Page 34 of West End Earl
With a huff, Phee flopped onto her back. The dark canopy above the bed offered a better view than the water-stained, chipped plaster ceiling of her rented room, or the wooden interior of a mail coach.
What she really wanted to do was charge into his room and demand answers. But what if she’d misunderstood? What if he hadn’t considered kissing her? The physical signs she’d read as desire might have been irritation or anger. It wasn’t like she knew what the hell she was doing, after all.
But what if she was right, and he wanted to kiss her? It could be glorious. It could be the beginning of something wonderful.
Or it could ruin him if anyone found out about them. He’d been appalled at everyone laughing about the marquess’s-mini-member jokes and discussing his love life—how much worse would it be when he couldn’t defend himself without exposing her secrets?
And all this was pure conjecture, because she could be wrong about everything. He hadn’t actually kissed her.
But he wanted to. Probably.
She swore into the dark room, loud and colorful with the flavor of the gutter she’d lived in until today. After flipping the covers off, she stomped to the chair and shoved her legs into her breeches, then threw on her shirt. The floor chilled the bottoms of her feet, but she ignored her boots and flung the bedroom door open before she could think better of it. Only one man had answers to her questions. Sifting through all the things floating around in her brain might be too much, but this one thing, she could do.
***
A knock at the door was the last thing he’d expected. Cinching the tie on his banyan, he set aside the brandy he’d poured after dealing with the maddening woman across the hall.
The door swung open, and Ophelia charged in, looking ready to fight, with her serious eyes, stubborn jaw, and tight mouth. Cal braced himself for the next round and hoped like the devil it would end better than the conversation in her room. It was nearly impossible to not feel raw and exposed after literally begging, then being thrown out on his ear.
“Did you nearly kiss me? If so, I need to know why. Because the math doesn’t add up. Us, I mean. Why risk it? Why start something with me?” She gestured between herself and Cal with such a confused look, Cal wanted to either laugh or cuddle her. He wasn’t sure which, or if either would be welcome.
“The math works perfectly. And yes, I wanted to kiss you.” He let it go at that to see where she would take the conversation next. Ophelia’s coppery-red brows scrunched, and she shifted from one foot to another. One bare foot to another. He smiled at how wonderfully intimate it was to have her standing barefoot in his room in the wee hours of the morning. Even if she was there to quarrel.
“My, your toes are long.” They were as delicately boned as the rest of her.
“What? Oh, yes. I got teased about them as a child. I can pick up a pencil with my toes, you know.” She shook her head. “Which is entirely off topic. I’m struggling to wrap my head around this, Cal.”
He inched forward. The need to follow through, to touch her, thrummed in his fingertips, but she might not want that. Cocking his head, he tried to dissect the emotions flitting across Ophelia’s face. “Which part is confusing? Is it that you’re pretending to be a man and I still find you attractive?”
She swallowed loudly. Hesitated, then said, “I mean, yes, that is a shock. But it’s more that you’re all this”—she threw her hand out to indicate Cal’s general person—“and I’m all this.” This time gesturing toward herself.
“Is this a self-confidence issue, or are you questioning my ability to see beyond your—admittedly very clever—disguise?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Both? I understand you liking Adam. But being attracted to me as Ophelia is…unexpected.”
Separate from his new feelings toward the woman, Cal could see her point. Objectively, she wasn’t classically beautiful. But only if you didn’t pay attention. Now that his eyes were open to her unique appeal, he couldn’t see anything but beauty. “Not to be a total arse and answer your questions with questions, but I’d like to know something. What do you see when you look at me?”
They stared at one another while Cal’s pulse thudded in his ears.
“Um, you have a mirror. You know what you look like.”
“That’s not what I asked. What doyousee?” Cal reached out one finger to touch Ophelia’s chest near her heart. Under his finger, her chest rose, then fell on a breath before she answered.
“My friend.” She closed her eyes and seemed to come to a decision, because when she opened them, her voice didn’t shake anymore. “You’re smart. Most people don’t realize how intelligent you are. And you’re funny. Not the kind of funny that makes others the joke. But humor that comes from genuine wit.” Spots of pink flagged her cheeks. “I…I like it when you need a shave and your beard stubble shows so many colors. I’ve tried to count how many colors are in your beard, but I’m scared you’ll catch me staring.” Hesitating, she raised a hand, then swept one finger across his evening scruff from his cheek to his chin.
The words—maybe not an agreement that she wanted his kisses, but certainly an acknowledgment of awareness—sent his heart pounding madly. Brushing a finger over the voluptuous curve of her bottom lip, he smiled when her thick lashes fluttered closed. However, he had a point to make here. “Now ask me what I see when I look at you.”
Her eyes flew open so wide, the copper lashes nearly touched her brows. “I don’t really want to.”
Cal leaned forward until their noses nearly touched. “Ask me.”
Her breath huffed, warm and sweet on his face, and he couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. It was an adorable nose, after all.
She rolled her eyes, parroting the question. “Fine. What do you see when you look at me?”
Between them, she rested her hands on his chest, but she clenched them into fists, as if preparing to block an attack. Whoever had taught this woman that words could be weapons deserved to be shot at dawn.
Smoothing his fingers along her cheekbones, then down to her pointed chin, he tried to soothe with both his touch and his words.
