Page 62 of The Lady Was Lying
“Lying,” she scoffed, shocked that he’d noticed and even more shocked that he’d said something. Who did he think he was? And why was he willing to brave her sharp tongue? Was a kiss worth so much to him?
“I’m glancing at your lips because we’re talking about kissing,” she claimed.
“I don’t think so.”
“You missed your chance,” she responded firmly.
He nodded slowly and dropped his hands, leaving her cheeks subject to the cool air.
Wanting to recapture the heat he’d left behind was ridiculous and could not be allowed, but she had a hard time resisting the urge to put her hands where his had been. And an even harder time stopping herself from begging him to put his back.
“I can be patient,” he said. “We don’t have to kiss tonight. I’ll wait until you change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind. You were right. We can’t risk it. Kisses are supposed to mean something.”
She sounded desperate.
Probably because she was.
“It’ll mean something when I kiss you.” It was a vow. A terrifying vow.
“How do you know it’ll mean something?” she asked, unable to resist.
“Because I like you. I think about you when we aren’t together. I seek you out as soon as I arrive at your brother’s townhouse, and I’m disappointed when you’re elsewhere. If I don’t find you waiting in my carriage, I stall for far too long to see if you’re going to join me. I enjoy your company even when you’re grumpy and you snap at me.” He stared directly into her eyes. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You confuse me and challenge me, and I should have asked to court you the very day we met. If I hadn’t been so peevish, I would have immediately recognized how special you are.”
She blinked. Was he saying that he liked her?
No one liked her. She was too prickly. Overly emotional. Prone to lashing out. And yet he appeared entirely serious. What was wrong with him?
And why was she smiling in response?
Perhaps her mother had been right. Perhaps there was nothing left for her to do but tell him the truth and see what happened.
Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear her when she mumbled, “I’m scared.”
“Of me?” he croaked. Out of all the explanations she might have given, that one hadn’t even occurred to him. No wonder she didn’t want to kiss him.
“Of course not,” she snapped.
He exhaled with relief. “Of what then?”
“There are things you don’t know about me,” she deflected.
“Like?”
She spoke plainly, almost unemotionally, when she said, “I’ve kissed many men.”
Since she’d already told him about the man in the bookstore, he wasn’t shocked that there had been more. “I’m aware. You told me,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t like it,” she stated bluntly.
“Oh.” Just when he thought he understood her, she revealed another layer.
Her adamant refusal made more sense, but what about all the times she’d asked him to kiss her or locked her gaze on his lips? What had she been thinking if she hadn’t wanted to kiss him?
He had questions. So many questions. “You?—”
“My mother suggested that I might enjoy kissing more if I were better acquainted with my partner, but I have not had the opportunity to test her theory.”
