Page 39 of The Mistletoe Countess
“Keats, Shelley, and Doyle,” he added.
She swung her attention to him, his face so close. “I love it when you speak in fiction.”
The kissable grin of his emerged. “I’ll have to remember to place quotations to memory with more diligence, then.”
Without hesitation, she kissed his lovely lips. Something about sharing a bed with the man changed the nature of their closeness. “Will you let me sleep with youeverynight if I’m very good?”
“Darling, I enjoyed your company so well, I plan on your sleeping beside me even if you’re very bad.”
“That’s quite gentlemanly of you, my dear Lord Astley.” She attempted to curb her grin with more allure but failed miserably. “With my fidgeting and talking and insatiable curiosity, I am certain to be bad at times.”
“As am I.”
She squeezed his hand, a thrill running through her at the remem-brance of his deliciously dastardly kisses. “Villainously bad?”
The smile waited in his eyes. “There is a distinct possibility.”
“Then you shall most certainly sleep beside me, especially if your villainy involves kisses like last night.” Her face heated at the thought while her whole body gravitated toward him.
“I can assure you, it’s the most rewarding villainy a man can possibly commit with his wife.”
She studied him, his gaze smoldering her burning cheeks. “Oh dear, I might require a distraction or I’ll do something very improper and kiss you until you moan like you did last night.”
His dark look heated her face even more, and her breath faltered a little in anticipation of possible villainy.
She blinked down at the bag she had in her lap, her notebook poking from the top. “What if we speak of Havensbrooke?”
“What do you wish to know?” The question emerged like a controlled growl, low and deep, doing nothing to distract her from her unruly thoughts.
She drew in a deep breath and attempted a smile. “I feel very much like Jane as she traveled to Thornfield Hall with all its mystery.”
“Fortunately for you, or not so fortunately”—his gaze trailed down to her lips—“you’ve met the master of the hall already. So the mystery is gone.”
“You cannot divert me with your underwhelming attitude. A place with as benign a name as Havensbrooke simply must harbor its own secrets.”
His gaze flicked to her eyes, his features hardening. “You may not enjoy what you uncover, Grace. Not all stories are happy ones.”
The sudden change in his expression evaporated the previous heat of their closeness. Wounds. Grief. They etched lines across his brow and curved his mouth into a frown that pulled at Grace’s heart. “I made a promise before God and everyone I hold dear. Your secrets—all of them—are safe with me.”
He offered a fleeting smile before lowering his gaze to their braided fingers. “I’ve been selfish bringing you here.” His gaze, stormy and crinkle-browed, found hers. “But I believe your heart is strong.”
“And my determination even stronger.”
His gaze caressed her face in a way that appeared to have very little to do with money and much more to do with heart. She wasn’t certain how to speak of secrets. Her deepest, darkest secrets involved simple things like stowing away in the back of a car to ride to town, putting vinegar in her father’s coffee and regrettably having Larson take the blame, trying on her sister’s clothes without asking, and reading books likeUdolphowithout her father knowing.
She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze and sat up straighter. “So this new and shadowy home of mine. You and your mother reside in the west wing, yes? And where exactly is the servants’ hall?”
“The servants’ hall?” His smile tipped slightly. Perhaps he already knew it was a lost cause to keep her from learning of their employees. Smart man, and it distracted him from his melancholy thoughts. “It is referred to as the servants’ wing and is positioned at the back of the house with the kitchens.”
“Ah,” she touched her finger to her lips, solutions, ideas, and even more questions firing awake. “So you keep social rooms in the east wing, but sleep in the south wing, yet the servants’ wing is closer to the north and east parts of the house. It all sounds rather convoluted as far as efficiency.”
“That was at my mother’s bidding. The bedrooms on the second and third floors of the east wing were previously those of my brother, Edward, and his wife, Celia, as well as my mother and father. Since my brother’s death, my mother had the rooms closed off and our bedrooms moved to the south wing.”
Grace studied him a moment longer, noting the hesitation in his voice at the mention of his brother and sister-in-law. He’d only mentioned his brother died from a weak heart, but why did she feel something was left unsaid? “And you’ve already installed electricity in the south and east wings but haven’t added extra bathrooms?”
He didn’t immediately answer, his expression stalled in some unreadable way.
“What have I said?”
