Page 48 of Married By Twelfth Night
“The one I had before we left, which now feels like the pulse of a beast. I apologize, but I must return home to bed.”
“I won’t ask about that analogy, but of course, you must return home. It was silly to come here for Christmas dinner at all.”
“Nonsense,” Ruth said. “You must stay. We cannot both return home.”
“You are my chaperone, remember?” Grace stuck the finger of her glove between her teeth. It would not take long to speak to Richard. She did not have to stay for dinner. “I wonder if you could return home and then send the carriage back for me. I will stay long enough to make my apologies, and then return home again.”
Ruth lowered her hand. “If that is what you wish. I am sorry to ruin your evening.”
“Not at all.” She wished her sister better and climbed down from the carriage. By the time she reached the doorstep, the conveyance departed behind her, and there was no turning back. She knocked andwaited, shivering and constantly flipping obnoxious curls away from her face.
What would she say to Richard? How did she confess her feelings to a man she had spent years criticizing?
“I hadn’t meant for it to happen . . .” She shook her head. No, that sounded like an apology. That was not what she wanted. “It wasn’t your appearance, so don’t let this feed your vanity.” Good heavens. Did she plan to chase him away too? She desired to be direct and concise. Flustered, she shouted into the wind the confession she wished to make. “Just kiss me again, will you?”
The door swung open as she belted the words. The butler’s eyes widened.
She winced. “Those were, er, lines to a play.” She ducked inside, wishing she could toss out the tree in the corner and use the empty flower pot to cover her flaming cheeks.
If only life was so convenient.
“Where might I find Miss Graham?” Her voice squeaked out the words.
The butler accepted her cloak. “Miss Graham is changing for dinner and said to wait for her in the drawing room.”
“Excellent,” she muttered. She hurried past him, her hand casually shielding her eyes from his. She rubbed her icy hands together, chastising herself with every step toward the drawing room. Once inside, she moved straight to the warm fire crackling behind the grate. Not five feet from the fire, her feet suddenly stopped. There was Richard prostrate on the sofa and fast asleep.
Was he ill?
She forgot all about the chill she’d taken outside and hurried to his side.
“Richard?”
His eyes did not so much as flutter open and his entire form held eerily still. She hastily removed one glove and reached to set her hand on his forehead to see if he had succumbed to a fever. An inch from his skin she hesitated. Her pulse began to pound in her chest. If she woke him, she would have to tell him her secret.
But that was why she was here, wasn’t it?
Was she ready?
She shook her head. If he were ill, he needed assistance. That is what mattered at the moment. As slowly and carefully as she dared, she set a few fingers against his skin. Warmth radiated there, but not the powerful heat of a fever. Her shoulders dropped and relief soared through her. She had never known Richard to sleep during the day, but at least he was healthy.
She lightly brushed his forehead as she removed her hand and let it drop to her side. Now what? She studied his handsome face, trying to decide if she should run back home or wake him and get it over with.
Tilting her head, she admired the lines of his cheekbone down to his jaw. Maybe itwashis appearance that started her feelings for him. He was so very nice to look at. Glancing over her shoulder to assure Bridget was not yet there, she lowered herself to her knees for a better look. Why not? This might be her only chance to do so. If he rejected her and married her sister, she would probably try to never look at him again . . . ever. How else would she be able to control her increasing attraction to him?
She would just admire him for a moment and then she would wake him and . . . and . . . her train of thought waned as her eyes wandered to his mouth. She found herself leaning toward him. What if she kissed him while he slept? Just in case that could never happen again too. With her glove in her fist, she set her hand carefully on his shoulder and dipped her head.
She was mere inches away when Richard’s eyes cracked open.
“Gracie?” he whispered.
Her limbs became paralyzed with shock, and she couldn’t answer him.
His brows lowered. “Am I dreaming?”
“Yes,” she blurted, on impulse.
“Good.” His arm came up around her back, and she couldn’t breathe. And then with a gentle pull, he drew her closer.
