Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(24)

“Maybe you didn’t look,” she said. “Most don’t, I think—not only the aristocracy, but servants and shopkeepers and all manner of people as well. We don’t think about how it is that others live. Perhaps it’s the nature of humans.”

“You may be right,” he replied gravely, “but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t strive for something better.”

She looked at him, at his near-perfect profile and his competent, strong hands. “If you do, then you’ll be unlike most people.”

He merely smiled at her, his lips sensuously curved, and she felt warmth invade her chest at his look. She was conscious suddenly of how close they sat. His arm brushed against hers when he moved, and as the carriage turned a corner she gently rocked against his shoulder.

She inhaled. “And you? Did you have a pet as a child?”

“Yes, several,” he replied. “Dogs and cats. Now I’ve got two hounds—Mole and Timberline.”

“Mole?”

“His ears are very soft,” he said a tad defensively.

“Oh.” She fought not to laugh. “I should like to meet them both.”

“And you shall,” he said.

“Good.” She inhaled. “And now I think it’s my turn for a question. Did you ever kiss my sister?”



Henry wanted to look at Mary at her question, but the London street had become crowded, and he dared not glance away from their course.

He frowned. He could lie, but that wouldn’t be the best way to start a marriage.

Besides, he didn’t want to lie to her.

“Yes, I kissed Lady Joanna,” he said.

There was a short silence from her, and he fought not to fill it with excuses: He’d been engaged to be married to Lady Joanna for over two decades. It was ridiculous to never even test what it would be like to embrace his future wife.

But in the end he simply said, “It wasn’t the same as when I kissed you.”

She knit her brow at that. “What do you mean?”

“I’m quite fond of Lady Joanna,” he said slowly. “I grew up with her, after all. But my regard for her is brotherly. When I kissed her I felt the same as if I’d kissed Becca or Kate: affectionate. Not passionate.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her clench her hands together in her lap. “And that’s not what you feel for me?”

“No.” He shook his head. “What I feel for you is very far from brotherly.”

He could’ve gone on to tell her that he wanted to kiss her again. To take her mouth with his and feel her heat rise. To find out if her breasts were as lush as they looked under her stays. To dip his head to her neck and inhale her scent until it seeped into his bones, a memory never to be forgotten.

But her lady’s maid rode just behind them in the carriage. The maid was probably discreet, but when he told Mary all those things, he wanted to be alone with her with no one to overhear.

So he cleared his throat instead. “And have you kissed any other man but me?”

“No,” she said. “But a few have tried to kiss me.”

If the road hadn’t been so crowded, he’d have whipped his head around to stare at her.

“A…few.” His fingers tightened on the reins. “How many is a few?”

Her voice sounded amused when she answered, “Well, Mr. Makepeace kissed me on the cheek when I left the home, but I don’t think that’s exactly what you mean.”

He began to relax.

“And when I was sixteen the fishmonger’s boy tried to corner me by the back door.”

That made him stiffen.

“Actually he tried again on two more occasions,” she said thoughtfully—and to his growing alarm. “But then he quit coming around. When I was nineteen there was a very brash footman. Tall and blond and with green eyes. His name was Sam and he used to give me posies and hair ribbons, though I didn’t encourage him. I think he would’ve courted me as well, but I’m afraid I found him rather…simple.” She sounded apologetic. “I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a man who had never read a book and looked at me in awe when I asked him his views on the prime minister.” She sighed. “He eventually married one of the scullery maids and went to another situation where he could be the butler. I never regretted turning him away.”

He glanced at her quickly as a belated thought occurred. “Then you weren’t walking out with any man when I found you at Adams and Sons?”

“Would it matter?”

“Yes, it would,” he said as they turned into Hyde Park. “I shouldn’t like the thought that I’d taken you from a man you were interested in.”

“And yet you would anyway?” she asked quietly.

He frowned. “The marriage contract says I must marry you whatever your feelings.”

“What about your feelings?” she asked intently. “What would you feel if you’d known I was walking out with a footman or butcher’s boy?”

“I’d take you as wife in any case,” he said flatly, hoping his blunt answer didn’t horrify her. “I wouldn’t like causing you sorrow, but I wouldn’t revoke my claim to you—even if you’d had a prior romance.”