Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,52

it was pointless. All she would ever be to him was a nebulous form—except when he’d kissed her. Then she’d been very real, very solid and warm.

“I’m here.” She took his hand.

“It has been a long time since I have kissed anyone. That’s all. I haven’t allowed myself to feel...” He did not want to explain. He did not want to think about his feelings himself, much less explain them.

“I understand,” she said. But how could she? How could anyone understand when he was still trying to figure it out?

“We moved too fast,” she said. “Next time, we’ll take things slowly.”

“Next time?” His voice was raspy, but he heard the hope in it.

“If you want there to be a next time. I...oh, I should not have said that. I should not want there to be a next time. I am supposed to be teaching you, not kissing you, but I have to make a confession, Mr. Pope.”

He shouldn’t allow her to confess anything. They’d already gone too far.

“Go on,” he said, uncharacteristically reckless.

“I find you difficult to resist. There’s something about you that draws me to you. It’s not just that you’re so handsome, though no man as handsome as you has ever so much as looked at me twice.”

Nash let out a startled breath. “Handsome?” His hand itched to go to his wounded eye. “I’m disfigured.”

“Oh, no! You’re quite handsome.”

He shook his head. Was she mocking him? Or was it possible he looked much as he always had except for the eye, which he was sure to cover with his hair? “You wouldn’t think that if you saw my eye,” he said, gesturing toward it.

“Yes, I would.”

“Miss Howard—”

“Would you call me Pru? I feel awkward enough after kissing you without you calling me Miss Howard. And I don’t care what your eye looks like. It won’t make you less handsome.”

“I should show you and send you running and screaming.”

“Go ahead.” Her voice held a note of challenge. “It won’t change my opinion.”

There was a long pause. She’d called his bluff, and now he’d been caught with his proverbial trousers down.

“I think I’ve had enough of lessons for tonight,” he said.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I should collect Mrs. Blimkin and go. I’m sure it’s quite late.”

She moved away from him, and he almost reached out to catch her. Instead, he stayed where he was and said, “Miss—I mean, Pru?”

Her footsteps halted. “Yes?”

“You will come tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I will, and I will come earlier. I think it might do you some good to get out of doors and away from the workmen.”

“Will your Mrs. Northgate allow that?”

“She will if I can finish the ruffles on the dress’s bodice. Wish me good luck. I need it.” She muttered the last words.

And then she was gone, and he was alone. For a moment, he thought that the underwater feeling would return. He would feel trapped in murky water, unable to rise to the surface. But he was still warm from her touch, and that flicker of desire was still there. It was faint, but he could still feel it.

Eleven

Pru all but floated down the stairs to the kitchens. She was in a warm, hazy daze of happiness.

Mr. Pope had kissed her. Mr. Pope had touched her. He’d pulled her close and gently cradled the back of her head, and she had never felt more cherished.

The actual kitchen was under repair, and the servants’ dining room had been turned into a makeshift kitchen with the dining table used for preparation and the hearth for cooking. Pru was already in the servants’ dining room before she realized she had walked into a battle.

“—and I will thank you kindly to keep your opinions to yourself,” Mrs. Blimkin said, hands on her generous hips and face red with anger.

Pru froze. Oh, no. If Mrs. Blimkin and Mrs. Brown did not get on then she would not be able to return. There would be no more kisses. But a quick glance at Mrs. Brown showed she looked as concerned as Pru—ostensibly for different reasons.

“There is no reason to take offense, Mrs. Blimkin,” said a well-dressed man Pru had not seen before. “Mr. Pope is recovering from a long illness, and simple, bland fare is best until he regains his strength and appetite.” The man spoke with authority and, in Pru’s mind, bravery. Either he was very brave or very foolish to challenge Mrs. Blimkin’s cooking.

He was a few inches taller than Pru, probably right at six feet, and