“Anyway,” she said, trying to lighten her tone, “Thomas knew that my father was ailing.”
Edward’s head tipped to the side. “I thought you said it was sudden.”
“It was,” she said hastily. “I mean, I think it’s often like that. Very slow, and then quite quick.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Or maybe it’s not,” she said. Dear God, she sounded like an idiot, but she couldn’t seem to shut her mouth. “I haven’t much experience with the dying. None, actually, except for my father.”
“Nor I,” Edward said. “Not with natural death, at least.”
Cecilia looked at him. His eyes had gone dark.
“I do not count the battlefield as natural,” he said quietly.
“No, of course not.” Cecilia didn’t even want to think about what he had seen. The death of a young man in his prime was far different than the passing of a man her father’s age.
Edward took another sip of his soup, and Cecilia took this to be a signal that she should continue with her tale. “Then my cousin asked for my hand,” she said.
“I take it from your tone that this was not a welcome proposal.”
Her mouth grew tight. “No.”
“Your father did not rebuff him? Wait”—Edward’s hand rose a few inches, his forefinger flexed the way one did before raising a point in a conversation—“was this before or after he died?”
“Before,” Cecilia replied. Her heart sank an inch. This was where the lies began. Horace had not become a menace until after her father had died, and Thomas had never known that he had begun to pressure Cecilia to marry him.
“Of course. It would have to have been because . . .” Edward frowned, pulling his hand from hers and rubbing his chin. “Maybe it’s my head slowing me down, but I can’t keep the timeline straight. I might need you to write this down for me.”
“Of course,” Cecilia said, but her guilt beat inside her like a drum. She could not believe she was letting him think he was the reason the story was so difficult to follow. She tried for a smile, but she wasn’t sure she managed more than a twitch of her lips. “I can hardly believe it either.”
“I’m sorry?”
She should have known she would have to explain that comment. “Just that I can’t quite believe I’m here. In New York.”
“With me.”
She looked at him, at this honorable and generous man she did not deserve. “With you.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Cecilia’s heart melted a little, even as her conscience sobbed. Why did this man have to be so bloody nice?
She took a breath. “Marswell is entailed, and Horace will inherit if something should happen to Thomas.”
“Is that why he proposed?”
She gave him a look. “You don’t think he was overwhelmed by my natural charm and beauty?”
“No, that would be why I proposed.” Edward started to grin, but it quickly fell to a grimace. “I did propose, didn’t I?”
“Sort of. Ah . . .” She felt her face burn. “It was more of, ah . . .” She leapt upon the only possible answer. “Actually, Thomas took care of most of the arrangements.”
Edward did not appear happy with this turn of events.
“It could hardly have happened any other way,” Cecilia pointed out.
“Where was the ceremony?”
She’d thought of that one. “On the ship,” she said.
“Really?” He looked frankly baffled by the whole thing. “Then how did I . . . ?”
“I’m not sure,” Cecilia said.
“But if you were on the ship, when did I . . . ?”
“Just before you left for Connecticut,” Cecilia lied.
“I went through the ceremony three months before you did?”
“They don’t have to take place at the same time,” Cecilia said, aware that she was digging herself in ever deeper. She had more excuses prepared—that the vicar in her village refused to perform a proxy marriage, or that she had not wanted to say her vows until it became absolutely necessary so that Edward might withdraw from the marriage if he changed his mind. But before she could bring herself to utter another falsehood, she realized that he was stroking her finger, right where a ring ought to be.
“You don’t even have a ring,” he said.
“I don’t need one,” she said quickly.
His brow drew into a firm line. “You need one.”
“It can wait, though.”
Then, with a movement so sudden she wouldn’t have thought him capable of it in his current condition, he pushed himself upright and touched her chin. “Kiss me,” he said.
“What?” she practically yelped.
“Kiss me.”
“You’re mad.”
“It’s possible,” he said agreeably, “but I think any man would be quite sane to want to kiss you.”
“Any man,” she echoed, still trying to make sense of the moment.
“Perhaps not.” He pretended to consider this. “I think I might be the jealous sort. So it would probably be quite foolish on their part.”
She shook her head. Then rolled her eyes. Then did both. “You need to rest.”
“A kiss first.”
“Edward.”
He mocked her tone to perfection. “Cecilia.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you making puppy eyes at me?”
“Is it working?”
Yes.
“No.”
He hmmphed. “You’re not a very accomplished liar, are you?”
Oh, he had no idea.
“Finish your broth,” she ordered, trying—and failing—to sound stern.
“Do you mean to imply I don’t have the strength to kiss you?”
“Oh my goodness, you’re insufferable!”
One of his brows rose into a perfectly arrogant arch. “Because I’ll have you know I take that as a dare.”
She pressed her lips together in a futile attempt to hold back a smile. “What has got into you?”
He shrugged. “Happiness.”
Just one word, and it knocked the breath right out of her. Underneath his honorable exterior, Edward Rokesby had a streak of playfulness a mile wide. She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised. She’d seen hints of it in his letters.
All he’d needed to unlock it was a spot of joy.
“Kiss me,” he said again.
“You need to rest.”
“I just napped for three hours. I’m ridiculously awake now.”
“One kiss,” she heard herself saying, even as her mind was warning her not to do it.
“Just one,” he agreed, then added, “I’m lying, of course.”
“I’m not sure it counts as a lie if you confess to it in the same breath.”
He tapped his cheek, reminding her.
Cecilia caught her lower lip between her teeth. Surely one kiss wouldn’t hurt. And on the cheek, even. She leaned in.
He moved his head. Her lips touched his.
“You tricked me!”
His hand came to the back of her head. “Did I?”
“You know you did.”
“Did you realize,” he murmured, his breath hot and seductive against the corner of her mouth, “that when you speak against my lips it feels like a kiss?”