A Kiss for Lady Mary by Ella Quinn Page A

on the bed. Oh, why couldn’t Lady Bellamny have waited another week or so to tell his father? Then Mary would have been gone, and where was Grandmamma? The Season had already begun. She should have been here by now.
    Mary refused to have all her dreams destroyed. She would not be forced to marry anyone. What was she to do?
    “Here, my lady. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for dinner. There’s nothing we can do about him being so close now.”
    “You’re right.” She looked away from the door. Except leave as soon as possible.
    After she had washed, she donned a turquoise silk evening gown trimmed with ivory lace. A year old, but it was still in good condition. She wondered if her London modiste had completed her order for this year yet. Mathers threaded ribbon in the same color blue as the gown through her hair.
    Mary clasped a single strand of pearls around her neck, then added the matching earrings. “The salmon and ivory shawl, I think.” She stood as her maid draped the shawl over her shoulders. “Perfect. I’m going to my aunt so that we can walk down together.”
    Eunice would be able to help her figure out the problem with Mr. Featherton.
    Mary had taken no more than five steps down the corridor to her aunt’s room when the door to the bathing chamber opened, and out stepped Mr. Featherton. Though he wore a colorful silk banyan, he’d not fastened it all the way up, and a goodly portion of his chest stared her in the face. Dark curly hair dusted the part of him on display. He must not have been completely dry, as the fabric clung to his broad shoulders and hugged the rest of his body.
    Mary’s mouth dried. Oh my! She’d never seen a man’s neck and chest before. Dragging her gaze up, she encountered his newly shaven chin and his mouth. For a moment, the corners of his well-shaped lips curved. Above his straight nose, his blue eyes darkened.
    Oh dear. That was what was sleeping mere feet away from her. It wasn’t only his manners that were perfect. Flames shot up her neck into her face, and she tore her gaze away. Her words came out more as a croak. “You should give a signal, or be dressed more properly.”
    Then, to her chagrin, she darted away.
    Without knocking, she burst into her aunt’s room, closing the door as quickly as she could and leaning back against it.
    “Good heavens, Mary, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Eunice rose from the dressing table. “What is the matter?”
    Mary’s heart raced. “M-Mr. Featherton.”
    Eunice scowled. “If he touched you . . .”
    “No no. He’d been bathing, and when I saw him . . .” Mary began to feel a little foolish. After all, she’d seen the Elgin Marbles. Granted, they’d not been damp, and dark curls hadn’t adorned their bodies, making her want to reach out . . . “It was just that part of his chest”—her face burned—“was—was naked.”
    Her aunt covered her mouth with a hand. Laughter lurked in her voice. “Only a part?”
    She nodded. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
    Eunice put her arm around Mary’s shoulders, leading her to a small sofa against one wall. “Maybe just a little. Though you’ve been kept very close and have not been exposed to many men. I’m sure it must have been a shock. Sit for a moment, and I’ll pour you a sherry.”
    The astonishing part was how much she’d wished to touch him. She wanted to know what his chest felt like. Would it be hard or soft? Would the curls be silky or springy?
    She raised the glass of sherry, taking a sip. How was she to go on with him at Rose Hill? His simple presence in the corridor seemed to have robbed all the surrounding air. “I’ll be fine in a few moments. I never expected to see him there.”
    “Well, Mary, it is his house.”
    “Yes, but it’s been my home!” And her safe haven. She blinked back the tears blurring her vision. She was the one who’d cared for it, and improved the property, and—and now none of that mattered. “Why isn’t