Peter checked that the butler had gone about his business before he replied. “I wanted to see your sister actually. I thought, for propriety’s sake I should pretend to be visiting you rather than her.”
Walter appeared skeptical. “It won’t take long for everyone to guess the truth.”
“Hopefully by then I’ll have convinced Imogen of the myriad advantages of renewing and deepening our acquaintance.”
Walter’s face pinked. “I thought that was what last night was for.”
Last night had been interrupted before he had obtained Imogen’s agreement. What he did know was that her lips and body were made for him. “Sadly, negotiations may take a bit more time than one night. I was hoping to continue my quest today.”
Walter’s frown grew. “And what will you do today that… ah… couldn’t be done last night?”
Peter grinned. “Today, K. D. Brahms lives again.”
A relieved smile passed over Walter’s face as he dropped to the chair behind his desk and rubbed a hand over his head. “You’re happy now to have her write. I thought you disapproved in the beginning.”
“I’ll admit, I was stunned on first discovery. But I re-read every book she wrote while I was away and I’m utterly astounded by her gift. I’m surprised she hasn’t run mad because she cannot continue her storytelling.”
Walter winced. “It was a close thing for a while there. In the end, I took her writing table into another room and locked it away. Without the desk to linger beside, she seemed less agitated.”
Poor darling. If his plan went the way he hoped, Imogen would have one less reason to be unhappy. She could find comfort in having an outlet for her creative talents. The fact that he would secure a first look at her work was a minor inducement to press on with his plans. And there was always the delightful prospect of a chance to steal another kiss or two. “Can you show me where her writing table is?”
“Of course.” Walter smacked the tabletop as he stood. “Come, we’ll collect Imogen on the way a
nd break her out of her doldrums.”
Walter thumped up the staircase and Peter followed close behind. He couldn’t imagine the difficulty he would have faced if he’d attempted to see Imogen like this without Walter’s approval and support. After last night’s kisses and touches he was eager for more. He couldn’t believe he’d walked away a year ago without attempting to claim one single kiss. What an utter fool he’d been. If he had tried and succeeded then, he might not be in the position of having to woo the bride he’d almost had.
As he gained the top step, Imogen stepped out of her bedroom, walking stick in hand, her sightless gaze skimming the hall before her. Today she wore a pretty gown of pale blue. The color made her skin glow but the frown forming on her face dimmed his hopes for an easy discussion. “Who is with you Walter?”
Peter smiled that she could detect her brother’s steps without George saying a word. One day, if luck were with him, she would know his steps just as well or better. “Good morning Imogen.”
Her perfect mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as he drew closer. Her gaze rose until it seemed she could see him. She couldn’t, of course, but if he didn’t know better he could swear she pinpointed exactly where his face was located. When Walter turned away to unlock the other room, Peter touched Imogen’s cheek softly and bent his head to steal a kiss.
“Good morning.” Her voice was as breathless as he felt himself to be.
He caught her fingers in his and squeezed. “It’s a lovely day out. Would you care to take a stroll along Marine Parade?”
Her chin dropped a little, and worry added creases to her forehead. “I’d rather not go out.”
So, no public wooing. He grinned at the remaining possibility of how he could spend the upcoming hours. “Very well. We’ll do something else together.”
“Peter, you shouldn’t be here.” A heavy bang and muttered curse reached them from the other room and Imogen turned toward the sound. “What is Walter doing?”
Peter placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her into the room. “Time to write.”
Walter opened the drapes wide, revealing a furnished bedchamber containing the fabled writing desk, a chair and a narrow bed at one end of the room. The other end was piled high with discarded furnishings, some of which he remembered seeing in other parts of the house before. Walter repositioned a small table closer to the furniture, setting a boundary to their work area, and wandered back out with a grin on his face.
Peter let his gaze linger on the bed a moment. If the writing went well, perhaps he could engage in other pleasant activities with her, too. He studied Imogen. Her hands were clenched around her walking stick as if she were uncertain of her surroundings. “Relax.”
Imogen glared in the direction of the door. “Does he not care that we are alone. What have you done to convince Walter to behave like this?”
Peter opened the desk, spied quill and ink bottle, a short stack of blank papers and drew them out onto the worktable. The ink swirled inside the bottle when he tested it was still good to use. “Nothing except suggest I might be able to make you happier than you have been. Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
He looked at her but then realized that of course she may not understand his intentions were serious. Her writing was important, and not just to her. “Yes, ready to write. Ready to tell me a story I can write down. How do you come up with your tales anyway? I always meant to ask.”
She rubbed her brow. “It isn’t easy to explain. No two days ever start out the same, but usually I begin the day thinking of what I want to write and then I sit and compose until there are no more words.”