Her uncertainty reached him; irritation surged anew. He felt his lips thin. Caverlocks, be damned! “You don’t need—” He saw her draw back, steel herself; he broke off, hauled in a quick breath, held it for a fraught second, then let it out with the words, “That wasn’t what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Her defensiveness abruptly eased, replaced with a finer tension. After a moment, she prompted, as always gentle, “What, then?”
He felt his jaw set, fought to overcome the instinct not to reveal himself in anything so definite as words—even now not to make himself vulnerable to the hurt she could deal him if he’d misjudged her.
Yet he hadn’t misjudged—either her or him; he could see it in her eyes, watching him, as wary and as hesitant as he felt, every bit as unsure, wondering if it was possible to hope.
“At Lady Hendrick’s. In the parlor.” He ran out of words. How the devil was he to phrase it?
A blush rose to her cheeks; she was struggling to follow his direction. Her blush grew brighter; her gaze fell. “I… apologize if I was too forward—”
“No.” He stepped closer, ran a finger down her cheek. “Don’t apologize. If anyone should it should be me—” He broke off as she looked up, was lost for a moment in her eyes, then continued, “But I have no intention of doing so. If I hadn’t— if we hadn’t—I might never have known. Never realized.”
Her gaze was locked with his. “Realized what?”
She—her wide eyes, the softness in her face, the delicate curve of her lips, the rich fall of her hair, the light perfume—some combination of apple blossom and honeysuckle—that rose from her skin, that skin itself, pure and pale, the promise of womanly warmth that, standing so close with her skirts brushing his boots, reached for him and wrapped him about—all that gave him the courage to take her hand, raise it to his lips, say, “That if we wish—if you agree—we could share our lives in great happiness.”
She blinked; like veils falling, her shields came down and he could see the wonder in her eyes. “You felt it, too. I thought perhaps it was just me, or that I was reading too much in to the moment—”
“No. It was as…” He couldn’t stop his lips from twisting wryly. “Powerful as you thought. And as surprising.”
An answering smile curved her lips. “I hadn’t thought of you before—you hadn’t thought of me, either.”
“No.” He frowned at her, the her he could now see. “I can’t understand why.”
“Does it matter?”
He looked into her eyes, lit with a warm eagerness that was all he could ask, all he’d hoped for. “No. Not at all.”
His arm slid around her; he drew her to him, and she came without hesitation. He lowered his head; their lips, eager to recapture the sweetness, touched, brushed—
They both heard voices, then footsteps hurrying along the corridor outside.
Reggie released her; quelling an uncharacteristically violent flash of temper, Anne stepped back and swung to face the door.
Her heart was thudding, her lips throbbed.
It took effort not to glare at Leighton when he entered.
“Excuse me, sir, Miss Anne, but there’s an urgent message come for you, miss.” He proffered a salver on which lay a folded note.
Anne took it. “Who brought it?”
“A boy. He said the ladies at the house were in quite a state.”
She unfolded the note, briefly scanned its contents. “Good heavens!” She heard the faintness in her voice, felt the clutch of sudden fear, felt the blood drain from her face.
Reggie’s fingers closed about her elbow; he was there, beside her, strong, supportive. “What is it?”
“Benjy. He’s been stolen away.” She could barely take it in.
She offered Reggie the note, and he took it. She looked at Leighton, waiting for her orders.
“The carriage—no, that’ll take too long. Find a hackney, and get my maid to bring my coat and bonnet, please.”
“I drove here—my curricle’s in the street. I’ll drive you.” Reggie lifted his head and looked at Leighton. “Get the coat and bonnet—we’ll be waiting in the hall.”
Reggie drove like a madman to the Foundling House.