One More Kiss - By Mary Blayney Page 0,121

head, eyes still closed.

“Wait, I have a better way to prove it.”

Cecilia smiled a little, wondering what his next proof would be. Then she felt the press of his lips on hers. His hands were on her shoulders holding her still as though he was afraid she might push him away.

His kiss was the sweetest touch she’d ever felt. More than sweet. It was perfection. She felt as if she had come home and found everything she had ever longed for.

She made some sound, or he did, and pressed her lips to his lest he think she wanted him to stop. His hands slid down her arms and hers went round his waist.

William kissed her again and again, his mouth never leaving hers. The tingling in her head and heart moved lower, until she could not hold him close enough.

When the kiss ended, as all kisses must, he drew back and looked into her eyes. “Did that help convince you, my dearest darling Cecilia?”

“Almost,” she said. “I think one more kiss, or perhaps two, might be needed.”

He sat beside her. “I hope you will think of this when you are overwhelmed with attention during your Season.”

Cecilia leaned down to him and took the initiative. This time he tasted her lips with his tongue and she did the same, flustered that she was so unschooled in the art of love. He did not seem to mind teaching her, though. When they moved apart, putting some distance between them on the sofa, she laughed.

“I do know one thing, my lord.”

When he finished straightening his red cravat he looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Papa will find a match in you when it comes to a man who wants his way.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

BEATRICE HURRIED TO answer the tap at the door. Darwell had gone to the village with Callan on her half day, which suited Beatrice perfectly. She was doing her best to honor her father’s demand that she stay in her rooms, but without Cecilia to talk to it was a challenge.

She tried to settle with a book but kept staring out the window instead. The only movement in the drive marked the comings and goings of the other guests. Michael and Olivia Garrett were out walking. Her sister and the marquis were riding, and Mrs. Wilson was sitting on a bench near the gate finding as little interest in her book as Beatrice did in hers.

Of Jess there was no sign. Could he have left? That would be so ungallant, so unkind, that she could not believe it possible. When the tap at the door came it was not imperative enough to be Jess, but she hurried to answer nonetheless.

Nora Kendrick stood there with Finch tucked under her arm. Today he was wearing a miniature cravat that matched the ribbons on his mistress’s elegant green gown.

Nora gave a nod of greeting, her usual smiling demeanor absent. Finch gave a cheerful “woof” which was at odds with his mistress’s serious expression.

“Beatrice,” she began, “Miss Wilson has asked to speak to both of us.”

“Of course,” Beatrice said, giving only a moment’s thought to her promise. Surely Papa would make an exception for a request of this type. Miss Wilson was grieving, after all, and Beatrice doubted her mother was much comfort.

“Do you know why she wishes to see us?” Beatrice asked as they walked the short distance to Katherine’s bedchamber.

“I can guess, but only because Nicky mentioned the possibility.”

Nicky? Of course, Nora was referring to the Earl of Belmont.

“It’s very gratifying that I can help him in his inquiry,” Nora said, with a small smile that quickly disappeared. “And very small of me to find pleasure in someone else’s misery.”

Beatrice was not sure how to respond to that. She opted for direct. “This is a difficult time for anyone connected to Lord Crenshaw, but you are not the only one entertained by the investigation. You cannot doubt that for all his solemnity the earl is having as much fun as I would have if I discovered a previously unknown Rembrandt drawing.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. That is very kind of you. And observant,” she added with an appreciative smile.

“So, you think this invitation has something to do with Lord Crenshaw’s death?”

“Nicky insisted that I come without any sort of opinion,” she replied demurely.

Beatrice nodded, intrigued by the mystery. Her intrigue changed to distress when they turned the corner and saw Jess lounging against the wall outside of Katherine’s room.

“What is he doing here?” she hissed.

“Miss Wilson asked

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