Page 39

Did he mean what she thought he might? That he—

himself—was? She must have misunderstood. He drew his finger down to her fingertip, leaving a tingling path in its wake, and then put his palm to hers. “You see,” he said gravely, “there are moments when a woman’s fingers are bettered by addition of a male hand.”

Fool for Love

105

Her palm was tingling, which was absurd. She drew her hand away before he could touch it again, and said, “Mr. Darby, my glove, if you please.”

But Darby didn’t give her the glove back. Instead he looked at her with those golden brown eyes, and there was a wicked, laughing light in them. “There are moments—hours, really—when a woman’s lips are better by the same addition, Henrietta.”

She blinked. By what right did he address her—

He bent his head.

His mouth was hot. That was the first shock. She stood rigidly, wondering what she was supposed to be doing while he put his mouth on hers. Clearly, she was being kissed. The very realization was a second shock. He seemed to be enjoying himself. A large hand curled around the back of her neck and pulled her gently closer. Henrietta’s thoughts had slid into a frantic race. Was she enjoying herself? This might be her only kiss—should she be enjoying herself more?

She probably should push him away. His lips were moving on hers, and it was—it felt almost—

He pulled back. “Was that your first kiss?” he said.

“Yes, it was.” She hesitated. But in the past Darby had seemed undisturbed by her peculiar brand of frankness.

“Kissing is rather overglorified, isn’t it?” She smiled at him.

“I don’t mean to impugn your skills in the least, Mr. Darby. I myself have never been very good at physical sports.”

He seemed to be silenced by that. She could only hope that he wasn’t famed for his kissing abilities as well as his sartorial opinions. “May I have my glove back, please?”

He handed it to her.

“Thank you so much.”

Henrietta had barely drawn it on when Slope pushed open the door and said, “The gardener, Mr. Darby. His name is Baring.”

Darby didn’t even turn around. He just watched her, with a 106 Eloisa

James

half smile, half-inquiring expression that made Henrietta feel agitated. Her agitation was likely due to the unusual circumstance of a gentleman paying her such unusual attention. There was no reason to feel one’s heart tripping along at a raised pace. To find one wondering if he would try to take off both her gloves. Or . . . kiss her again. She turned away and greeted Baring. He was a big man, as tall as Darby. And he was good-looking in an outdoors kind of way. He had golden curls and bright blue eyes, and if he hadn’t had a rather stupid expression, she would have thought him capable of raising himself to a better position. Darby turned around and saw the gardener and for a moment his whole body froze. It happened so quickly that Henrietta wondered if she had imagined it, because the next moment he was saying easily, “Baring, is it? Lady Henrietta, do sit down, and we’ll all discuss whether Baring has any experience in the garden.”

It seemed an odd question to Henrietta. Of course the man must be handy in the garden. But what did she know about interviewing outside staff, after all? Her stepmother always left such hiring to her man of business, since she was only interested in hiring her personal maid. Darby helped Henrietta to the settee and sat down just next to her. He leaned back casually and flung an arm over the back of the settee. Henrietta sat upright in her usual manner. He was sitting so close that his shoulder actually touched hers. She edged away.

“I expect the employment agency informed you that we are looking for an expert with roses?” Darby said.

“That they did,” Baring replied. “I’ve been around roses since I was a wee child.”

To Henrietta’s mind, Lady Rawlings was sadly negligent as a chaperone. It was interesting to find that the whole chaperoning business actually had its merits. Clearly men were driven to kiss whatever female wandered within their arm’s length. Fool for Love

107

Luckily, she didn’t seem to be affected by those kisses. She’d heard plenty of talk from other girls about kissing. Molly Maplethorpe swore that when her husband Harold first kissed her, she melted into a bowl of vanilla pudding. Henrietta had puzzled over that image for a while before deciding that Molly was remarkably creative in her language. But other girls had said much the same sort of thing. Still, it wasn’t hard to feel pleased, even though she had felt no such liquefaction. She’d been kissed! Now when girls shared confidences she didn’t have to feel like an old maid. Darby was questioning the gardener about soil-tilling techniques. Where on earth did he learn those things? She had the distinct impression that he lived in London for the entire year. Well, for all she knew they grew roses in London, although it didn’t seem possible, what with all the coal smoke.

“And how will you cure rust?” Darby was asking, with an amused tone in his voice, as if he were about to burst into laughter. What a strange man he was.

She stopped listening and went back to thinking about kissing. To the point: why did Darby kiss her? She’d made it quite clear that she couldn’t have children, but that fact didn’t seem to have warned him off.

In fact, his attentions had only grown more marked. Perhaps, she thought confusedly, he really doesn’t want to have children.