Page 26 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
She hauled in a breath; he tried not to stare at her breasts as they rose high.
Then she swallowed and, with commendable calmness, said, “Thank you.”
He nodded.
Through the shadows, she briefly searched his face, then she regathered her train and inclined her head. “Goodnight.”
He managed to murmur “Goodnight” in reply, although his voice sounded strange to his ears.
She turned and walked away.
Frozen, he stood and watched her glide through the shadows to a door some way beyond his own.
He waited, still watching, until she slipped inside. Only once he heard the door quietly close did the tension holding him ease.
He hauled in a deeper breath, then abruptly frowned, shook his head at himself, and stalked to his room.
He had more pressing things to do than appease his unexpected—unprecedented—fascination.
* * *
An hour later, Addie lay on her back in the bed in her room and listened to Sally snore.
Her thoughts rambled hither and yon, too often leading her into imagining possibilities that, in reality, were not at all realistic. Dwelling on such thoughts was certainly not helpful. Flirting with notions she should really not entertain, especially with the other half of the couple who featured in such scenarios being only down the hall, was akin to self-flagellation.
So she told herself.
It didn’t really help.
When it came to Nicholas Cynster, she was, apparently, helpless to redirect her thoughts.
As for her dreams…
* * *
At eight o’clock the following morning, Nicholas sat at the breakfast table in the small parlor and waited, rather grumpily, for his compatriots to arrive.
He hadn’t had the most restful night, which was odd. Usually, he slept like a log, and he wasn’t at all happy with the notion that a female—no matter who she might be or how enticing having her in his arms had felt or how many lustful thoughts her luscious lips evoked—could so disrupt his sleep.
He chewed through a piece of bacon and ruthlessly smothered the thought of how, if they could see him, his sisters would laugh.
Eventually, Dickie opened the door, saw Nicholas, and looking a trifle bleary-eyed, came in. “Food. Good.”
So saying, Adriana’s brother drew out the chair opposite Nicholas, sat, and lifted the dome covering the scrambled eggs, sausages, and bacon.
Nicholas grunted a good morning, reached for his coffee cup, and saw Dickie’s eyes fix on the mug.
“Oh, thank heaven. Ambrosia of the gods. Where?”
Hiding a grin, Nicholas pointed to the sideboard.
Dickie dragged himself out of the chair and over to the sideboard. After pouring himself a cup of the steaming brew, he closed his eyes and sipped, then sighed. “That’s better.” He opened his eyes and returned to the table with rather more energy.
After several moments of silent eating, because he was curious, Nicholas asked, “Who’s the elder—you or Adriana?”
Dickie waved his fork. “Me. But only by a year.” He paused, considering, then added, “That said, it’s Addie who got all the serious and capable and practical traits, while I inherited a love for a wastrel-ish life.”
Nicholas hid a frown. “That seems rather strange, given your sister is widely known as Miss Flibbertigibbet.”
