He exhaled in relief when the shade provided by the soaring trees swallowed the heat, offering the much needed coolness. Gentle sounds surrounded them as they strolled, the quiet rustle of leaves, the trill of a bird, the crunch of twigs beneath their feet, Emperor blowing out a soft breath.
He searched his mind for something to say, something clever to make her laugh or smile, but for reasons he could not decipher, he felt like a tongue-tied, green schoolboy. The only thing he could think to ask her was Do you taste as sweet as you smell? and he certainly couldn't say that. For the first time he could recall, his normally smooth sophistication abandoned him. If he'd had a free hand, he would have raked it through his hair. He'd wanted to see her, to talk to her, to find out more about her. Yet here she was, and he'd all but swallowed his tongue.
He was saved from trying to think up conversation, as they had arrived at the lake. The water shimmered dark blue, reflecting golden ribbons of sunlight. He released Emperor's reins, allowing the gelding to walk to the water's edge to drink. Miss Briggeham released his arm, leaving him with the urge to snatch her hand back. She strolled several yards away to lean against the trunk of a huge willow.
"The last several evenings have been particularly clear," she remarked, breaking the silence. "Have you taken advantage of the weather to observe the stars?"
He pounced on the topic as a dog would a meaty bone. "Indeed, I have. Tell me, is Hubert pleased with his new telescope?"
"Yes. It's a fine instrument, but he plans to someday build one of his own. He believes it's likely that more planets exist, and he wants to construct a telescope powerful enough to find out."
"Rather like William Herschel did when he discovered Uranus," Eric remarked.
She regarded him with pleased surprise. "Precisely. Hubert quite worships the man."
"My telescope is a Herschel."
"A Herschel? Oh!" She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose and gazed at him with an awed expression. "It must be wonderful."
"Indeed it is," Eric agreed. "I was fortunate enough to meet Sir William several years ago, and purchased it directly from him."
"Heavens, you've actually met him?"
"Yes. Fascinating fellow."
"Oh, he must be! His theory of binary star systems is utterly brilliant." Her entire face lit up as if he'd just presented her with a handful of pearls… or rather, stars. "Tell me, can you see Jupiter with your Herschel?"
"Yes." Ducking his head to avoid the hanging leaves, he joined her under the shady tree. "And last evening I observed several falling stars as well."
"As did I! Were they not marvelous?"
Nodding his agreement, he said, "They remind me of diamonds, streaking across the heavens, leaving a trail of jewel dust in their wake."
She smiled at him. "A very poetic description, my lord."
Captured by her enchanting smile, he took several steps closer to her. "And how would you describe them, Miss Briggeham?"
She didn't answer right away. Rather, she tipped her head back against the tree trunk and looked up at the ribbons of blue sky visible through the veil of willow leaves. "Angels' tears," she finally said, her voice soft. "I watch the stars fall and wonder who in heaven is weeping, and why." She lowered her gaze back to him, and his throat tightened at her wistful expression. "Why do you suppose an angel would cry?"
"I can't imagine."
The hint of a self-conscious smile flashed over her lips. "Angels' tears. Completely unscientific and illogical, I know."
"Yet a very apt, clear description. The next time I see a falling star, I too shall wonder if there's an angel who weeps."
Their gazes locked for the space of several heartbeats, and he swore some manner of invisible spark all but crackled in the air between them.
Did she feel it as well? Before he could decide, she averted her gaze and said, "I cannot wait to tell Hubert that you've met Sir William Herschel, and that you own one of his telescopes." A smile touched her lips. "Of course, perhaps I'd best not tell him. If I do, he'll ask you a thousand questions. And whichever ones he might not think of, I will."
"I'd be pleased to answer them," he assured her, surprised that he meant it. "I've no one who shares my interest in astronomy. In fact, perhaps you and Hubert would like to come to Wesley Manor to see my Herschel?"
Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and he clenched his hands to keep from plucking those spectacles from her face.
"Hubert would all but expire from the excitement, my lord," she said, her voice breathless.
"And you, Miss Briggeham… would you also all but expire?"
"Indeed," she said, her expression perfectly serious. "I never thought to have such a rare opportunity."
