Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  “Not quite.” Her eyes settled on the pavement in front of them. “I’ve lived at Hollingsworth School for Young Ladies for much of the past two years. After that, I attended my first Season with my uncle and his wife, and now, well”—she shrugged, a small smile curving her lips—“now I suppose I live here. But when we return, I plan to join my Aunt Margaret at her home in the country. I love her dearly, but I’m not entirely certain I will survive the peace and quiet.”

  Had she really led such a transient life? It didn’t sound as though she really thought of anyplace in particular as home. For someone as deeply tied to his ancestral home as Philip, the thought was sobering. Still, he made an effort to remain lighthearted. “So you are a butterfly, flitting from one lovely branch to the next.”

  She tilted her head as she glanced up to meet his gaze. Myriad emotions glimmered in her eyes, as though he had truly struck a chord in her. “I suppose that is exactly what I am,” she said, a hint of sadness softening the words. She took a deep breath and smiled again, effectively shutting the door on the emotions he had glimpsed. “Although perhaps moth would be more appropriate. With my coloring, I’m positively monochromatic.”

  Surely she wasn’t serious. Everything about her was luminous, as though sunshine followed her no matter where she went. “Monochromatic? Do you own a mirror, I wonder?”

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, giving his arm a light, playful squeeze. “A very good one, in fact. I can very clearly see dark-blond hair, light-brown eyes, and pale, yellowish skin. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just that I certainly don’t possess the jewel-toned coloring that any self-respecting butterfly should, as you and Amelia do with your blue eyes. Or your brother, or my brother-in-law, and even my uncle—”

  “All right,” he said, chuckling as he cut her off. “So you don’t have blue or green eyes. Instead you are in possession of golden hair, bronze eyes, and ivory skin. That makes your coloring far more valuable than mine.”

  “Oh, stuff and nonsense,” she said with a very undignified roll of her eyes. “But I thank you for the Spanish coin, sir, particularly given our whereabouts. Perhaps here it could actually buy me something.”

  He sent her a stern, ducal look. “I am a very busy man, under normal circumstances, and I have little time for flattery. I assure you, Miss Abbington, that you may take my compliments as the God’s honest truth.”

  Her eyes widened a little at this pronouncement, and her already heat-reddened cheeks flushed a little deeper. “Well, then,” she said, the words light with laughter. “I suppose I will say thank you and leave it at that.”

  “Wise woman.”

  The smile they shared was somehow private, despite the bustle of the streets around them. He held her gaze for a moment, savoring the warm tug of attraction between them.

  “Miss Abbington,” Nigel said, breaking the moment as he spoke up from behind them. “Lady Winters claims that if she managed to learn a little Spanish, there may be hope for me yet. Care to teach me a few lines before we reach the cathedral?”

  Philip’s disappointment was a physical thing, but he didn’t protest. As much as it felt oddly right to be by her side, he had no claim on her time, nor she on his. Besides, his brother was at least behaving himself. Falling back, he allowed Nigel to step in front of him.

  Whatever was building between Philip and Libby, it wasn’t anything that could be sustained. Still, as he smiled at the viscountess and inquired about the conversation she had shared with Nigel, he couldn’t help but miss the feeling of Libby’s small hand on his arm or want to know more about how she came to be the butterfly she was. What had happened with her family? What was behind the sadness he’d seen in the honeyed depths of her eyes?

  More importantly, why did he suddenly care so much to know?

  Chapter 3

  The cathedral was more magnificent than Libby could have ever imagined. It rose from the street in front of them like the monument to God that it was, seeming to span endlessly in all directions. The building was made entirely of stone, the sandy-colored blocks shaped into everything from rounded pillars to arching doorways to the great bell tower that rose hundreds of feet into the air. The tall, narrow spires reached toward the sky as the intricate balustrades and flying buttresses decorated the roof like the most sophisticated of layer cakes.

