Page 68 of Hearts of Briarwall

He hadn’t returned her embrace. But she wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t be. He seemed as breathless as she.

“What about Sir Lawrence?”

She frowned. “Sir Lawrence? He is old and dull and predictable, and why are you even asking about him?”

“I—”

“I want you to kiss me,” she said quickly, half-shocked, half-spurred by her own brevity. “Kiss me now, or I’ll lose my mind.”

He pushed out a quick breath. “You’re already halfway there if you think I want t—”

Lydia stopped his mouth with her own, having had just enough experience to give her confidence. And oh, his lips were as soft and cushioned as she’d imagined them to be. He resisted for a moment, as she thought he might.

But then his hands slowly circled her waist, and then he tightened his arms around her back, his fingers grazing her bare shoulder blades. She sighed, and he growled low, moving his lips across hers and over her neck, then back to her mouth. Tingles raced through her body. He tasted even sweeter than he smelled, his freshly-shaven skin brushing over hers as they exchanged kiss after kiss until she became dizzy with the power of it.

The morning room, Briarwall—all of Surrey—faded beneath the vibrant light of Spencer Hale kissing Lydia Wooding.

“This,” she whispered, smiling, “this is what I want.”

He breathed hard against her grin and pulled back, his brow furrowed. “Lydia—dazzling Lydia, we shouldn’t—”

“I know,” she whispered. “We haven’t much time.”

His lips captured hers again, but too quickly the potent kiss slowed, gentled, his hands caressing her back and neck, sending shivers through her limbs.

A knock sounded at the door, and in one smooth movement, Spencer stepped away, a stricken look on his face. He turned, covering his mouth with his hand, picked up the sheet of music, and paced across the room just as Fallon stepped inside with a tray.

She set a water pitcher and two glasses on the sideboard, then discreetly reclaimed her chair, pulling some stitching from her apron pocket.

Lydia stepped toward the pitcher and poured herself a glass, her hands shaking. After finishing off the entire glassful, she filled her lungs with air. “Thank you, Fallon.”

Her maid only nodded, not looking up from her embroidery.

“Shall we run through it again?” Lydia asked without looking behind her. Her pulse still raced, and she suppressed a warm shudder as she waited for Spencer to respond. She’d guessed correctly. He wanted her. He had kissed her as she’d never been kissed before. His desire had been in every touch, every embrace. Careful and yet reckless. She’d felt utterly vulnerable and yet secure in his arms.

“I think we’ve practiced enough,” he said.

She frowned and turned to read his expression, because his tone had reminded her of Andrew’s when he reprimanded her. But surely Spencer wasn’t angry; she must be mistaken. Yet, his back was to her, his arms folded tightly across his chest, the music still gripped in one hand. He stared at an ancient painting of Briarwall hanging on the wall.

The security she’d relished moments before teetered. “Surely you jest.”

He huffed out a breath. “Not everything is in jest, Miss Wooding. I’m sure the performance will be adequate. Take care not to place too much importance on it.”

She lifted her chin, her pride hit. “Why are you speaking to me as if I were a child?” She dared a glance at Fallon, who watched Spencer with a look of confusion. She caught Lydia’s eye and straightened.

“Perhaps I shall see if the others are ready, miss.” Without waiting for an answer, Fallon hurried from the room, throwing Lydia a look of caution as she did. She left the door open.

Lydia crossed the room and shut it soundly. Then turned. “Spencer?” Her heart thudded painfully. “What has just happened?” she whispered. “I thought ... I thought—”

“What did you think?” he asked. He turned and walked casually to the center of the room, where he dropped the music on the table. “That you could lure me closer with your feminine charms until I’m senseless to resist? That you could toy with my heart with your own beguiling inexperience, and I would relent? Bow down? Worship you? Even knowing you were meant for—?” He shut his mouth and frowned, avoiding her eyes.

She closed her fingers into fists, fighting to overcome her confusion and inadequacy, because he was right. She was inexperienced. And perhaps she’d been entirely wrong about his feelings for her.

“That I was meant for what? I’m not toying with anyone. I believed—I believed you felt as I do—did. Oh, I don’t know.” She paced toward him. “Violet hinted that love and agitation were linked, and I couldn’t see how, but—”

“Love?”he said, his eyes widening. He shook his head, as if she’d suggested she’d seen a pirate ship floating above the house. His posture softened. “Lydia,” he whispered. It was the tone she’d hoped to hear from him earlier but was incongruous with the drop of his shoulders and look of pity in his shadowed eyes. “Do not mistake this attraction between us for love. Do not throw that into the mix of all that I’m juggling during myvery briefstay here.”

Lydia flinched. “I’ve not thrown anything.”

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