“Why would I do that?"
She hesitated, wondering how he would react to her answer. “Because Julian is my brother."
The glass halted midway to his lips. His eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. After a moment, he sipped his drink, the anger receding. “Why were you dressed as a stable lad?"
Her cheeks warmed. How many daughters of a duke would ride a horse dressed as a stable lad? She tossed her head back and squared her shoulders. “In order to gain maximum speed, one must ride astride. As you are aware, Your Grace, unmentionables happen to be the best garments for the job."
"I see.” He lowered his eyes and she knew he was remembering her in those tight, wet garments. Her entire body went warm. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Have you any more questions, or may I be excused?"
He nodded. “I do have another question, my lady. When I recalled that Joseph had a daughter, I thought that she—that you were named after your mother."
"I am. Megan is my familiar name."
He lowered the empty tumbler on the nearest table and approached her. “Call me Nicholas."
Standing so close, feeling the heat of his body, inhaling his unique scent of sandalwood, she could hardly think. “You know I cannot call you that. ‘Tis not proper."
"Yes, it is."
She shook her head, unable to speak, as a thought dawned. She was partially responsible for what had happened. Indeed, if she hadn't kept her identity from the duke at the stream, none of it would have come to pass. “So, you didn't know who I was the night we...” She swallowed hard, unable to finish.
His gaze roved over her face, settling on her lips. “No."
"Then h-how did you finally learn my identity?” she asked, needing a distraction.
"Carson gave me this.” He extracted a folded note from his pocket. “It must have fallen from my coat and slipped under the bed that night.” His eyes darkened, and she knew he recalled what had happened between them. “If I had just read it before...” He stopped talking.
Megan forced her eyes from his to the paper he held. Agony sliced through her tattered heart at the reminder that her parents were still missing. She wrapped her shawl around her trembling body and turned away. Misery crashed down on her like the pounding surf on a stormy shore. Something terrible must have happened to them. They would never say away this long without contacting her. Pain swelled in her chest. Not unless they... She refused to finish the thought.
Light and cautious hands turned her around. She tipped her head back and found blazing eyes full of guilty pain. His hands trembled as they cupped her cheeks, then his thumbs gently swiped at tears she hadn't been aware of shedding.
"I promise you, Meg, your parents will be found,” he rasped. His voice held tenderness.
Her grief lessened. But as he started to move away, she knew a moment of panic. Their relationship had changed. The way he wiped all expression from his face proved it. He had pulled away from her, physically and emotionally. As soon as his mother arrived, she knew with utter certainty he would be out of her life forever.
He lowered his hands and took a step back. “Nicholas,” she groaned softly, torn at the thought of his leaving. She wet her dry lips, realizing he would not return to her. She would have to go to him. He was leaving the decision solely up to her. Expelling a shaky breath, she took a step forward. Hope sparked in his eyes. With a squeak, she flew into his arms. “Oh, Nicholas,” she sighed, feeling him shudder. Then she lifted her head. “Kiss me,” she insisted, raising her hands to thread her fingers through his cool, soft hair.
He closed his eyes and wagged his head from side to side, as though fighting some inward war. His jaw tightened, and Megan thought he might refuse her. Then he opened his eyes, eyes aflame with a fierce emotion she couldn't identify. And instead of pushing her away, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Her
She hesitated, wondering how he would react to her answer. “Because Julian is my brother."
The glass halted midway to his lips. His eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. After a moment, he sipped his drink, the anger receding. “Why were you dressed as a stable lad?"
Her cheeks warmed. How many daughters of a duke would ride a horse dressed as a stable lad? She tossed her head back and squared her shoulders. “In order to gain maximum speed, one must ride astride. As you are aware, Your Grace, unmentionables happen to be the best garments for the job."
"I see.” He lowered his eyes and she knew he was remembering her in those tight, wet garments. Her entire body went warm. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Have you any more questions, or may I be excused?"
He nodded. “I do have another question, my lady. When I recalled that Joseph had a daughter, I thought that she—that you were named after your mother."
"I am. Megan is my familiar name."
He lowered the empty tumbler on the nearest table and approached her. “Call me Nicholas."
Standing so close, feeling the heat of his body, inhaling his unique scent of sandalwood, she could hardly think. “You know I cannot call you that. ‘Tis not proper."
"Yes, it is."
She shook her head, unable to speak, as a thought dawned. She was partially responsible for what had happened. Indeed, if she hadn't kept her identity from the duke at the stream, none of it would have come to pass. “So, you didn't know who I was the night we...” She swallowed hard, unable to finish.
His gaze roved over her face, settling on her lips. “No."
"Then h-how did you finally learn my identity?” she asked, needing a distraction.
"Carson gave me this.” He extracted a folded note from his pocket. “It must have fallen from my coat and slipped under the bed that night.” His eyes darkened, and she knew he recalled what had happened between them. “If I had just read it before...” He stopped talking.
Megan forced her eyes from his to the paper he held. Agony sliced through her tattered heart at the reminder that her parents were still missing. She wrapped her shawl around her trembling body and turned away. Misery crashed down on her like the pounding surf on a stormy shore. Something terrible must have happened to them. They would never say away this long without contacting her. Pain swelled in her chest. Not unless they... She refused to finish the thought.
Light and cautious hands turned her around. She tipped her head back and found blazing eyes full of guilty pain. His hands trembled as they cupped her cheeks, then his thumbs gently swiped at tears she hadn't been aware of shedding.
"I promise you, Meg, your parents will be found,” he rasped. His voice held tenderness.
Her grief lessened. But as he started to move away, she knew a moment of panic. Their relationship had changed. The way he wiped all expression from his face proved it. He had pulled away from her, physically and emotionally. As soon as his mother arrived, she knew with utter certainty he would be out of her life forever.
He lowered his hands and took a step back. “Nicholas,” she groaned softly, torn at the thought of his leaving. She wet her dry lips, realizing he would not return to her. She would have to go to him. He was leaving the decision solely up to her. Expelling a shaky breath, she took a step forward. Hope sparked in his eyes. With a squeak, she flew into his arms. “Oh, Nicholas,” she sighed, feeling him shudder. Then she lifted her head. “Kiss me,” she insisted, raising her hands to thread her fingers through his cool, soft hair.
He closed his eyes and wagged his head from side to side, as though fighting some inward war. His jaw tightened, and Megan thought he might refuse her. Then he opened his eyes, eyes aflame with a fierce emotion she couldn't identify. And instead of pushing her away, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Her
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