After the Kiss by Karen Ranney Page B

relation.
    “No siblings?”
    He was implacable in his curiosity.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “I only wished to know if there was anyone who waits for you.”
    “Only my students,” she said. “And they do not expect me until tomorrow.”
    He looked surprised.
    “I teach the village girls,” she explained.
    “Yet there is London in your voice.”
    “I was born and raised here,” she admitted.
    He sat angled against the seat, the better to make use of the space with his long legs. He commanded the interior of the carriage as he had the terrace.
    “What do you teach them?”
    She smiled. “To read and write correctly. A rudimentary ability in ciphering, some French, and some unremarkable talent in drawing.”
    “Why did you leave London?”
    “I wished a change,” she said, surprised at the ease she felt in telling him. “I suspect it is something contrary to my nature, that I should wish to live in the country while those in London have nothing but contempt for it.”
    “Is that why you’re here now? Because of something contrary in your nature?”
    Perhaps, she silently answered. Or because she very much wanted a kiss from him.
    “Why did you let Babby think you were married?” he asked, as if he knew she would not admit to fascination. Or loneliness.
    “Because men do not often wish to transact business with women. And it is safer to have a customer believe that a husband will protect against any unwelcome advances.”
    “Did Babby give you any difficulty?” His face tightened, his smile vanishing.
    She smiled at him. “No. I had the distinct impression that it embarrassed him to deal with me. I confess to thinking the earl resembles a cute hedgehog. He would look excessively silly leering.”
    “Babby will not appreciate such a comment,” Michael said, his good humor restored. “He fancies himself a man a with a great attractiveness to the ladies.”
    His hand clenched atop the walking stick, his eyes were a direct and piercing blue.
    I want to know why I couldn’t forget you .
    A sentiment she had felt often enough during these past weeks. He felt the same as she. Her conscience whispered to her. She should be cautious. Discreet.
    Instead, she smiled.
     
    She was lovely. Her hair was auburn, a perfect shade against the ivory of her complexion. Her eyes were hazel, their hue a warm green at the moment. But it was her mouth that fascinated him. The upper lip was as full as the lower. A perfect pout, as if nature had crafted this one mouth for kissing.
    One kiss. That was all he wanted. Then, he would be himself once more, focused upon his future. He would execute the Cyrillic cipher and pick out a bride. His thoughts would not be filled with an unknown woman who enchanted him. He would kiss her and she would be only a woman again. Not a Circe.
    She seemed almost innocent sitting there. She had blushed when he’d spoken of her mouth. Yet she’d come to London to sell a lewd book to Babby. A contradiction, a duality of her nature, that she would be both daring and seemingly virtuous.
    He’d been impatient for her arrival, irritated by the delay of it. When she’d entered Babby’s library he’d watched her. There was something about the way she walked. When she’d turned from the window, straightened her shoulders, tilting her head up for his kiss, he’d heard a clarion call of warning.
    This woman would be better forgotten. Except, of course, that he had been unable to do so.
    “Are you wondering why I have not kissed you yet?” he asked. He smiled slightly at the look on her face. A curious combination of eagerness, anticipation, and surprise. He felt himself tighten, his cautionbeing beaten down by a baser, more fervent need.
    Instead of responding, she asked a question of her own. “Where are we going?”
    To perdition, no doubt. But it was not the answer he gave her. “I would be wise to take you somewhere public,” he admitted. “But it is either too early, or there are no amusements