"Excellent." He looked toward the glimpses of cloudless, azure sky visible through the leaves. "It looks as if tonight might be clear. Are you free this evening?"
"Well, yes, but are you certain…?" Her voice trailed off and she sent him a searching look.
"You appear quite astonished at my invitation, Miss Briggeham. And here I thought 'a' words were to be used to describe me."
Amusement flickered in her eyes at his teasing words, then she smiled-a shy, pleased smile that for some ridiculous reason set his heart thumping.
"I assure you," he said, "I'd enjoy having you and Hubert as my guests this evening."
"In that case, my lord, I can only thank you for your most 'agreeable' invitation. Hubert… and I… shall look forward to it."
"Excellent. I'll send my carriage for you. Shall we say at eight?"
"That would be lovely. Thank you."
He watched her full lips form the words, his attention fixed on that fascinating freckle gracing the corner of her mouth. Her lips puckered when she said "you"… as they might if she were about to be kissed.
Kissed. The word slammed into him like a punch to the gut. Bloody hell, her mouth was incredible. The most kissable he'd ever seen. Awareness pulsed through him, and those moist lips beckoned him like a siren's call. The urge to touch that alluring mouth with his own, just once, for an instant, overwhelmed him, overriding his normally fine-tuned common sense.
Like a man in a trance, he walked slowly toward her. She watched him, her eyes growing rounder with each step he took. When he paused directly in front of her, she looked up at him with confusion.
He braced one arm on the willow's trunk, next to her shoulder, and allowed his gaze to roam over her. His nearness obviously unnerved her, a fact that shouldn't have pleased him, but did. Clearly he was not the only one experiencing this… whatever it was.
Her magnified eyes reflected uncertainty, and her cheeks bloomed with color. Her pulse beat visibly at the base of her delicate throat, and her chest rose and fell with her increasingly rapid breaths. Her delicious scent filled his head, and he leaned closer to better capture that elusive fragrance.
"You smell like… porridge," he said softly.
She blinked twice, then her lips twitched. "Why, thank you, my lord. However, I'd best warn you that such flowery words might swell my head."
His brows pulled down. Had he just compared her to porridge? How did this woman manage to strip him of all his finesse? Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, until only several inches separated them.
Breathing deeply, he murmured, "Porridge with honey drizzled over it. My favorite morning meal." His lips hovered a breath away from the fragrant curve of her neck. "Warm. Sweet. Delicious."
He inhaled once more, and his entire body tingled. God, she smelled good enough to eat. The desire pulsing through him was so strong, so unexpectedly heated, it smacked him like a brick to the head, rousing him from his stupor. What the hell are you doing? He'd clearly taken leave of his senses.
Beating back his desire, he pushed himself away from her, backing up several steps. Damn it, he hadn't even touched her, yet his breath puffed from his lungs as if he'd run a mile. And one look at her confirmed that she was as affected as he. Her eyes were aqua saucers, sta
ring at him in dazed wonderment. Rapid breaths whooshed from her slightly parted lips, her chest rising and falling in a way that drew his gaze to her ample curves. He barely managed to swallow the groan that rose in his throat.
Why hadn't he kissed her? Simply pressed their lips together, taken a quick taste to satisfy his curiosity, and been done with it? Obviously because his common sense had come back to life and reminded him that Miss Briggeham was a respectable young woman, not one to be trifled with. But just as his common sense had spoken up, so now did his pesky inner voice. You didn't kiss her because you know, deep down, that a quick taste wouldn't be enough.
Bloody hell. Best to leave now, before he did something he'd regret. Like take her up on the almost irresistible invitation he doubted she realized glowed in her eyes. Forcing himself to take several more steps backwards, he offered her a formal bow. "I must go," he said, managing to ignore the beguiling blush that colored her silky cheeks. "But I shall see you this evening."
A frown yanked at his brows. Perhaps having her in his home was not a wise idea. But he instantly pushed aside the worry. They would be properly chaperoned by her brother, and surely he'd have no problem resisting whatever mild attraction he felt for her. Whatever odd notion had come over him moments ago was gone, and he was totally in control of himself. Miss Briggeham was perfectly safe with him.
