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Her shoulder rose as she looked down at her lap. “I’ve always known I was less. And not just because I know how to manage unruly brothers.”
He didn’t have the words, not now, but his hand snaked out, covering both of hers where they were folded in her lap. “I think you’re more.”
She paused, her head snapping up as her gaze met his. “Ken.”
He slid his hand up her arm, not stopping until he reached the silky skin of her neck. Her skin was deliciously smooth and so soft under his fingertips. “I mean it. You’re so much more interesting. And fun and…” He tried to think of more words but they escaped him again.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispered, moving closer as one of her hands came out to balance herself. Her palm pressed down on the mattress right next to his ribs.
“I do.”
“You don’t.” And then she licked those delicious lips. “Do you think you’ll remember this in the morning?”
He shrugged, his hands still tracing circles on the silkiness of her hairline. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure where I am.”
That earned him another smile. “You’re at my house.”
“You kidnapped me.”
She laughed then, a full sound that she quickly muffled by covering her mouth with her hand. When she dropped it again, a smile still played at her lips. “That was Gris. He couldn’t remember where you lived so he brought you to our home.”
That did make sense and vague memories of conversation with Gris drifted back into his thoughts. He took a meat pastie from the tray and crammed it into his mouth as he attempted to remember what they’d been discussing before. Damn his muddled thoughts. “What were we discussing?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me,” he demanded as he pulled her just a touch closer. Only he pulled too hard and she wobbled, her hands coming to his chest to brace herself.
The feel of her palms on his chest brought a rumble of satisfaction through his chest. “I was telling you that I’m not good enough to be a lady. Not yet, anyway.”
“Nonsense,” he said as he tossed the rest of the pastie aside and hooked another hand around her back, sliding her closer still. “You’re the best woman I know.”
“Thank you,” she said, a breathless quality to her voice. “But I’ve been told enough to know that I’m not like the other women you’re acquainted with. That I will never be as good as them.”
“Who told you that?”
He felt her hesitation, the shiver that shuddered through her. “I don’t want say.”
But he was having none of it as he drew her closer still until they pressed together, chest to chest. Her chin snapped up and her gaze met his, then he forgot the conversation again as he stared at her full, plump lips.
* * *
Mirabelle feltthe shift in Ken’s attention. She’d spent a great deal of time about drunk men and she knew they were unpredictable, but since most of the drunkards she’d shared her company with were related to her, she’d forgotten to factor in the attraction between them. That the lowering of his inhibitions might result in this…
“Ken,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t.”
His gaze dragged away from her mouth to look into her eyes once again. “Tell me who said that to you.”
She drew in a ragged breath as she attempted to decide. The words tightened her chest, the weight of them so heavy. What would it feel like to let them out? “My father took me with him to visit friends once. The Viscount of Wallaby,” she rushed forward, just attempting to fill the charged space between them.
“All right?”
“Ace frequently went places with our father, but I didn’t. Almost never. I was twelve or thirteen and we’d finally moved from a very small place near the docks to our Cheapside townhouse, and I had a lovely dress for the occasion, it was lavender and…” She was babbling. She knew that. But the story pained her still. A great deal more than she cared to admit.
“Go on,” he said and then his hand began those light strokes at the back of her neck again.
“I sat next to my father, so proud,” she whispered as she reached up to touch his cheek. “And I made sure to apply every lesson I’d ever been taught.”
A lump rose in her throat that she quickly swallowed down again. The only saving grace here was that he was unlikely to remember any of this. And it would feel so nice to share the memory with someone. Perhaps she could stop carrying it in her heart.
