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“I like all animals.”
“Pigs?”
“Oh yes. They can be characters.”
“Frogs?” He came to his feet and added a log to the fire then gave it a jab with a poker. “No woman likes frogs.”
“Frogs eat flies and I love it when there are tadpoles in my father’s pond.”
“Very well.” He hung the poker back by the fireplace and rubbed his chin. “Snakes? No one likes snakes.”
“I am not a fan of adders,” she admitted. “But grass snakes are perfectly sweet.”
His brows lifted. “Perfectly sweet. I’ve never heard anyone refer to a snake as perfectly sweet.”
“Well, they hardly count as snakes anyway.”
Cillian chuckled. “I would wager you were quite the handful when you were a child, bringing home all manner of animals.”
“I only brought home a frog once. Lilly went into quite the panic which was terribly amusing given hardly anything scares Lilly.”
“Lilly? Your twin sister am I correct?”
“That’s the one.” Ivy couldn’t keep the wistful smile from her face.
“Are you close?”
“We’re twins.”
“From my experience, not even being born at the same time can guarantee such a relationship.”
Ivy held her breath for a moment. Here it was. He was slowly revealing himself to her. But how far should she push?
“I thought you did not have any siblings.”
“I do not, however, I have witnessed the rift that can occur between brothers, even those who are close to one another.”
She wondered if he was referring to his father who to her knowledge had married a poor Irishwoman and moved to Ireland. Cillian had only come to England after the death of his father according to Shah who knew more of her husband than she did, and Cillian’s uncle had given them meagre financial assistance.
“Lilly and I are exceedingly different. I think that has often helped our relationship,” she explained.
Lilly was not only completely different in appearance to Ivy, but they also shared few interests. Whereas Lilly adored being out of doors, Ivy preferred indoor pursuits. In a way, it meant they never fought over any one thing because they had their own interests.
“That makes sense.”
A snuffling noise came from the box, preventing her from pressing further. Sometimes Cillian reminded her of a skittish stallion, untrusting of anyone. If she inched forward too quickly, he would bolt. She rose to her feet and peered into the box while Cillian turned his attention back to stoking the fire. The hedgehog moved slightly and settled again, remaining blessedly quiet. It might well have been its interaction with a broom that had caused such a noise and with any luck, she could release it back into the wild soon enough—somewhere far from the house and any annoyed maids with brooms.
Cillian turned the moment she stepped around the box to adjust the blanket. When she rose, she found herself standing in front of him, her gaze landing upon the open neck of his shirt. She lifted her gaze slowly, aware of her pulse strumming through her and creating tightness in her throat.
She met his gaze slowly, hopefully. And what she saw in his eye reflected exactly how she felt.
He wanted to kiss her.
***
There was nothing wrong about wanting to kiss one’s wife.
Cillian fought it nonetheless.
