Two gloved fingers pressed against Will’s lips. “Hush, Mr. Dorning. It was a simple kiss. I rather enjoyed it.”
Will grasped those fingers in his own—drat all evening gloves to the dung heap.
“I wasn’t apologizing for the kiss, simple though it might have been.” His feelings for Susannah Haddonfield were not simple—longing, respect, desire, protectiveness, resentment, and sheer weariness blended to create a persistent sense of unrest.
Her ladyship retrieved her hand and rubbed her fingers across her brow again. “Your kiss was simple and enjoyable, which is apparently of no moment. If you’re not apologizing for that kiss, then what does that leave?”
Should Will be heartened, that his marital unavailability had made no impression on a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about?
Moonlight shone through the garden’s trees to make shadow patterns on the carpet. As the breeze stirred the leaves, the patterns shifted silently. Will would have enjoyed watching those soft, shifting patterns while holding Lady Susannah’s hand.
“Rubbing your ears helps,” Will said.
“Mr. Dorning, have you had too much punch?”
Will’s problem was a lack of kisses, not a surfeit of punch. “You have a headache,” he said, tugging off his gloves. “Rubbing your ears… Hold still.”
He knelt before Lady Susannah and gently grasped both of her ears between his thumbs and forefingers.
“Relax, my lady, and if you’re offended two minutes from now, I will add this to the list of items I must apologize for.”
He gently pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and tugged her on ears, moving his grasp outward, then repeating at a slightly different angle. Dogs were calmed by this particular caress provided it was done slowly and smoothly. For the first week in Will’s care, Samson had refused to fall asleep unless Will had been stroking his ears.
“That is most…odd,” Lady Susannah said. “But…soothing.”
To them both, though Will still wanted to kiss her. “If you’re ever around a nervous dog, try this. They’ll love you for it. Just don’t pinch too hard or move too quickly. The idea is to ease the worry away, to tug it free, not demand surrender of it.”
A few more silent, peculiar moments passed. The thumping, stomping gavotte ended, thank the heavenly bodies, and beyond the door, people moved from the ballroom to the terrace.
Lady Susannah’s gloved hands grasped Will’s wrists. “You can stop now. I do feel better.”
While Will felt like howling at the moon. He ceased his devotions to her ears, but cradled the back of her head against his palm.
“Last night, when I said I couldn’t marry you, I presumed you’d want to marry me. That was arrogance on my part. I put you in an awkward position, and I’m sorry.”
They were very close, Will kneeling before her ladyship, her hands on his wrists, her forehead resting on his shoulder. She smelled of good old English lavender, a country scent that made Will homesick for Dorset.
“We needn’t speak of it again, Mr. Dorning,” she said, straightening. “Your apology is accepted, though entirely unnecessary. Any woman would count herself fortunate to merit your addresses. I have put myself in an awkward position, however, and you might be the only person who can get me out of it.”
*
“Bloody big bugger to be hiding him under the very noses of the nobs,” the first man observed.
“Bloody mean bugger,” the second fellow muttered, using a rake to nudge the water pail closer to the door of the stall. “If ’e takes to barkin’ again, don’t expect me to put a muzzle on ’im.”
In a maneuver the men had coordinated over the past several days, the first handler tossed food into one corner, and while the dog was devouring every scrap, the second quickly changed out pails of water. The stall reeked of soiled straw and dog urine, but more significantly of canine rage.
“Don’t expect me to walk him down to Knightsbridge,” the first fellow said as the dog snapped up the last of his food. Kitchen scraps weren’t enough to keep a big animal like this fed, but they’d keep him mean.
“The baiters are used to dealing with the mean ones,” his companion replied, double-latching the stall door. “They like ’em mean. The meaner the better.”
“He’s mean enough. He’ll bring a pretty penny.”
They fed the other dogs, none as large or as loud as the black mastiff, but then, the other dogs had been penned up longer. They all grew resigned eventually, even the big, mean ones.
“I’m for a pint,” the first man said, “and then we’ll get the nets and go for a walk. Come along, Horace. There’s always a few strays about, and some of ’em are bound to be suitable for our purposes.”
The new mastiff, the biggest and meanest of the lot, was already growling and pacing again before the men had even left the dingy, smelly stable.