The Secret of Pembrooke Park(54)

“Eventually.”

“I must look ridiculous.”

“On the contrary. You look charming. I confess I’ve never eaten mulberries. But on you they look delicious.” Good heavens, had he just said that aloud? He felt his ears heat. Just what he needed—to draw more attention to his prominent ears.

He collected himself. “Would you care to share my umbrella, Miss Foster? I hate to see you catch your death. We have a ball tonight, remember.”

“Thank you.” She took a step nearer, and he positioned his umbrella over the both of them.

“And what are you doing out in the rain?” she asked.

“Calling on Mr. Ford. Recovering from an apoplexy, poor soul.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“It appears he’ll be all right in time. Thank God.”

“Do you pay calls in all weather?”

“When the need arises, yes, my trusty umbrella and I venture bravely forth.” He smiled, hoping to make light of the comment, not wishing to boast.

“You are very kind, Mr. Chapman. Very good.”

“Kind, perhaps, but only God is truly good. I am all too aware of my failings to allow you to saint me just yet.”

A gust of wind blew the rain at a sharp angle, down Miss Foster’s neck. She shivered.

“Here.” He repositioned the umbrella directly over her head.

“But now you are getting wet,” she protested. “Stand closer,” she insisted, and he was only too happy to comply.

He should have simply given her his umbrella, or walked her directly home. But he was enjoying her company too much to do the practical thing. The rain fell around them like a curtain, blurring out the landscape around them.

“It’s like we’re all alone in the world,” she said. “Under a little canopy of our own.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes again lingering on those berry-stained lips.

“I like the rain, actually,” she said, looking across the pasture. “The way it makes the colors of the leaves and flowers more vibrant. The way it smells. The way it makes you feel thoughtful and yet more alive . . .”

“My goodness, Miss Foster. That is quite poetic. And here you call yourself a practical creature.”

“I am. Usually.”

“Well then, I am glad I’m here to share this rare moment with you.” He held her gaze a moment, then said, “Do you know, I have always thought of mulberries as bird feed.”

“You’ve really never eaten them?”

He shook his head.

“Then you must try one.” She reached out and plucked another from the tree.

“Oh no.” He held up his last pair of good gloves in defense.

“Allow me. My hands are already stained.”

Who could resist such an offer? He allowed her to feed him a berry, enjoying the intimate act of her delicate fingers near his lips, placing a berry in his mouth.

“Well?” she asked in eager anticipation.

He chewed, concentrating as though very serious. “Difficult to tell. A bit sour, and crunchy. Consistency of a grub.”

“That’s the seeds. But it shouldn’t be sour. I must have given you one that wasn’t quite ripe.” She searched until she found a deep purple berry. “Here, try this one. It will be delicious, I promise.”

He ate the berry. Then, unable to resist, he captured her upraised hand in his, bringing her purple fingers to his lips for a slow, lingering kiss.

She sucked in a little gasp of surprise, but not, he thought, displeasure.

“You’re perfectly right,” he said. “Delicious.”

Her voice thick, she whispered, “Would you like more?”

He looked into her wide brown eyes, innocent yet unknowingly alluring. His gaze dropped to her red lips. Oh yes, he wanted more. And knew her lips would be far more to his liking than even her fingertips had been. Instead he cleared his throat. “I never knew mulberries could be quite so tempting. But for now, you and the birds are welcome to them.”

He noticed her shiver again. “Here, take my coat. . . .”

“No, I couldn’t.”

He handed her the umbrella. “Hold this for me a moment.” He shrugged out of his long greatcoat, the cold air biting his bones even through his fitted wool coat. He whipped it around her and settled it over her, enjoying the excuse to allow his hands to linger on her shoulders.

“I don’t want to drag it on the ground,” she said plaintively, glancing down at her ankles. Being several inches shorter than he, it grazed her hem but remained above the damp ground.

“It’s fine,” he assured her.

“But we can’t have you catching cold. I have been here long enough to see how many people depend on you. I would never forgive myself if I caused you to fall ill.”

A small price to pay for one of your smiles, he thought.

Seeing the admiration shining in her deep brown eyes, satisfaction thrummed through him. His hand reached out of its own accord and stroked her cheek. “You had better take care or your words will quite go to my head and there will be no living with me after that.” Living with me? Where had that come from?

She chuckled awkwardly, ducking her head, but he noticed pink tinge her complexion.

“Only teasing, Miss Foster.”