Page 36 of Miss Determined
He took his top hat from her and settled it on her head, then regarded her with a seriousness that brought the moment to a still point. The robins offering an aria to the new day, the sun touching all with slanting light, the peaceful murmur of the Twid burbling toward the sea…
So lovely and so different from a dimly lit ballroom stinking of sweat, perfume, and beeswax, so quiet and peaceful. No matchmakers, no hovering chaperones, no—
Nothinking, as Trevor’s bare hand cradled Lissa’s jaw, and his thumb brushed over her cheek. She closed her eyes and purely reveled in the sunrise of yearning pouring through her.
“God help me,” Trevor muttered before pressing his mouth gently to first one cheek, then the other. He grazed his nose along her eyebrows—a ridiculous caress—but intimate and sweet. By the time he touched his lips to Lissa’s, she was wrapped around him and oblivious to anything save the need to be closer.
His kisses were deceptive, easy at first, but by degrees bolder, until Lissa offered him a dare with her tongue, and he met that challenge and swept her off into realms of adventure that suggested her near misses had been… blundering, bumbling, bunglingnincompoops.
Trevor had called them dim-witted, and he’d been right.
Lissa eased free of Trevor’s mouth, too pleased and stunned to bear more. “I was right,” she said, hands fisted on his lapels. “I was right. Kissing you is right, and Iknewit would be.”
He held her loosely, though he seemed a trifle winded. “You know something. I envy you that. I don’t know what day of the week it is. I suspect that if you let me go, I’ll topple onto my backside.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
They stood, hugging each other and hugging the moment and all its wonder close, until Roland nudged at Lissa’s arm.
“He probably hears Tansy coming,” Lissa said, stepping back to pat the horse’s neck. “Good boy, Roland.”
She expected Trevor to aid her struggle to regain her composure by offering his arm and taking up the subject of, say, the ideal soil for growing hops or whether coffee, tea, or chocolate went best with eggs and toast.
Instead, he offered his hand, and Lissa took it, and that aided her heart to commence dreaming in all sorts of marvelous directions. She even forgot to hand Trevor back his hat until they were standing in Phillip’s foyer, and Phillip himself took the hat from her head.
ChapterNine
Breakfast for Trevor was an ordeal and a delight. While Sycamore and Phillip chattered on about holy basil and horse manure, Trevor ate—he had no idea what—and alternately castigated himself for kissing Amaryllis and yearned to repeat his folly at greater length.
Amaryllis sat across from him, looking serene and delectable, nibbling toast, and sipping tea as if nothing momentous had happened on that towpath.
Trevor, for his part, had endured three cataclysms. First, the barrowful of lies he had to shovel aside had turned into a barge-load of untruths. His previous dissembling, at least as an adult, had been limited to white lies told to preserve somebody’s dignity. His aptitude for dishonesty had apparently blossomed, and that bothered him terribly.
Second, he’d kissed a pretty lady.
He’d kissed many pretty ladies, and more than a few had kissed him, but not… notlike that. Not as if the heavens were shaken, the earth had moved, and the very seasons had paused in their march, all to wake him up, mind, soul, and—very much—body, to a state of awareness that… that…
Amaryllis had kissed him witless. Trevor hoped he’d returned the favor with interest.
Third, he’d lost his heart, and if anybody had told him that the fabledcoup de foudrewas more than fable, he’d have politely smiled and changed the subject. Lightning strikes were a regular and documented element of weather in most corners of the realm, and on the Continent too. He’d do well to remember that.
The sight of Amaryllis in the sharp morning light, his hat perched on her head, determination shining from her eyes… Determination to share a sweet moment not with the wealthy, titled peer, but with the common man who relished a dawn gallop on a lively colt, with the same fellow who understood why Sycamore Dorning could feel invisible while topping six feet, dropping bons mots, and turning heads.
Trevor had lost his heart, and his wits, and that made airing the truth with Amaryllis all the more imperative.
“Jam?” Phillip said, offering the lady a little ceramic pot with a cluster of berries painted into the glaze. “This is from the batch you put up in autumn, raspberry with the last of the cherries.”
“The lady needs butter for her toast if she’s eschewing the eggs,” Sycamore said, passing over the butter dish.
Phillip’s table was small, and yet, dining alone, meal after meal, it probably felt too large. Trevor hadn’t realized the kindness Jeanette had done him when she’d insisted that he take his meals with her after Papa’s death.
“Would you care for some eggs, Miss DeWitt?” Trevor asked. “I’ve served myself more than I should have.”
“A few bites.” Amaryllis held out her plate. “The morning air has given me an appetite.”
God help me. God help me.Trevor effected the transfer while Sycamore pretended to stir honey into a cup of tea, and Phillip poured himself more tea.
“Where is your brother, Miss DeWitt?” Sycamore asked. “If he’s Roland’s owner, I want to have a word with him.”
