Page 51 of The Gentleman's Confession
Jemma groaned and let her face fall into her hands. Nothing felt right anymore. If Grandmother had known how difficult her last wish would prove to be, she was sure Grandmother would have taken it all back. The life of a rich spinster sounded much simpler than chasing love—or running from it.
When the time came, Jemma let herself out and walked the road to the church. She beat Miles to the bench, so she took a seat and waited for him. The slow trickle of water down the hill into the creek made a pleasant dripping sound, soothing her nerves. She pictured Mr. Bentley’s face and repeated his name like a personal creed, ensuring she would not forget her purpose for their lesson.
She heard Miles’s soft footfalls before she saw him. She turned and lifted her hand in a slow wave.
He lifted his hand in a wave of his own. “I hope you did not wait too long. Mrs. Fortescue needed to speak to me.”
“Is she well?”
Miles grimaced. And was that a blush? “She is considering courtship, actually.”
“I suppose it is never too late, even for a widow of her age, to find love or companionship.” Jemma paused, piecing together Miles’s discomfort with Mrs. Fortescue’s reason for coming. “You’re jesting! She came because she hopes to court you?”
“I plan to speak to Lady Kellen about arranging a match for her.”
Jemma giggled. “Brilliant.”
“For her situation, it might be. For the man she pursues, perhaps not.” He took a seat beside her. “But it is a discussion for another day. I know you are limited in time before your family grows suspicious. Shall we begin our lesson?”
She swallowed. Was it her, or was he sitting closer than normal? She could not remember what normal even was anymore. She caught his scent, and her lips started to smile all on their own.
“I’ll take your smile as a yes. Our next lesson is on the power of touch.”
Jemma choked on dry air. Coughing into her hand, she sputtered, “T-touch?”
Miles’s grin was almost roguish. “Touch,” he repeated. “The ability to physically feel the emotion so often trapped inside us.”
“Is it necessary?”
“Absolutely.” He reached over and picked up her hand. She wanted to act unaffected, but she was very much the opposite. “Do you mind if I remove your glove?”
She bit her bottom lip but nodded. With his other hand, he tugged at the kid glove, the fabric sliding off. Every inch of her trembled, and she willed her body to be still. With the glove out of the way, he took her hand in his and tightened his grip into a gentle hug around her fingers. It was similar to the heart-pounding moment when he’d tucked her hand in his and hadn’t let go the night they’d eaten dinner at the Kensingtons’. But no one was under duress now, and the privacy of the moment made the connection all the more intimate.
With her skin bare against his own palm, she suddenly could not remember the name of the man she was supposed to be thinking about. In fact, she could hardly think at all.
“See, it is not so painful?” Miles’s grin was soft now, more sincere.
“Not at all.”
His thumb drew a slow circle on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arms. “Even the smallest touch can feel intimate when given and received with equal intent and desire. Do you agree?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, those brown eyes asking far more than the question on his lips. It was difficult to process anything besides the feel of her hand in his, but something he’d said struck her. “Are you saying I cannot create a moment unless the other person feels something too?”
“As much as you think I am an expert on the subject, I am not, Jemma. The only thing I know for certain is from my own experience.”
If he was basing his lesson off this moment, could his feelings mirror hers? Was this the sort of moment he was speaking of?
“What about kissing?” she blurted. Every time the word came up in conversation, palpable energy pervaded the mood between them, but she had to know. Eventually, she must kiss Mr. What’s His Name, and the idea was not entirely appealing. She longed to hear Miles’s opinion.
He smiled as if she had just broached his favorite topic. “What about kissing?”
The teasing in his eyes was nearly her undoing. “I brought it up during a previous lesson, and you had strong feelings about it.”
“Yes, but then you were ready to kiss a stranger.” His leaned back and studied her. “Our Society has two general camps: the rakes and the prudes. I prefer you remain a prude ... at least where Mr. Bentley is concerned.” He muttered the last part under his breath.
She barely suppressed a giggle, warming to the topic—or maybe to him. “And is this excessively prim Jemma allowed to kiss before she is wed?”
Miles’s eyes sparked. “Some say it is not advisable to kiss before marriage, but I think there are circumstances where it might be appropriate.”
