Page 44 of A Fragile Enchantment

“You’re like me, then.”

Like me.Being claimed so casually filled her with a warm sense of belonging.

She glanced down at her sketchbook, unable to bear the intimacy of holding his gaze any longer. “Ehm… Kit?”

He reacted bodily to the sound of his name. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean toward her. It was undeniably wrong for someone of her station to address a member of the royal family by his first name, but she supposed they’d abandoned propriety long ago. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, finding herself suddenly shy.

“Do you want to see the sketches?”

“All right.”

He took the sketchbook from her. Slowly, he paged through, his expression entirely unreadable. Anxiety knotted itself tight in her stomach. All this time, she’d wanted to prove him wrong about her and her craft. But right now, it went beyond that petty squabble, her tender wounded pride. She wanted to make him happy.

When he handed it back to her, he said, “They’re… nice.”

Niamh promptly choked on her own saliva. “What did you say?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he said sourly. “I know you heard me.” Self-consciousness flickered across his expression, there and gone in an instant. “Do whatever you want with the design. I trust you.”

It might have been the most generous thing any client had ever given her. Total trust. Her heart swelled with excitement. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She sprang to her feet. “Are you absolutely sure?”

He took a step back. “Yes. I am absolutely sure.”

“Because if youreallylet me have full rein—”

“I said I’m sure. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“No taking it back now,” she singsonged.

He threw up his hands. “Enough. You win.”

With that, he retreated to the far corner of the greenhouse, watering a plant she was sure he’d watered at least once already. She didn’t know what else to do with herself. She flopped back onto the makeshift chaise of burlap and grinned up at the ceiling, flushedand dirt-streaked and giddy with triumph. She’d extracted his approval at last. And, it seemed, his friendship.

Was that really what this was?

Kit.She held the shape of his name in her mouth, her tongue pressed softly to the back of her teeth. Her skin still tingled with the memory of his touch, of the way he’d looked at her with such tender focus. There had been nothing but the thinnest layer of silk between their bare skin. He hadn’t even been wearinggloves. Heat pooled within her. Her fingertips brushed her lower lip and pulled softly as she imagined…

She shot bolt upright.Oh, no.She had not just crossed a line today. She’d leapt clear over it and left it miles behind her. A girl like her wanting Kit Carmine would not—could not—end well.

13

When Niamh opened the door to her studio, two figures were lurking by the open window. She almost screamed but clapped her hands over her mouth before any sound could escape.

“Ah,” Sinclair said. “That’s what you meant by jumpy.”

As she blinked the spots out of her vision, he and Kit came hazily into view, both of them dressed for riding: Sinclair, in a blue velvet waistcoat and matching top hat, his neckcloth tied in a ribbon; Kit in an olive-green overcoat and a black hat, tapping a riding crop impatiently against the leather of his boots. Sunlight fell over him like a sheet of water, drawing out the shades of red in his dark hair. Niamh nearly groaned aloud.

It had been two days since she’d seen him in the greenhouse, and time had not whittled the edge off her wanting. Up until now,she’d thought it would be easy. Itshouldhave been easy. After all, she’d thought him handsome the moment she first saw him. His wretched personality had disabused her of any serious attraction for a time. Only now, she understood that every last one of his emotions manifested as either hostility and sarcasm—and more damning still, she’d seen how hopelessly awkward and fussy he was beneath that one shoddy defense. She was fond of Kit Carmine, unsociable as he was, and it was becoming a problem.

Niamh slammed the door shut behind her. “What are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for you,” Kit replied. The warm, familiar rasp of his voice made her feel prickly all over with heat.

“Have I missed some appointment?”