  Still, even with one of the most spectacular structures in the modern world before her, Libby had a hard time focusing on anything other than the man standing so close to her. Scant inches separated their arms. During their walk, she’d seen a few more tantalizing glimpses of the man behind the polite reserve. That core kindness had resurfaced as he’d tried to soften the truth of her situation: she really didn’t have a home anymore. She hadn’t since the moment Mama had died almost two years ago, taking Libby’s sense of home and belonging with her.

  It wasn’t something she liked to dwell on, and she loved that he had glossed over it to spare her feelings, even complimenting her in the process. There was something between them—she could feel it. The hum of awareness that skittered down her spine every time he drew near.

  She’d always considered herself a romantic, but it was more that she believed in love, rather than having any sort of real understanding of it. She certainly had never experienced it. In truth, she’d never even felt like this before, as though her heart would pound right out of her chest at the mere sight of someone. It was . . . nice. Thrilling. Fun. Each time she felt the shimmer of anticipation at making eye contact, she immediately wanted to feel it again.

  Leaning over just enough that the dainty cap sleeve of her gown grazed Philip’s shoulder, she murmured, “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

  He shook his head slowly, his gaze traveling over the impressive roofline. “St. Paul’s Cathedral is the closest I’ve seen, but even that is small compared to this. It’s magnificent.”

  Libby grinned. “That was exactly the word I was thinking. I’ve seen St. Paul’s, as well, and at the time, I thought it was spectacular. In fact, I’m glad I saw it first, so I could be impressed by both. I fear that had I seen it after I’d witness the grandeur of this one, I might have found it wanting.”

  Nodding absently, he said, “Indeed. What’s particularly remarkable is how long ago it was built. I read only last evening that construction began in the early fifteenth century, and it took over a hundred years to complete. When the dome collapsed shortly thereafter, it took many years more to repair.”

  She turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “Studying in our free time, are we? I’m not sure I took you for an academic.” He didn’t seem the type to pore over history books for fun. What he would do, she couldn’t really say. Perhaps play chess or hunt. He just seemed like a man of action to her.

  The smile that touched those beautiful lips of his was the most boyish she’d seen from him. Instead of denying her playful accusation, he appeared to embrace it.

  “I’m an amateur at best. I strongly believe that we should never stop learning. There is so much to discover about our world, I can’t imagine turning a blind, disinterested eye to it.”

  She stood up straight, surprised by his words. The thought of one of the pompous men she’d met in London saying such a thing was almost laughable. The fact that he felt that way only served to highlight how mismatched she was for those men of rank her uncle had repeatedly pointed out to her.

  “I feel exactly the same way! It’s why I study languages. I want to spend the rest of my life learning as many different ones as I possibly can.”

  “Is that why? I assumed it was simply easy for you.”

  She scowled at him, mildly offended. “While I’ll admit I have a predisposition for it, it certainly isn’t easy. It’s a challenge, though one I relish. But my reasons go beyond that. The idea of speaking to people all around the world, with no barrier or interpreter diluting the experience, is absolutely thrilling.”

  He shifted his position, turning away from the spect
acle of the cathedral to face her. His blue eyes glinted in the bright sunlight as he met her gaze. “Do you know, I never thought much about learning another language. I hadn’t intended to travel abroad, so it didn’t seem necessary. I did study a little French, but honestly, I think I only chose that in case I ever happened upon some dastardly French spies and needed to warn the government of their plans.”

  She laughed out loud, gaining the attention of several passersby, not to mention Amelia and Nigel, who were inspecting the intricate designs of the massive front doors. Libby grinned sheepishly before turning back to Philip. “How patriotic of you.”

  “Such were the thoughts of an imaginative twelve-year-old boy. I could have been hailed a hero, you know.” He nodded sagely, not a hint of humor to ruin the effect.

  She could just picture him as a young boy, full of thoughts of saving the world. “Well, I’m sure there’s still time. You never know what the French are up to.”

