Page 3 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
“Good heavens.” She held the basket close and stepped back as a man pulled himself up from the steep bank at the edge of the bridge. Her heart pounded as he straightened up, facing away from her. He pulled down the edge of his familiar looking coat of blue superfine and her pulse raced. It sped up further when she noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the tawny head of hair.
“Mr. . . . Sterne?” she asked, gingerly.
He spun in surprise and his face lit up. “Miss Munroe!”
She stilled, held at attention by the look on his face. Hope flared in her chest. Had anyone ever looked so thoroughly delighted to see her? Pleasure shone in his smile. There was something else there, too. Perhaps it was just an echo of her own happiness . . . and relief.
“How good it is to see you again,” he said.
“Yes. It is.” She sounded a little dazed even to herself, but she had wondered if she would feel the same, when she saw him again, or if her feelings for him had been a passing fancy. Staring into his dark gaze, feeling the warmth of his presence waking all of the quiet spaces inside of her, she had her answer. “That is, it’s good to see you, once more, as well, Mr. Sterne.”
Seeking a moment to collect herself, she crossed to the railing. Placing her basket on the broad edge, she glanced down the steep bank to the stream below. “Whatever were you doing down there?”
“Tensford and I were on our way to the village. He needed to stop at a tenant’s home to make a delivery from the countess, but I wished to investigate.” He gestured upstream. “There. In the roots of those elms, on the edge of the bank. Do you see it? I thought it looked like a badger’s sett.”
“It is a badger’s sett. I stop here to watch them, occasionally. But you should be careful. They can be territorial.”
“Very true. I should have known you might have noticed it.” He sounded approving of her interest.
“I was careful,” he continued. “But I did wish to get a closer look. I found five entrances.” He pointed back into the woods. “Their compound reaches at least twenty-five feet into the embankment. I should think there must be several adults.” He looked up at the foliage above them. “And perhaps cubs born in the spring.” Leaning with both hands on the stone, he peered toward the just-barely-visible hole in the bank. “I find them most interesting.”
Very discreetly, she leaned toward him and inhaled. Her eyes closed. He smelled clean and masculine, of soap and earth and the tang of the plants he’d been scrabbling through. It was his own scent. He hadn’t been at Greystone Park long enough for the smell of Lady Tensford’s famous sachets to saturate his person and all of his clothes.
“What is it that interests you so?” she asked, to keep him talking.
“Several things, but the most fascinating is how they live. They dwell together in family units, in compounds that are passed on to new generations, but they don’t appear to be social. They don’t cooperate, or forage together for food. There’s no evidence of hunting together or bringing back sustenance for brooding mates. They seem utterly . . . singular.” He pursed his lips. “They live both together, and alone.”
“Goodness,” she said lightly. He stood so close she could see the sun turning each whiskery hair on his face to red. But it was the ease with which he talked to her that held her captive. As if it were natural to share such thoughts. He’d been just the same at the house party and she’d found it . . . addictive. So much so, she’d sought him out every chance she got. Highly unusual behavior for her, but she’d found the easy, open nature of their conversations as much of a lure as his tall, broad form and classic good looks. “I had no notion I had so much in common with badgers.”
He glanced over at her in surprise—and in complete sympathy. “Nor I.” Giving himself a little shake, he pushed away from the edge of the bridge. “But you don’t have to worry, do you? Your solitude will not last. You are friends with Lady Glory. I hear that she and Keswick mean to return to this area after their bridal trip. You will find yourself much occupied then, I’m sure.”
“I hope to find myself occupied much sooner.” Breathing deeply, she faced him. “Lady Tensford tells me that you have come back because you hope to track down the man who struck you that night at the ball and stole away Tensford’s fossil.” She straightened her spine. “I would offer my help.”
He took a half step back. “No. I . . . that is, thank you for your kind offer, but that won’t be necessary.”
She reached for courage. “Mr. Sterne, I cannot help but feel partially responsible for what happened that evening. The timing . . .” She swallowed. “Any way you piece it together, the villain, whoever he is, must have struck you just after I left you.”
That night, she’d rushed to tell him, when she’d realized what was happening. Her friend Lady Glory had asked her to request a particular song from the musicians because she meant todancewith Lord Keswick. Mr. Sterne had indeed understood the importance of such a thing, but very privately, she had to admit, it had also been an excuse to leave the ballroom and visit him alone in the parlor where he’d stood guard over Lord Tensford’s new fossil specimen.
They had marveled over the brave step their friends were taking. His gaze had softened. Their eyes had met and held. There had been no thought to it. One moment they’d been celebrating and the next . . . she’d been in his arms.
Her first kiss. Her first real kiss, because she would not count the smack on the lips that young Mr. James Lycett had stolen at the village fair when she was fifteen. James was her cousin, after all, and too close to count. And he’d kissed a dozen girls that day, if the local gossips were to be believed.
No, Mr. Sterne’s had been arealkiss, one that made her tremble. Just the touch of his lips on hers, his hand on her waist and she’d been struck by primal, spicy heat and sweet cravings. It had been quick, a revelation . . . and it had left her wanting more.
“The timing is irrelevant,” he said flatly. “You were a charming distraction, to be sure, but the fault is mine.”
She blinked. “Distraction? You cannot mean . . . you don’t think that I had any part of that—”
“No!” he interrupted. “Of course not.”
“Then you must allow me to take part of the blame.”
“No. I must not.” The warmth was draining out of him. She could feel it, see it slipping away.
Watching him closely, Penelope grew very still. “Why not?” she asked. “Do you not believe that a woman would value honor, Mr. Sterne?”
“No. I mean, yes. Of course, I believe in a woman’s honor. But it is not the same as a man’s. It cannot be.”
