Page 42 of Hearts of Briarwall

“And how do you feel about motorcars, Miss Wooding?”

She glanced to his mouth once more.“Lydia,”she whispered.

The click of the door from the servants’ hall caused her to jump back, the legs of her chair skipping on the floor, nearly tipping her over.

Spencer, she noted, was once again fully seated, his fists steepled above his elbows on the table, his forehead pressed to them. His shoulders shook.

Lydia suppressed a panicky giggle and hoped her face did not look as warm as it felt.

The footman and two maids began to clear the remaining service, determinedlynotlooking at either diner.

Lydia leaned forward again with another whisper. “Are youlaughingat me?”

He shook his head in his fists, then nodded and leaned back, letting his laughter escape to the room, his shoulders still shaking with it. He wiped his eyes. “You nearly ... you nearly ...” His voice dropped to a whisper, though it was hardly quiet through his laughter. “You nearly fell out of your chair ...”

Lydia stood, pulling her gloves on and doing a clumsy job of it. Dash these gloves. Dash chairs and servants and—andmen. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Hayes.” She straightened and strode out the dining room doors, ignoring the scrape of Spencer’s chair behind her.

“Lydia,” he said, his footsteps gaining.

She had to be four shades of red and did not turn. “Yes, Mr. Hayes?” She kept walking to the foot of the stairs. Was she even allowed to retire and leave her guest to himself?Dashbeing hostess.

Warm fingers wrapped around hers. “Lydia, wait.”

She slowed, and he turned her in one measured pull of her hand. Every instinct told her to keep her eyes to the floor, but she was a Wendy girl, and so she lifted her chin and her gaze to meet his. Her heart pounded with embarrassment.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have laughed.”

She didn’t know whether to agree with him or not. If he’d been the one tottering in his chair, she’d have laughed, too. She shouldn’t be mortified. She shouldn’t be acutely aware that he still held her gloved fingers in his. She shouldn’t be feeling as if this were the first time a boy had held her hand.

Maybe that was it, though. Spencer was not a boy.

She swallowed and nodded, slowing her racing pulse. “Apology accepted. I understand it was not malicious.”

He frowned. “Indeed, it was not.” He blew out a breath as if exasperated with her. “I don’t know that I’ve ever laughed maliciously in my whole life.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but considering I’ve not known you your whole life, I have only your word.”

His eyes widened. “Do you believe your brother would defend and befriend anyone who had a malicious bone in their body?”

“No, but that was before.”

He balked. “Before what?”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice once more. “Before he knew of your passion for motorcars.” She arched a brow.

His gaze narrowed, and a slow smile spread across his lips.

She matched it. She couldn’t help it.

His thumb grazed over the back of her hand, and it might as well have been a strike of lightning considering the current it sent through her body.Dashlightning.

Spencer stepped back, bowing over her hand with another graze of his thumb. He lifted an intense gaze to hers, his voice unsteady. “Good evening, Lydia.”

With that, he climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time toward the top, apparently unable to get away from her quickly enough.

Still, the smile pulled at her lips. She lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled Edwardian Bouquet, wondering what had just happened.

Becausesomethinghad happened.

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