Page 41 of A Match Made in London
“Anyway,” Daphne went on, “kissing is a mere flirtation. It doesn’t mean anything.”
His mind flew to the kiss he’d shared with Rosalind. He squirmed in his seat. “Or it may mean a whole lot of something,” he muttered.
She speared him with a knowing eye. “Is that what has you all feverish then? A kiss that meant something?” When he groaned and put a hand over his face, disgusted that he had let the small tell show, she crowed in triumph, “I knew it! It is a woman. Tell me who.”
“Enough, you harpy,” he gritted. “I will most certainly not tell you who.”
But he could tell by her grin that his refusal would not deter her. “Let me see if I can deduce it. It’s more fun that way anyway. You came from somewhere, sans hat, coat, and gloves. And you were close enough to arrive on foot, as I did not hear your horse or carriage arrive. As I know you’re a slugabed, and it is still quite early in the afternoon, I don’t believe you had time to go anywhere yet. Therefore you came here straight from home. Which means the woman in question was at said home. Was she a visitor of your cousin’s?” Before he could so much as open his mouth to beg her to stop, she was off again. “No, I don’t believe so. For whoever it was has you quite flustered. Which means she is someone you shouldnothave kissed. Which means—” Here she stopped. Her eyes opened wide, her mouth forming a little oval of surprise. “Oh. Oh my goodness, Tristan. Never say it is Miss Merriweather!”
As if his guilt wasn’t potent enough, the horror on her face made him feel about an inch tall. Immediately his defenses came to the fore. “I assure you, it was not intentional.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, so what happened? Did you trip and your lips happened to fall onto hers?”
“I really don’t need this right now,” he snapped. He rose from his seat.
Her hand on his sleeve stopped him. “I’m sorry. That was not well done of me. Especially as you no doubt came to talk to Caleb about it, and instead you get me and my judgment. Sit and I promise to listen with as unbiased a view as possible.”
He scowled but sat all the same. For the truth was, he truly did need someone to talk to. Only now that he had a willing ear, he didn’t know what to say.
She seemed to sense his uncertainty. She smiled brilliantly at him. “So,” she prompted cheerfully, “you and Miss Merriweather?”
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “No, Daphne, there is no me and Miss Merriweather. Like I said, it was a mistake.” He groaned and scrubbed at his face. “A huge, blundering, asinine mistake.”
“But if you kissed her, you must feel something for her.”
“No.” The word came out much too loud. “No,” he repeated at a much more normal volume. “There is nothing between us at all. It was done in the spur of the moment.” After dreaming of kissing her for more nights than he cared to remember. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Besides, she has been very vocal in her dislike of me.”
Daphne pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You know, dislike can be a cover for deeper emotions.”
Which was what he had teased Rosalind with. Before he’d gone and kissed her.Idiot.
“No,” he said, “I’m quite certain she does not have any of the softer emotions for me.”
“Did she kiss you back?”
He opened his mouth to respond with a resoundingno. The word, however, would not come. For shehadkissed him back. With a surprising amount of passion.
Merely thinking about it was affecting him in the worst way. He shifted in his seat.
Daphne grinned. “I thought so.”
“There is nothing between Miss Merriweather and me,” he repeated with what he hoped was a goodly amount of force, accompanied by the sternest scowl he could muster.
She only grinned wider.
“Enough,” he growled. “Damnation, could this day get any worse?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, instantly contrite. “I’m being horrid, and after promising to be completely unbiased. But you must understand my surprise. She isn’t at all your type.”
“May we please change the subject,” he begged.
Daphne seemed to deflate a bit at that. “Very well. I won’t say another word.” She sat in morose silence for a moment, her fingers picking idly at the brocade cushions, before she straightened, brightening. “But I have just the thing to get your mind off of…ahem, things,” she finished lamely when he glared at her. “I know you must be at loose ends seeing Miss Gladstow so happily settled and must be in want of another project. Well, I have one for you, in the form of Miss Henrietta Weeton. She is a shy thing, and from what I hear out for her third Season. If she has not secured an engagement by the summer, I’ve been told she will be married off to some distant cousin, no doubt a horrible old man with a hump and a wart.” She smiled in triumph. “She’s exactly what you need to lift you out of your doldrums.”
It sounded ideal. Helping Miss Weeton would no doubt take up a good portion of his time, thus helping to distract him from his completely unwelcome desire for Rosalind.
So why did the familiar thrill of the prospect elude him?
He mentally shook himself. Never mind. “I’ll do it,” he declared to a beaming Daphne.
And hopefully by the time he raised his head from his efforts to pair off Miss Weeton happily, Rosalind and her tempting little mouth would be long gone.
