Page 47 of The Gentleman's Confession
Miles?
Her heart pounded. A few moments later, she knew for certain. When he had nearly reached her, she fumbled with her hands, not certain how to act. The vision of their dance together stole away all her rational thought and sent her pulse racing fiercely through her body. Miles slowed his mount and alighted before she could regain her presence of mind.
“Jemma, I did not think to meet you on the road today.” His smile faded. “But you are not well. What is it?”
There was not a trace of awkwardness in his manners. Had he not seen the secret in her eyes that night? Did he not know? And hadn’t he said plenty in his own gaze? “I am well ... truly.”
“I am happy to hear it.” His whole presence exuded confidence. More so than she had seen in him the last month. His smile returned. “Are you coming or going?”
“Actually, I was about to turn around.”
“May I walk with you for a bit?”
Why did such a question send fire to her cheeks? “Please.”
Miles nodded, and they fell into step. “I am just on my way back from a visit with Mr. Reed.”
“I see.” She blinked. Such a normal topic. Had she dreamed it all? She must have, for he was acting much too calm. Then, had nothing changed between them? It could be as if they’d never danced. She was relieved and oddly hurt. “How is Mr. Reed? I was sorry to hear about his wife.”
“He is soldiering through, I daresay. He even agreed to play in the cricket match against Bradford.”
“I only just heard of this match. I am happy to hear Mr. Reed will come out for it.”
“It will be good for him.” Miles slowed his pace. “What about you? Are you ready to tell me what happened? Did you make another bungle with Mr. Bentley?”
She gave an airy laugh. “How did you guess?”
“I could never have guessed before this past month. Making bungles is not something typical for Jemma Fielding.”
His eyes drew her in like they had done the night of the dance. She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed it for a moment. “I’ve never felt this kind of pressure before. I cannot even be myself.” Nor could she control herself, it seemed.
“Hmm.” Miles strung out the monotone note, thinking aloud. Had he always looked so dashing while pondering something? “We ought to think of something to distract you. How about some kissing until an idea strikes?”
Her heart stopped just before her feet. “You ... you want to kiss me?” How could he say something of such great magnitude so nonchalantly? As if everything did not hinge upon such an action! Her pulse raced through her veins again, stealing her breath with it.
“I, uh ...” He paused and pulled a small tin box from his waistcoat pocket. “I think you misheard.” He popped open the box. “Kissingcomfit?”
She let out a high-pitched, strangled laugh. “A comfit, you say? Good heavens.” She plucked the bite-sized purple sweet from his hand, grateful to have something else to look at. “I did not know anyone still called themkissingcomfits.” Before he could answer, she shoved the treat into her mouth, willing it to cool her scorched cheeks.
Miles chuckled. “If it was good enough for Shakespeare, it’s good enough for me.”
“You writers must share a sort of kinship, it seems.” A sweet plum flavor suffused over her tongue. “Regardless of its name, I must admit, it is delicious.” She glanced up and regretted it. She sucked on the small confection for all it was worth, not so much to savor the sweetness around the coriander-seed center but to keep her mind off the way Miles moved his mouth around his own comfit.
Had she really believed he wanted to kiss her? Knowing her weakness toward him lately, her mind might have simply heard what it wanted to hear. Thankfully, her errant thoughts ended when Miles abruptly snapped his fingers.
“I have it. You need a diversion. Some Rebel fun.”
Fun? Her? “I’m intrigued.” And it wasn’t just because his eyes were alight and she had to know why. “Do I get to keep score in the cricket match?”
“Unfortunately, we have found someone to take on the task already. I do hope you will come cheer us on instead.”
His hopeful look melted her heart. “I wouldn’t miss watching the Rebels beat those big-headed Bradford boys.”
“That’s the spirit.” Miles laughed, not at all shocked by her strong words. His prominent dimples creased his cheeks and drew her eyes to his mouth. It wasn’t a sweetmeat that came to mind either. She shifted so her bonnet blocked her view of him and, in return, his view of yet another blush.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I am not certain how being an audience for the game will require anyRebelfun.”
“Ah,” Miles said. “My idea for diversion has nothing to do with cricket. I have some charity baskets to deliver tomorrow. Why not join me? Afterward, we can visit a few more affluent families to gather funds for our Greek campaign.”
