Gillian frowned, turning away from him a little. “What does that say about me?”
“What does that say about us both? We were two people kissing.”
“Indeed.”
“And quite well, too, I must say.” He laughed softly, and the familiar sound put her at ease. “So well it seemed to me we had kissed each other before.”
Was he attempting to tease her? She stared at him, at his hesitant smile. “But we most certainly have never done so, or thought about it.”
“Until now.” His eyes glowed with a new warmth when he looked at her. “Perhaps it felt so easy since we have been acquainted for so long.”
“A mere nine months since we first met at your daughter Fanny’s house, and since my employment here began, most of those days and weeks were spent with your daughter between us,” she whispered, feeling as hot and bothered as when his lips had been pressed to hers.
He pursed his lips, and then grinned. “Jessica has made an excellent chaperone up until now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Usually, yes.” Gillian glanced at him, wondering what he thought of her. “You owe me no apology, your grace,” she assured him. “I am not offended, if you were not by my forwardness in allowing it.”
“I thought your kiss sweet. Very exciting. I have not been able to stop thinking of you in my arms, and I do apologize if that admission makes you uncomfortable.”
She met his gaze and saw the uncertainty she felt in his eyes, too. “I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you, either.”
He grinned. “What shall we do about it? Jessica is not here. It is just us two alone in a private room. Two widows with no other romantic entanglements to get in the way. Should we explore this or go back to how things used to be?”
“You want me to decide?” Gillian’s pulsed raced that he would give her a choice. However, it wasn’t a fair question. She knew she wanted him. They were in a room with three chairs, a desk, and chaise and a fireplace rug. Was there a way for a man and woman to comfortably make love in such a setting? She became warm from just thinking about the possibility. “Is it private enough?”
“The staff are busy elsewhere, and my guests are occupied on the other side of the house with Jessica and Rebecca,” he whispered huskily. “I made sure there were no idlers in the hall as I came in to speak to you.”
Gillian glanced at him sharply. “So you have plans for me?”
“No plans.” The quick smile he flashed made him seem so much younger than he was. “But should you have felt the need to scold me for my earlier impertinence, I wanted to be sure no one else would hear about it.”
“Impertinence?”
He bit his lower lip and winced. “Flirtatiousness?”
Blinding heat covered her skin. “That kiss went far beyond flirtatious, your grace.”
“Nicolas,” he suggested. “If you don’t object to me saying so, I’d like to kiss you like that again right now.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Nicolas. His very name sent a thrill through her. Her pulse raced. He was offering her a chance to be his lover or turn him aside if the idea displeased her. Gillian wanted him, but she was afraid of how things might change if she admitted it.
“Perhaps we should discuss my daughter now,” he said as his smile dimmed. “Tell me of yesterday, as you always do.”
He leaned back casually and crossed his legs at the ankle. The pose suggested he was in no rush to resume flirting with her anytime soon.
Gillian gathered her wits. “Jessica enjoyed herself very much. Early that morning we walked along the lane for exercise with Lord James, and had Mr. Whitfield join us for the return trip. After luncheon, a lively game of charades was played, and although Lord James tried very hard, it was Mr. Whitfield who won the day, guessing most of Jessica’s characters.”
“She hasn’t been able to fool him since she was nine,” the duke said dryly, following it with a rare soft chuckle that caused gooseflesh to rise all over her skin. Stapleton had the warmest laugh of anyone she knew. The sound drew her closer, but she was always wary of overstepping with her personal opinion that Whitfield had more than a passing interest in her charge.
“They do seem well matched.”
Stapleton merely smiled. “And after dinner, what topic was discussed most amongst the ladies?”
“The coming season.” She watched his face carefully now. “Gowns, entertainments, dressmakers—bachelors in want of a wife.”
As she’d anticipated, Lord Stapleton physically withdrew. As much as he might express his enthusiasm over his daughter’s coming out with everyone else, in private with Gillian, she’d noticed he was less than enthusiastic about the idea. Neither father nor daughter seemed ready for the specter of looming separation a marriage would bring.
“I suppose Mrs. Warner led that discussion.”