Read Online The Kiss of a Stranger by Sarah M. Eden - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah M. Eden
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familiar way. Something about those eyes of hers haunted him. “Consider it a thank-you for not scratching out my eyes during the past week.”
Catherine turned toward the stacked boxes. “May I open one?” she asked, her voice so quiet Crispin hardly registered the hesitant question.
“Open them all if you’d like.”
Her eagerness, though subdued, was refreshing. Catherine lifted a long white box from the pile. She knelt beside it, slowly raised the lid, and set it cautiously on the floor. Her long, slender fingers carefully peeled back a layer of thin paper. Then another.
Crispin stepped closer, glancing over her shoulder at the box. Madame LaCroix had promised him a miracle, and he wanted to see if she’d kept her word. The box Catherine had selected contained a cream-colored morning dress, its three-quarter-length sleeves edged in delicate lace. A thick ribbon of deep maroon edged the bodice and neckline.
Catherine stood, pulling the dress out as she did, the skirt falling gracefully to full length. Looking closer, Crispin spied hair-thin stripes of shimmering maroon interwoven in the delicate fabric. A pretty dress, to own the truth, but hardly the eye-catching creation Crispin had been expecting.
“That is not one of Hancock’s.” Perhaps a bit of humor would head off the disappointment Catherine must have been feeling.
She turned to face him, her eyes threateningly red-edged, her lips pressed together in an obvious attempt to steady them. She really was disappointed, Crispin thought.
“I’ve never owned anything so beautiful,” Catherine whispered with inarguable sincerity.
Beautiful? The dress was very plain by society’s standards, certainly nothing he’d expect a lady to become emotional about. At least not pleasantly emotional.
“Oh, I’m obviously already making a cake of myself.” Catherine clutched the gown closer to her, watching him with growing concern. “I will try not to embarrass you tonight, Crispin. I promise.” She’d moved to where Crispin stood evaluating the confusing scene unfolding before him. “I’m only . . . so overwhelmed . . . by your generosity. Thank—”
“That is not necessary,” Crispin interrupted, taken aback by her sudden talkativeness.
“You must allow me to thank you for this.” Catherine’s eyes grew misty. Her chin quivered almost indiscernibly. “Please.”
Gads, she was going to cry. He had no idea what to do with a watery female.
“I suppose. Though you risk puffing me up like a peacock.” He folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to look unaffected.
Catherine stepped closer to him. She smelled of roses, he noticed. She had that day in the garden, as well. Gown still clutched tightly in her hand, Catherine kissed his cheek. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Catherine offered a quiet thank-you and slipped back to the mountain of parcels, eyeing the collection with obvious awe.
Crispin stood in stunned confusion. It was certainly not the first kiss he’d received from a woman. His own sister had kissed him in precisely the same way. So why did Catherine’s simple kiss make his breath catch and his mind momentarily empty?
He simply hadn’t expected it, he told himself. That was all. Catherine’s reaching out to anyone would be understandably shocking. She’d spent the days since their arrival slipping around the house, obviously trying to go unseen, hardly speaking to a soul.
So where had her sudden boldness come from? With any other society lady, the kiss would have been a calculated attempt to garner his sympathies.
Catherine knelt beside the open box once more and painstakingly refolded the simple gown, laying it carefully back inside.
A slight smile edged its way across his face as he watched her. She fingered the packages like a child at Christmastime.
“What a sight this is!” Lizzie quite suddenly entered the sitting room trailed by her abigail carrying a box identical to the three large gown
Catherine turned toward the stacked boxes. “May I open one?” she asked, her voice so quiet Crispin hardly registered the hesitant question.
“Open them all if you’d like.”
Her eagerness, though subdued, was refreshing. Catherine lifted a long white box from the pile. She knelt beside it, slowly raised the lid, and set it cautiously on the floor. Her long, slender fingers carefully peeled back a layer of thin paper. Then another.
Crispin stepped closer, glancing over her shoulder at the box. Madame LaCroix had promised him a miracle, and he wanted to see if she’d kept her word. The box Catherine had selected contained a cream-colored morning dress, its three-quarter-length sleeves edged in delicate lace. A thick ribbon of deep maroon edged the bodice and neckline.
Catherine stood, pulling the dress out as she did, the skirt falling gracefully to full length. Looking closer, Crispin spied hair-thin stripes of shimmering maroon interwoven in the delicate fabric. A pretty dress, to own the truth, but hardly the eye-catching creation Crispin had been expecting.
“That is not one of Hancock’s.” Perhaps a bit of humor would head off the disappointment Catherine must have been feeling.
She turned to face him, her eyes threateningly red-edged, her lips pressed together in an obvious attempt to steady them. She really was disappointed, Crispin thought.
“I’ve never owned anything so beautiful,” Catherine whispered with inarguable sincerity.
Beautiful? The dress was very plain by society’s standards, certainly nothing he’d expect a lady to become emotional about. At least not pleasantly emotional.
“Oh, I’m obviously already making a cake of myself.” Catherine clutched the gown closer to her, watching him with growing concern. “I will try not to embarrass you tonight, Crispin. I promise.” She’d moved to where Crispin stood evaluating the confusing scene unfolding before him. “I’m only . . . so overwhelmed . . . by your generosity. Thank—”
“That is not necessary,” Crispin interrupted, taken aback by her sudden talkativeness.
“You must allow me to thank you for this.” Catherine’s eyes grew misty. Her chin quivered almost indiscernibly. “Please.”
Gads, she was going to cry. He had no idea what to do with a watery female.
“I suppose. Though you risk puffing me up like a peacock.” He folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to look unaffected.
Catherine stepped closer to him. She smelled of roses, he noticed. She had that day in the garden, as well. Gown still clutched tightly in her hand, Catherine kissed his cheek. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Catherine offered a quiet thank-you and slipped back to the mountain of parcels, eyeing the collection with obvious awe.
Crispin stood in stunned confusion. It was certainly not the first kiss he’d received from a woman. His own sister had kissed him in precisely the same way. So why did Catherine’s simple kiss make his breath catch and his mind momentarily empty?
He simply hadn’t expected it, he told himself. That was all. Catherine’s reaching out to anyone would be understandably shocking. She’d spent the days since their arrival slipping around the house, obviously trying to go unseen, hardly speaking to a soul.
So where had her sudden boldness come from? With any other society lady, the kiss would have been a calculated attempt to garner his sympathies.
Catherine knelt beside the open box once more and painstakingly refolded the simple gown, laying it carefully back inside.
A slight smile edged its way across his face as he watched her. She fingered the packages like a child at Christmastime.
“What a sight this is!” Lizzie quite suddenly entered the sitting room trailed by her abigail carrying a box identical to the three large gown
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