She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and cleared her throat. " 'Til this evening," she said in a calm voice that somehow irked him. Of course, he had sounded perfectly calm… but he hadn't expected her to.
He strode to Emperor, then swung himself into the saddle. After nodding at Miss Briggeham, he headed down the path leading toward his home at a brisk trot.
Vexing woman. He must have been mad to invite her to his home. But no matter. It was only one evening. Just several hours in her company. Quite easy to get through.
After all, hadn't he just proven to himself that he could easily resist her?
Sammie remained leaning against the tree trunk, riveted in place, watching the path long after he'd disappeared from sight, her pulse pounding erratically.
Heavens above, he'd been about to kiss her. Kiss her, with those firm, lovely lips. A feminine sigh the likes of which she'd never heaved, puffed from her lips. Her eyes slid shut as she recalled the way he'd braced his arm on the tree trunk beside her, the way he'd leaned in close to her, surrounding her with his woodsy, clean scent. Heat had all but pulsed from him, and she'd had to press her palms to the scratchy willow bark to keep from touching him, to see if he was really as warm as he seemed.
Another dreamy sigh worked its way toward her throat. Just as she was about to expel it, however, sanity returned with a resounding thump.
Of course, she must be mistaken. Why on earth would Lord Wesley want to kiss her? No doubt he'd simply been curious about her fragrance, wondering why she smelled like porridge.
But the way he'd looked at her… with that intense expression that had all but stolen her breath. Surely he hadn't meant to stand so close. No doubt he'd just wanted to stand more in the shade.
And what had she done? Acted like an utter idiot, rendered breathless and weak-kneed by his proximity, her heart pounding in anticipation, yearning for the touch of his lips on hers.
Embarrassment washed through her. Had he known? Had her longing shown in her eyes? She clapped her hands to her burning cheeks. He'd simply wanted to stand in the shade, and all her logic had scattered like ashes in a windstorm. Good heavens, what on earth had come over her? She did not know, but there was no denying that the man affected her in the most dismaying fashion.
Perhaps she shouldn't go to his home… out no, the lure of seeing a Herschel telescope was too strong. She couldn't deny herself or Hubert such a rare opportunity. And besides, Hubert would be with her to act as chaperone. There would be no reason for Lord Wesley to stand close to her, and therefore, logically, no reason for her heart to flutter or her breath to stall. She and Lord Wesley merely shared an interest in astronomy. Naturally she would feel a… kinship toward him. Why, it was really no different than discussing the stars with Hubert.
Satisfied with her logical explanation, she pushed off from the tree, then walked briskly down the path leading toward her house. With a sigh, she realized one possible problem with this visit to Lord Wesley's home would be Mama. She did not want her mother to misinterpret the earl's invitation as being anything more than what it was-a kind and generous gesture toward fellow enthusiasts to view a telescope made by the world's foremost living astronomer. Lord Wesley was simply being… amiable. In fact, he was so amiable, it was… alarming. Astonishing.
Yes, she'd have to be very certain that Mama understood there was nothing more to it than that. Otherwise she suspected that Mama's matchmaking mind would leap with impossible, hopeless thoughts.
And you yourself would do well to remember that they're hopeless, impossible thoughts.
Yet while that stern inner warning stiffened her spine, it did little to squelch the impossible longing that Lord Wesley's nearness had kindled in her heart.
Chapter Eight
"That's the third time ye've checked the mantel clock in the last ten minutes, my lord," Arthur Timstone noted in his husky voice from across the room. "Yer guests will arrive soon. Makes the time go slower when you watch it."
Eric turned from his position near the fireplace in his private study and looked at his faithful servant over the rim of his brandy snifter. Arthur was comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair next to Eric's mahogany desk, a half-filled tumbler of whiskey cradled between his work-roughened hands.
They met like this frequently in the evenings, sharing a drink while Arthur related any news he'd gleaned through the servant grapevine that might be of interest to Eric and the Bride Thief. Tonight, however, it seemed Eric himself was the focus of gossip.
