A Holiday by Gaslight(21)

She stopped beneath one of the trees that stood at the edge of the path. Its wide branches provided meager shelter against a sudden flurry of snow. “I was afraid you were made of stone. Until the day I came to your office, I thought you might be.”

“I wasn’t very warm to you then.”

“No, but it was then I realized…” She backed up against the tree trunk as he came to stand in front of her. He was so tall and darkly handsome; his blue eyes fixed on her with a single-mindedness that made her pulse tremble.

How many ladies before her had been the beneficiaries of that intent blue stare? How many had held Edward Sharpe riveted?

A wave of shyness assailed her. She was no experienced London flirt. She couldn’t act the coquette to save her life.

“What did you realize?” he asked.

“That I’d hurt you somehow. Until that day, I hadn’t thought you capable of being hurt. I didn’t think you cared about me one way or another.”

“A foolish assumption.”

“Based on the evidence of my eyes and ears.”

He set a gloved hand on a branch beside her, dislodging another fall of snow. “It worked both ways, you know.”

“What did?”

“The lack of communication between us.”

“I communicated,” she said. “It was you who was always silent and brooding.”

“You did talk to me, I’ll give you that.” His eyes flickered with rare humor. “You had a great deal to say about the weather.”

A smile threatened. She barely succeeded in suppressing it. “It’s a perfectly acceptable subject.”

“And a very boring one.” Ned loomed over her, his arm caging her against the tree. “The snow is very white and very beautiful,” he said in a primly accented monotone. “The sky is very blue and the sun is very bright.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “That’s not how I sound!”

“No. When you’re voicing atmospheric platitudes, you sound a great deal prettier. I believe I could listen to you talk about the weather all day.”

“Good,” she said tartly. “Because I intend to rhapsodize about the snow all through Christmas.”

“Heaven help me.”

She did smile then. And he smiled back at her, holding her gaze. Her heart performed a queer little somersault. How his face changed when he smiled! There was a sparkle in his eyes and a flash of strong white teeth. A brilliance to make her catch her breath.

“Had I known teasing would make you smile so brightly, I’d have done it sooner,” he said.

“I’m sure I’ve smiled at you before.”

“Not like this you haven’t.”

“I’m merely surprised,” she said. “It’s not like you to engage in light-hearted banter.”

“I don’t claim to be an expert at it. I’m certainly not up to Murray’s weight.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Ned’s mouth hitched. “Perhaps I should take another leaf out of Murray’s book.”

“What do you mean?”

“Court you as I would someone of my own class. As I would have courted a stonemason’s daughter.”

Sophie didn’t know whether to be intrigued or appalled. A flood of questions filled her head. She didn’t know which one to ask him first. “Is it really so different?”

“In some ways, I expect. There are still rules—an abundance of them—but a fellow can be a bit easier. He can tease and flirt. Steal a kiss, perhaps.”

Her heart executed another acrobatic gyration. She couldn’t imagine Edward Sharpe teasing and flirting with anyone, least of all her. As for stealing a kiss…

“Would you have kissed me if I was a stonemason’s daughter?” The question tumbled out in an anxious rush of breath.

Ned’s gaze darkened. He took another step toward her, a flash of something in his blue eyes that was almost predatory. “Would you have liked me to kiss you?”

She pressed her back to the tree trunk. The dusting of snowflakes clinging to the bark melted into the fabric of her paletot. “I…I don’t know. Perhaps. If we grew fond of each other.”

“In other words, you’d have preferred I refrain.”

“Well,” she said with sudden frankness, “I don’t think I’d have enjoyed it if you’d simply grabbed me and kissed me. A lady likes to prepare herself for such an event.”

“Fair enough. Are the next nine days enough time to prepare yourself? Because, unless you very strenuously object, I intend to kiss you this Christmas.”

Sophie stared at him, her mouth suddenly dry. It took all of her strength of will to compose herself. To moisten her lips and formulate words more substantial than a breathless squeak. “Under the mistletoe, I presume.”

“Under the mistletoe. Under the gaslight. Under the stars.” Ned bent his head close to hers. “Perhaps all three.”





The rest of the day progressed in a haphazard fashion. After washing and changing his clothes, Ned proceeded downstairs to the breakfast parlor. Eggs, sausages, and other hot foods were arrayed in silver serving dishes on a mahogany sideboard. He fetched a plate and helped himself to a generous portion of each before joining the other guests at the table.