flirting and eyelash-batting.
“And how do I compare to the other three?”
“I don’t make a practice of comparing.”
“Am I prettier?”
He didn’t respond.
She smiled. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
“I’m not surprised you would.”
“Oh, so you think I’m conceited?”
“Most rich people are.”
“That must mean you’re very wealthy,” she said beginning to feel testy toward him. “Because you’re extremely conceited.”
At that, he laughed. Not a mocking laugh like she was accustomed to among her circles. But a genuinely amused laugh. She couldn’t deny that she liked the sound. Really liked it. She smiled at him, took another drink of her tea, and wondered if she could figure out a way to make him laugh more often.
Before she could try, a knock sounded on the door.
Mr. Cushman’s humor immediately dissipated, and his stoicism was back in place. “It’s Nathaniel.”
“How do you know?” She’d learned not to doubt him. He was almost always right. Even so, she liked to hear how he came to his conclusions, the details he noticed that she missed.
“He’s the only one around here who owns a Stanhope gig.”
“And how do you know he’s driving his gig?”
“The vehicle I heard had one horse and two wheels.”
She smiled.
“Did I pass your test?” His brows were raised, revealing a glimmer of the previous humor.
“Yes, you passed with a perfect score.”
Mr. Cushman started toward the door. “I don’t want him to stay long.”
“And why’s that? What harm will come of him staying for a while?”
“You’re in your bathrobe.” He didn’t look at her. “I’d suggest covering yourself back up.”
She glanced down to see that her blanket had slipped off her shoulders, revealing the silky white bathrobe that was cooler for the summer, but certainly also less modest. Heat infused her cheeks at the realization that Mr. Cushman had seen her immodesty and hadn’t been the least flustered by it. She readjusted the blanket around her shoulders and clutched it tightly in front so that her bathrobe was concealed again.
Her damp hair hung over her shoulders in long waves, completely unseemly for an unmarried young woman. She quickly swept it back into a knot, her fingers fumbling in her haste.
“Ready?” he asked, his back still facing her.
She nodded but realized he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, even though at times he acted as if he did. “I’m ready.”
He opened the door, and Nathaniel stepped in carrying an enormous bouquet of yellow roses. He apologized again profusely, fussed over her, and attempted to amuse her with anecdotes from the dinner party she’d missed.
But all the while they conversed, her attention drifted to Mr. Cushman standing just outside the open door, his spine as stiff as always. She didn’t know why she was more aware of his presence now than any other time. But for some reason, she was having a difficult time making small talk with Nathaniel without wondering what Mr. Cushman was thinking about their conversation.
Finally, after another awkward lull with Nathaniel, Mr. Cushman stepped into the room. “Victoria needs to rest.”
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Nathaniel rose out of his chair across from Victoria’s. His face reflected disappointment.
“Thank you for coming. And for the flowers.” She meant it. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
“I can’t wait until I can spoil you every minute of every day,” he said.
She laughed lightly. “I think you’re already quite accomplished at that.” She peeked at Mr. Cushman, expecting him to roll his eyes. But he remained impassive.
Nathaniel looked at Mr. Cushman too, then at Victoria, and back at Mr. Cushman. Nathaniel’s forehead was creased as though he were trying to understand the unspoken communication. She wanted to tell him there wasn’t any—at least not on Mr. Cushman’s end.
But before she could say anything, Nathaniel bent over and gently cupped her cheek. She was too startled by the contact and nearness to speak. He dragged in a breath and then dropped his mouth to hers. He pressed a kiss against her lips. The touch was warm and tender and was over before she could think about responding, although she wasn’t sure how she ought to go about kissing a man back. As Nathaniel pulled away, she could only stare at him with a mingling of wonder and embarrassment.
He straightened and glanced everywhere around the room except at her. Silence stretched between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Victoria.” He spun on his heel and walked briskly from the room, but not before tossing Mr. Cushman a look that seemed to say, “She’s mine.”
Once