right over her. “She can’t wait to debut—and she has the Prussian’s hair! Why on earth would you think that jealous gossip can define a Wilde? Rubbish!”
“It’s not rubbish,” Betsy said, fumbling to defend herself. “Horses inherit characteristics, so why not people?”
“Characteristics!” Aunt Knowe waved her hands in the air. “Rubbish! Double rubbish! Your mother fell in love. Have you ever asked your father about their marriage?”
“It’s not my business.”
“It is if you behave like a brainless widgeon on account of it,” her aunt retorted. “Your father believed that Yvette would be a good mother to his orphaned sons, but he was wrong.”
Betsy nodded. “The matrons believe I’ll be overcome by lust and invite a man to my bed, as Yvette did.”
“Yvette did nothing remarkable. Just think of your brother Alaric having to flee Russia in order to escape a command visit to the royal bedchamber. Behave like an empress, not like a mouse, Betsy. Although,” she added, “if you intend to invite someone to your chamber, you must be prepared to marry him.”
“I haven’t invited anyone to my room,” Betsy said truthfully.
“Because you don’t have a fiancé,” her aunt continued, “and until you have chosen one, no invitations. Marriage is not like a stable, where you might try riding two or three stallions before buying one, so don’t you dream of comparing those two men on alternate nights.”
“The Empress Catherine does not have to navigate a London ballroom,” Betsy said.
Her aunt grinned. “I’ll echo Viola: Just be yourself, Betsy. You have nothing to worry about.” She rose to her feet. “Come along now; I’m starving.”
Betsy came to her feet, thinking hard.
“I can’t wait until you are in charge of your own nursery,” her aunt said with relish. “I shall visit frequently, once fate gives you the children you deserve.”
“Judging by the Duchess of Eversley’s stories of Thaddeus, her ducal progeny are far better behaved than those whom you raised,” Betsy noted, as they descended the creaking wooden stair.
“Thaddeus’s calm might balance out the Wilde blood,” her aunt acknowledged. “Or you could choose Jeremy, and end up with mop-headed devils with no manners. Climbing on the furniture. Peeing on it.”
“That seems unnecessarily judgmental,” Betsy said.
“Based on harsh experience,” Aunt Knowe said. “Speak of the devil . . .”
Jeremy appeared in the door of the dining room. He bowed and bid them good morning. “The innkeeper has a question about salmon delivered from Lindow, Lady Knowe.”
She rolled her eyes. “I should have brought our chef, but Frederic has such a loathing for strange kitchens.” With that, she marched off toward the back of the inn.
Jeremy’s hand closed around Betsy’s wrist and then she was enveloped in clean starched linen and a rough, open-mouthed kiss.
It was like being hit by a gale-force wind: She melted against him, one hand gripping his lapel to hold him close.
A shuffling step from the passageway leading to the kitchens broke them apart like the sides of a clam shell. Betsy’s heart was pounding in her chest. Down the corridor to their right, Carper bore a tea tray through a swinging door to the kitchen.
“Bloody hell,” Jeremy breathed.
Betsy raised a trembling finger to her lips and took a deep breath. “Was that your morning greeting?”
“I don’t offer it to all and sundry,” Jeremy said.
Clatter from the kitchen suggested that the footman would emerge again at any moment.
“I was waiting for herring or at least a strong cup of tea, and then you appeared. You’re very kissable.”
“More appealing than herring?”
“Infinitely. Enthralling, actually, as fish never seems to be.”
She drew in a deep breath and met his eyes.
“I don’t use the word lightly,” he added.
Carper reappeared and came down the corridor, a tray held high on one shoulder. Betsy remained on her side of the corridor and Jeremy on his. With a muttered apology, Carper walked between them into the dining room, his eyes resolutely fixed on the air.
“I smell sausages,” Jeremy muttered.
“And Pekoe tea,” Betsy countered. “Aunt Knowe must have had it brought from the castle.” Neither of them moved until Carper reemerged and walked back down the corridor.
The kitchen door hadn’t swung shut before Betsy tumbled into Jeremy’s arms. Their mouths met as if they’d kissed every morning for twenty years.
She feverishly absorbed each sensation. He smelled like fresh apples, rather than horse and leather. His shoulders flexed under her fingers and need rose in her like a windstorm. She lost her train of thought, but then roused to the caress of a hand on her back