"Quite a stir this invitation to Miz Sammie has caused at the Briggeham's," Arthur remarked. "Her ma is all a-twitter. She's already invited Missus Nordfield to tea tomorrow to discuss it."
Eric had suspected something of the sort might occur, but he was well-versed in the art of sidestepping match-making mothers. "There's nothing to discuss. I simply offered to show Miss Briggeham and her brother my telescope."
" 'Course that's all there is to it," Arthur agreed with a nod. "Anybody would be a fool to suggest ye'd be interested in Miz Sammie."
"Precisely. And both Cordelia Briggeham and Lydia Nordfield, along with everyone else, know damn well my long-standing views on marriage. They'd be fools to think I'd changed my mind."
"Bah, ye could shout it from the rooftops that ye've no wish to marry. Wouldn't matter to some. They'd just think it a challenge of sorts. They probably think ye're just bein' coy."
"Coy?" A bitter sound erupted from between Eric's lips. "After witnessing firsthand my parents' nightmare marriage, and knowing how unhappy Margaret is in hers, I've no intention of foisting such misery upon myself. And even if I were mad enough to consider marriage, I couldn't possibly subject a wife, or children, to the danger I face. If I were caught, their lives would be ruined."
"A wise decision," Arthur agreed. " 'Course them match-makin' biddies have no way of knowin' that reason." He savored a sip of whiskey, then expelled a contented sigh. "Still, it's mad for them to think ye'd want Miz Sammie. She's not the sort of woman to attract a man like you."
"No, she's not," Eric agreed in a harsher tone than he'd meant. He tossed back his brandy and immediately poured another.
"Still, with all the attention comin' her way, she might catch some gent's eye. Ye'd think there'd be one bloke with enough smarts to see beyond her spectacles." Arthur shook his head and muttered a disgusted sound. "But bah, these young pups want nothin' more than pretty faces, coy smiles, and simperin' giggles. Wouldn't know a special woman if she jumped up and bit their arse. And special, that's wot Miz Sammie is." He jabbed a thick index finger in Eric's direction. "I tell ye, if I were a few years younger and a gentle
man, I might court her meself."
Eric's hand froze halfway to his mouth. Slowly lowering his snifter, he asked, "I beg your pardon?"
Arthur waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. "Don't concern yerself. I'm arse over heels for my Sarah. Still, a man'd have to be blind not to notice Miz Sammie's smile. Or how pretty her hair is. Or how those big eyes of hers sort of… glow. And smart as a whip she is, too. Took young Hubert under her wing, and thanks to her teachings, he's now sharp as a nail. Yes, there's more to Miz Sammie than wot most people see."
Eric leaned against the marble mantel in a relaxed pose completely at odds with the inexplicable annoyance pumping through him. "I didn't know you were so… aware of Miss Briggeham and her charms."
The instant the sharply spoken words left his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. Arthur blinked several times, then leaned forward and peered at Eric. Eric tried his damnedest to keep his expression impassive, but clearly he failed because Arthur said, "I'm old, not blind. And I didn't know.you were aware she had any charms."
Eric raised his brows. "I'm neither old nor blind."
Arthur's expression slowly changed from confused to stunned. "Devil take me, surely ye're not casting yer eye at Miz Sammie!"
Eric opened his mouth to deny it, but before he could utter a word, Arthur's eyes rounded. "Damn it, boy, have ye lost yer mind? She's not the sort of woman for the likes of you."
Unexpectedly stung by the remark, Eric asked in a cool tone, "The likes of me? What does that mean?"
"Oh, get that stick out of yer arse. Ye know I love ye like a son. It's just that…" His eyes turned troubled and his voice trailed off.
Eric cocked a brow. "Clearly there's something you wish to say to me, Arthur. Why not simply say it-as you always have?"
Arthur downed a hefty swallow of whiskey, then met Eric's gaze. "All right. Why exactly did you invite her here?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand what Arthur was asking, yet how could he explain what he himself didn't understand? Setting his snifter on the mantel, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. "I suppose I feel a certain responsibility toward her, to make certain she doesn't suffer any social backlash because of her kidnapping."
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