Page 17 of The Gentleman's Confession
“No, I merely wanted a man’s opinion.” There was not a trace of her usual confidence in her eyes. “How did I do? Do you think he likes me?”
Miles glanced around desperately for a way to avoid answering, unable to keep himself from noticing the fine roomJemma would someday be the matron of. It was adequately sized, with a tall, masculine fireplace highlighting the main wall. Two high-back chairs were placed opposite it on the other end of the room, with Ian occupying one of them. The others were seated in two indigo-blue sofas flanking the fireplace. Lisette sat beside Mr. Bentley, their discussion conveniently keeping them unaware of Miles and Jemma’s conversation.
“Why not ask Mr. Bentley himself?” Miles finally answered. He tried to step around her, but she moved in front of him again.
“I could never be so direct.” She glared. “I was simply curious if something was said over port.” She glanced at his waistcoat and pointed with a blue-netted finger. “What is this?”
As he had not his box of sweets with him at present, he thought she must be referring to his father’s watch he often wore to remember him by. When he looked down, he saw his handkerchief sticking out enough to reveal his initials embroidered in the corner.
“Lisette always stitches laurel leaves around her initials, the same as this one. Did ... did she gift you it?” Jemma’s mouth stretched into a wide, excited grin.
Miles could kick himself for not selecting a different handkerchief to bring.
Jemma gave a hushed squeal. “When did this happen?”
“She gave me a few for Twelfth Night ages ago,” he mumbled. “I was not aware I brought this particular one tonight.” He had made a point never to bring them anywhere, in fact.
She gave him a sideways glance. “Are you certain you did not hope for her to see it on your person?”
“I had no such hope.” Miles shoved the handkerchief deeper into his pocket. The last thing he desired was to give Lisette the wrong impression about his feelings. “You did not see anything either. Let’s sit down before the others think you are partial to me and not Mr. Bentley.”
She blinked rapidly, and her shoulders drew inward. “They wouldn’t think it because they know you are intended for Lisette.” She shook herself and straightened again. “I won’t say a thing, but please don’t hide her gift on my account.” Jemma, notorious for breaching propriety where he was concerned, reached over to pull the handkerchief out again. But he could be as unyielding as she in this matter, at least. He reached for the pocket at the same time. He hadn’t meant to, but he snatched her hand in his own to stop her.
“What is all the whispering about?” Mrs. Manning called from the sofa. “Come join us, you two.”
Miles shifted to hide the fact that he held her hand, when he should have let go. “Jemma ...”
Mrs. Manning’s voice carried over to them. “The young adults in this town are always coming up with ways to improve Brookeside. They are, no doubt, conversing about another project.”
She was not completely wrong.
Jemma glanced down at their hands and visibly swallowed. “Yes? What is it?”
His heart thudded in his chest. How he’d dreamed of holding Jemma’s hand, and for longer than just a mere assistance into a carriage. The day he’d met Mr. Bentley, she had grabbed his hand for a brief moment, and it had only served to tease him. His hold instinctively tightened on hers now, drawing it closer to his chest. Why had this happened now, when she was more out of his reach than ever?
“Please, Jemma,” he said softly, “leave the handkerchief alone.” He hadn’t meant for the tone of his voice to drop or for his thumb to slide across the back her hand, smooth just below the netted fabric. A rush of warmth traveled up his arm to his chest. No matter how many years of being in her company, shealways rendered him this way. Touching her only enhanced his reaction.
She bit her bottom lip, her gaze drawing up to meet his. “All right.” The words came out in a slow, deliberate whisper. “If you insist.”
He drank in her doe-like gaze, wishing to savor her nearness. At long last, he released her. It wouldn’t do him any good to hold on to another man’s future wife, no matter how tempting she might be.
Jemma exhaled a shaky breath, tucking her hands into the folds of her dress. “I suppose you know best. You’ve always had a gentle touch with every situation, and I trust you.” With a short, unaffected smile, she slipped away from him and strode toward the others, taking a seat beside Lisette.
Gentle.
His gentle touch.
A heavy sigh filtered through him. Would that it were a firm grip, capable of holding on to her. He’d once thought no one capable of such a feat, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong. Clenching the hand that had held hers moments ago, he moved to an empty chair closest to Mrs. Manning on the sofa and Ian in the tall-back chair beside him.
“More secrets, Miles?” Ian whispered, his gaze both curious and suspicious.
Always careful not to show his true feelings, he waited until the conversation around them muffled his answer. “It appears the Matchmaking Mama’s are plotting to marry you off next.”
Ian’s gaze turned to steel. “What?”
The word drew the attention of the others.
“What ...” Ian repeated, “an interesting picture on the mantel, Mr. Bentley.”