  “You may have just read my mind,” he said, crossing his arms. The movement brought attention to the broadness of his chest, momentarily distracting her. “That aside, after being here, I’m realizing just how big the world is past the shores of England.”

  Amelia walked toward them then, with Nigel trailing along behind her. The younger Mr. Westbrook looked somewhat worse for the wear, with a sheen of sweat dampening his forehead and highlighting his pale complexion. The purple smudges beneath his eyes still remained, making her wonder again just how late he had been out the night before—or if he’d slept at all.

  Amelia tugged on the brim of her hat, adjusting the angle to better shade her eyes. “Are we quite through with admiring the exterior? As glorious as it is, I’m ready to get out of this sun, even if it means visiting tombs in order to do so.”

  “With enthusiasm like that,” Libby replied drily, “how can I refuse.”

  Slipping her arm beneath Libby’s elbow, Amelia gave her a completely innocent look. “I’m more than happy to leave you here to roast, if it pleases you. I’m sure Mr. Westbrook would be delighted to keep you company.”

  For some reason, a blush rose up Libby’s cheeks. She didn’t mind being a little bold, but she didn’t wish to be obvious. “I’ve waited weeks to lay eyes on St. Ferdinand’s tomb. By all means, let us proceed.”

  As they made their way toward the massive double door, Libby couldn’t help but gaze up at the incredibly detailed stonework above the arch. Truly, it resembled nothing so much as filigree and fine lace. How on earth had the masons managed to create such a delicate design out of stone?

  With her attention focused upward, she paid no attention to the stone surface beneath her feet—until she tripped over an uneven seam. She gave a little squeak of alarm as she pitched forward but came to a jarring stop as Philip caught her by both arms. The supple leather of his kid gloves was like a second skin against the bare expanse of her upper arms. Her heart thundered at the feeling of being held in his arms, making her momentarily dizzy.

  He carefully brought her back to her feet but didn’t drop his hold right away. “Are you quite all right?”

  She cleared her throat once, then again, before managing to find her voice. “Yes, of course. Thank you. I really should pay attention to where I’m walking.”

  Dropping his hands, he stepped back. “Normally, yes, but it seems to me that this entire cathedral is designed with the sole purpose of making a person look up.”

  “Yes, exactly. Obviously my clumsiness is entirely the fault of the builder’s poor planning some four hundred years ago.”

  Chuckling, he held out his elbow. “Allow me to escort you, then. Consider me your guide as you take in the splendor around us.”

  Libby didn’t hesitate. If he was offering contact, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. Together, they crossed the threshold into the hushed darkness of the central nave. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to low light, but when they did, she tightened her grip on Philip’s forearm.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, almost too overwhelmed to take it all in.

  The ceiling soared above, easily six or seven stories high. The stone pillars lining the length of the nave were as wide as century-old oaks, sweeping up into graceful arches where they met the ceiling. And oh, what a ceiling it was! Nearly every inch seemed adorned in some decorative design or another. The effect was as though she were standing beneath a domed blanket of gray and gold lace, so light and airy it was impossible to believe it was really stone.

  Libby’s gaze swept down the walls. There were statues, paintings, and the most wonderful stained glass that sent prisms of colored light dancing across the marble floor. Not a single nook or cranny was overlooked, so no matter where she turned, there was something spectacular to see. Interestingly, much of the interior seemed to shimmer as if plated in gold. She froze, her eyes widening. “It is plated in gold,” she whispered.

  “Indeed, it is,” Philip whispered back, bending his head close to hers so she could hear him. Despite the fact that mass was not in session, the place still inspired reverence. “Or to put a finer point on it, it’s covered in gold leaf. I thought you would have known that.”

  She sent him a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid I was too enthralled with the tomb to pay much attention to anything else when I was reading about it.”

  Nigel and Amelia stood several paces ahead of them, quietly taking in the dark, warm interior. At Libby’s comment, Nigel averted his gaze from the ceiling and lifted a brow in her direction. “Then by all means, Miss Abbington, we should go there directly. I’ve never been one to delay gratification.”

