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“Kissing—” He coughed, surprised. “How many of these men have you kissed?”

“None, so far.”

“So far,” he repeated, exasperated. “Blast, Millie. You cannot go around kissing men.”

“Whyever not?”

“You might ruin your reputation, for one thing. To say nothing of the false ideas you will be leaving with those poor men.”

“I did not plan on kissing every gentleman who smiled at me.”

“No, only the ones who are showing such interest that they might love you?”

“How can I know if my feelings are returned unless I test them?” she asked.

“Your logic astounds me.”

Millie put her hands on her hips, fighting her irritation. “Because you have never kissed a woman?”

Wesley did not respond, but pink bled into his cheeks. The very thought of him kissing another woman was enough to send Millie into a dizzy spell.

She threw her arms in the air in frustration and left his side, marching down the bridge and away from him. “I knew it.”

“You cannot fault my foolish, youthful actions,” he said, striding to catch up to her. “I would never kiss a woman at this house party, at my age, unless I was certain she felt the same way for me that I felt for her.”

“One woman certainly does,” she muttered.

Wesley reached for Millie’s hand, tugging her around to face him. Her chest heaved in ambiguous frustration as she looked into his clear green eyes. “Who is that?” he asked.

She clamped her lips shut.

“Who has feelings for me that I certainly return, Millie? Because I do not think we have the same mind about this, but you are correct on one score: I have developed affection for a particular woman.”

Millie’s entire body froze. Wesley cared for someone…and the most likely candidate was Miss Stroud. The very notion of them happily together made her ill. Millie’s feelings for him had certainly not died, but were thriving, her jealousy fully flaring. She shook her head slightly. “You are welcome to kiss whomever you’d like, Wesley.”

“You speak as though you know my mind. It is equally frustrating and exhilarating, Millie.”

Exhilarating? She stood beside him, trapped in his gaze, doing her best to puzzle out the strange things he was saying. Tiny, cold flakes landed on her upturned face, melting as they reached her skin. It had begun to snow.

“We should return to the house,” she said.

“We cannot move until we have come to an understanding on this matter.”

“You have already kissed a woman at this house party, have you not? I think the matter is settled.”

His eyebrows drew together, then cleared, likely remembering the moment a woman kissed his cheek during a parlor game. “Miss Stroud kissed me, but I have kissed no woman.” He swallowed, and she watched his throat move. “You are the only woman I want to kiss.”

Chapter Fourteen

Wesley nearly regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he had reached a point where the path was laid out before him, diverging into two distinct options. He could either remain silent, watching Millie search for a man who played games with her heart and led her on a foolish chase, or Wesley could admit to his feelings so she was able to consider options aside from the romantic, sneaky poet.

Their breath clouded between them, mingling and dissipating as their chests heaved. The longer Millie refused to speak, the more worried Wesley grew. Had he made an error in judgment?

But he was tired of watching her accept the attentions of two men she did not love—both of whom were wrong for her.

“You do not mean that,” she finally whispered.

“On the contrary. I have spent the entire week thinking of little else.”