather.”

“I am thinking about your hair.”

She touched her braid.

“It is right here before you.”

“I wonder how far it falls when it is unbound.”

Her breath changed.

“You could ask.”

“May I unbind it?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

I rose and moved behind her chair. My fingers found the ribbon at the end of the braid. I untied it slowly, then separated the strands one by one.

Her hair spilled over her back and shoulders, longer than I had imagined. I ran my hands through that silken mass, unable to restrain a sigh.

“As beautiful,” I murmured.

“As what?”

“As in my dreams.”

She turned her head slightly.

“You dreamed of my hair?”

“Not only that.”

I should not have said it. She turned further, her eyes bright with curiosity and embarrassment.

“What else?”

I let my fingers slide to her shoulders.

“Your mouth.”

I leaned down and kissed her near the temple.