Page 12 of The Recluse and the Runaway

Dear God, she must surely be blushing from her head to her toes!

“Harvesting some mistletoe?” Sir Rupert chuckled. “Isn’t there enough in the kissing ball?”

“No,” she said gruffly, perched there like a child, calves bare to the wind, unable to lower her skirts.

Gently, he put his arms around her and lifted her down. “I agree,” he said, “which is why I saved a little for a more private kiss. It’s at the house, alas.”

Hurriedly, she untied her skirts. A private kiss with whom? One of the evening’s guests, perhaps. There must be an eligible lady in the vicinity.

“Fortunately, there’s plenty to choose from out here in the orchard,” he said. “The one you were planning to take, for example. It’s right over our heads.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and looked up. He took her chin in his hands, smiled down at her, and kissed her.

It was a dream of a kiss. It began as a soft touch of the lips, and then his arms went around her, and she couldn’t help but wrap hers around his neck, and their lips met and joined and feasted on one another.

At last, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. “Oh, Nell.”

She had imagined being kissed, but nothing like this. She was hot all over, flushed and breathless.

“Oh, Nell,” he said again. “I love you so much.”

“You do?” It came out as an astonished squeak.

“Since the moment we met.” He paused. “No, that’s not quite accurate. I liked you then, but it was when I first saw you in the candlelight in the kitchen. It was love at first sight.” He smiled gently. “Do you love me?”

Oh, dear. She couldn’t lie, not to him, and especially not about something so important. “Yes, I love you, Sir Rupert, but…”

“Just Rupert,” he said. “Call me by my name.”

She did, and he said, “Nell, my love, please don’t go. Can’t you see? I love you and you love me. You must marry me and stay with me here forever.”

She drew away, trembling now. “I cannot.” Sooner or later, Stepmother would find out and accuse her, and because Stepmother was wealthy and respected, she would be believed. Instead of loving Nell, Sir Rupert would feel that he had been a fool and would quickly come to hate her.

His smile was rueful. “Sweetheart, you can’t kiss a fellow like that and then refuse to marry him. It’s just not done.”

“I know, and I apologize, but I can’t help loving you, and kissing is a part of love.”

“Indeed,” he said, with his endearing grin.

“But I swear I’ll never do it again,” she said.

“Nonsense,” he said, and kissed her soundly. “We’ll do it every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh, how I wish we could, but we cannot. Sir, I mean Rupert, I really must get back to the kitchen now. They need me there.”

He sighed. “You won’t tell me why you can’t stay here with me, will you? Fine, but you must tell me where you are going and to whom.”

She’d rather not say a word, but if he loved her—which seemed impossible, and yet she had fallen in love with him at first sight, too—or perhaps even earlier, at the first sound of his kind, warm voice. So even though they couldn’t wed, he deserved to know that she was going somewhere safe. “Very well—as long as you promise not to prevent me from leaving.”

“No, I shan’t prevent you. In fact, I insist on escorting you.”

That made sense. If she told him where she was going, why not accept his escort? It would be far safer. She wouldn’t have to dash into the hedgerow whenever someone appeared on the road, for fear she would be recognized. “Can I trust you to tell no one where I am—absolutely no one, no matter who they are, no matter what horrid things they say about me?”

“My darling Nell—” He took a breath. “I shan’t tell anyone, but if I learn that you are in danger, I shall protect you with my life. Will that do?”

“You’re so very kind, Rupert. I am truly honored to have known you.” She paused. “Very well. I’m going to Oxford, to my father’s dear friend, Mr. Albert Dilson.”

“Mr. Dilson, the solicitor?”