Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

right,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “We’re not ready for this.”

      “We aren’t?” She hoped he didn’t hear the mix of relief and disappointment in her voice.

      He kissed her, a long, drugging kiss, the sort that had started all this in the first place. She’d remind him of that, except then maybe he wouldn’t do it again.

      “We won’t give this up,” he said as he broke the kiss, long enough for them both to breathe, and then took her mouth once more, even as he righted them on the squabs.

      “Stay right there,” he said, dropping a kiss on her nose before shifting to the facing seat, in order to open the small door and tell the coachman to proceed to Portman Square.

      And then he was back.

      And she was waiting.

      Each kiss was better than the last, his strong arms around her, her hands on his shoulders, holding him close.

      Each time they broke a kiss, she felt a stab of loss go through her, until he healed her with another kiss.

      All night. Kiss me all night.

      But when the coach came to a halt and the flambeaux outside the earl’s mansion turned the interior of the coach brighter, it was time to say good-night.

      Dany’s bottom lip trembled, and she felt tears stinging behind her eyes.

      “Until tomorrow,” Coop promised in a tone so sincere her toes curled in her evening slippers.

      He kissed the palms of her hands; he pulled her close to take her mouth one last time.

      “I don’t want to leave you here.”

      He may as well have told her he loved her. Dany nearly burst into tears, something she never did.

      “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, astonished at her feeling of loss, even as she could still look into his eyes. “One more?”

      She could see his smile as he tilted his head and took her in his arms again.

      The door opened, and the tiger reached in to let down the steps.

      “You have to go.”

      “I know.”

      “Give me your hand so I can help you down.”

      Dany nodded. Her throat was too full to speak.

      Together, the backs of their hands brushing against each other, they ascended the steps to the door of the mansion, where the light was brighter and Society’s conventions most definitely ruled.

      He kissed her hand as a footman opened the door and Timmerly stepped into the light cast by the candles in the foyer.

      “Miss Foster, it has been my pleasure,” Coop said, bowing over her hand again. “Good night.”

      “Good night, my lord,” she answered, knowing her eyes were begging him not to leave.

      She watched him descend the half dozen steps before he turned, to look at her. “Good night,” he said again.

      “Yes. Good night.”

      “There’s a chill, Miss Foster,” the butler pointed out. “Come inside now and allow Martin to shut the door.”

      “In a moment.”

      Coop reached the open coach door and turned once more.

      “If it’s all right with the countess, I’ll call on you tomorrow at noon. We’ll go for a drive, perhaps a picnic in Richmond Park if the weather cooperates.”

      “Noon would be fine. As would earlier,” she added, and quickly wiped at a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

      Anyone would think he was going off to war, and she might never see him again. Yet that’s how she felt. Lost. Bereft.

      Coop nodded, and stepped into the coach.

      “Now, Miss Foster. The countess would not approve.”

      “Dany—wait.”

      She turned to see Coop all but bounding toward her, her scarf in his hand.

      “You forgot this,” he said, draping it around her shoulders.

      Suddenly everything was awkward.

      “Th-thank you.”

      “My pleasure, Miss Foster.” He leaned toward her and whispered, “What’s his name?”

      “His— Oh. Timmerly. Why?”

      “Timmerly? A word.”

      “Yes, my lord? You wanted something?”

      “Indeed I do. Bloody shut your eyes,” Coop said as he pulled Dany to him for one last, lingering kiss.

      This time, when they broke their embrace they were smiling. Smiles that turned to laughter, at the butler’s expense, surely, but also laughing at the world, life in general, and with a happiness neither seemed ashamed to show to that world.

      “Tomorrow,” Coop said, and bounded down the steps once more.

      “Harry. To the Pulteney. Quickly, before I change my mind.”

      The tiger closed the coach door and climbed back up onto the seat next to the coachman. “Queer as folk, all of them, that’s what I say,” he commented loudly enough for Dany to hear him as the coachman flicked the reins over the horses.

      “Now, Miss Foster?”

      “Yes, thank you,” she said as she stepped inside the mansion, still struggling not to laugh. “I’m a sad trial, Timmerly, do you know that?”

      “There have been rumors to that effect, yes, miss.”

      “So you’re going to tell the countess?”

      “No, miss. His lordship is the hero of Quatre Bras and you are betrothed. Besides, Mrs. Timmerly and I were once young.”

      “But you’re comfortable now.”

      He cocked his head to one side, as if considering her need for an answer. “There’s love, Miss Foster, and then there’s love. The first, when it strikes, is all we believe we can wish for.”

      “And the second?”

      He looked at her for another long moment, and something about him seemed to soften. “And the second, the love that remains, sustains, is all we never realized we needed. Good night, Miss Foster.”

      Dany felt tears stinging at her eyes again, and went up on her tiptoes to kiss the butler’s cheek. “Thank you. You’re really a very nice man.”

      Timmerly cleared his throat with an imperious harrumph. “I’m nothing of the sort. Upstairs, young lady. Martin, close your mouth.”

      “Yes, Martin, before a fly wanders into it.” Laughing, Dany lifted the front of her skirts and took off up the stairs, feeling light as a feather, almost as if she could fly.

      “Decorum, Miss Foster,” Timmerly called after her. “Decorum at all times.”

      Dany turned at the head of the stairs, ready to ascend the next flight, but then hesitated. Mari really should know there are two kinds of love.

      Besides, she knew if she didn’t talk to somebody she probably was going to burst!

      She crept down the hall on tiptoe, not wanting to alert Timmerly as to what she was doing, knocked lightly on the door of the master’s bedchamber and slipped inside. There was still light from the dying fire, and for some unknown reason, a candelabra still burned on a table beside the bed. Was her sister still afraid of the dark? After all these years? She tiptoed across the floor, heading for the partially curtained four-poster.

      “Mari? Mari. Pssst. Mari.” She pushed the curtains