  Since her hand still rested on Philip’s arm, she could tell the moment his muscles tensed. Why did he always seem so disapproving of his brother? He was a bit of a scoundrel, but at least he was charming. Truly, he had the sort of attitude that came a penny a dozen in the beau monde.

  Smiling at Nigel, she said, “Yes, let’s. Sometimes it can be fun to go straight to dessert.”

  The four of them proceeded deeper into the cathedral, all the while marveling at the exquisite architecture and craftsmanship. When they reached the tomb, for a moment none of them said a word. Libby stared in awe, astounded by the incredible gold and silver metal work and equally shocked to discover that the saint’s body was on display, encased in a crystal casket.

  “On second thought,” Amelia said, as though continuing a running conversation, “I think I’ll go wait somewhere else.” Grimacing, she turned and hurried from the alcove.

  Libby exchanged glances with Philip, guilt weighing her conscience. “I should go with her. I didn’t expect to actually see the body. She might be unsettled by the sight.”

  Nigel gave a little snort, causing both Libby and Philip to turn toward him.

  “Apologies. I was just recalling the rather detailed discussion we had on the merits of different pistols. She may not wish to stand here and ogle the dead man, but I doubt she was terribly upset by it.”

  Philip glared at his brother, widening his eyes as though to convey a message. “Nigel, please.”

  “What?” he replied, all innocence. “We all know it’s a dead man. I see no reason to dance around the bush. In fact, I’d say he looks pretty damn good for his age.”

  Abruptly pulling his arm from Libby’s grasp, Philip stalked forward and put a hand to Nigel’s back. “If you can’t show a bit of decorum, I suggest you go elsewhere while Miss Abbington reads the inscriptions. I’ll thank you to remember that we are in a church.”

  “Yes, a Catholic church,” Nigel retorted. When Philip advanced another step, the younger man held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’m going.”

  Philip waited until his brother was halfway to the center of the church before turning back to Libby. His features were taut, his eyes somewhere between anger and defeat.

  “He does know how to get under you skin, doesn’t he?” Libby said, offering him a sympathetic smile. “If it helps, I don’t think he’s specifically attempting to
annoy you.”

  Sighing heavily, he shook his head. “Sometimes yes, but most times no. Things have just been a bit tense between us lately, and I am attempting to work things out with him. My apologies if it has leeched any of the joy from this excursion from you.”

  “No, of course not,” she said quickly, shaking her head for emphasis. “I rather like your company. I hope we’ll be able to enjoy several more outings together while we’re here.”

  His grim features relaxed at her words, and he came to stand by her side. “I enjoy your company, as well, which is why I insist that you get on with what you came to do.” Gesturing dramatically to the letters carved into memorial next to the tomb, he said, “Now, tell me with this says.”

  Smiling at the thrill of hearing him say he liked spending time with her, she forced her attention to the task at hand. Each of the four sides of the tomb were inscribed with a different language. She circled slowly, admiring the careful lettering of each. The Castilian, Hebrew, Arabic, and Latin translations were beautiful in their own right, easily competing with the gold and crystal that vied for the observer’s attention.

  She paused in front of the Latin version, the language at which she most excelled. The letters were crowded into the small plaque but were still legible. Smiling, she stepped forward and started to read.

  ~*~

  From several feet away, Philip watched Libby run her fingertips reverently over the etched words as she read. Did she even know her lips were moving? He doubted it, but he found it rather endearing. Her brow was knitted in concentration, and he took advantage of her distraction, allowing his eyes to roam her petite form.

  From this angle, he was treated to a view of her long, slender neck, which was angled slightly to the right. His gaze followed the smooth line of her jaw, the curve of her ear, the delicate bow of her collarbone where it disappeared beneath the shawl she had draped over her shoulders. Swallowing, he stepped forward and murmured, “What does it say?”