Page 90 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 25

Connor’s lips brushed against hers. A hundred sparks shot through Margaret. His mouth touched hers again, this time with more firmness, more desire, more hunger, and infinitely more affection than she’d ever experienced. His arms came around her with a firm gentleness as if to protect her. As he explored her mouth, a new sense of safety and belonging trickled over her like a gentle summer rain shower. She discovered wholly new sensations.

When he withdrew, he showered feather-light kisses on her mouth as if bowing his way out. He tucked her in under his chin and held her. Eyes still closed, she sank into him. Warm. Sheltered. Safe. His heart thudded against her cheek, and his chest rose and fell as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He rested a hand on her cheek, his thumb gently caressing. Cherished. Dare she say… beloved?

He drew a sigh, pressed a kiss to her brow, and pulled back. She clutched his arms in a silent plea not to leave just yet. Perhaps not ever.

His breath fanned her cheek. “I feel I should apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not sorry, either.” She opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at this man who’d become so dear.

The edges of his eyes softened and his mouth curved into a gentle smile. Had any man ever looked at her in such a way? He rested his hand on her cheek again while his thumb traveled over her lips, still moist from his kisses.

“I… I think I’m…” He drew a ragged breath. “You have become…”

She held her breath. How would he finish? Special? Important? Beloved?

As he struggled against the words, she offered him a way out. “I think I like you, Connor. Even though you have no understanding of rain clouds.”

He grinned. “And you have no sense of direction.”

She pushed a stray strand of his dark hair back from his eyes and trailed her hand down the side of his face. “I suppose I don’t need one, as long as you keep finding your way back to me.”

“More often than I probably should.” Those remarkable, skilled lips curved. He kissed her brow and then stood. “Regrettably, I have a murder to solve, so I must leave you for the time being.”

“I want to help you.”

He turned thoughtful rather than simply dismissing her. “How well do you know Mrs. Finch?”

“I wouldn’t call us friends, but we frequent many of the same events and have attended each other’s parties. In fact, she sent an invitation to join her for tea, but I haven’t responded yet. Why?”

“She may know something—she may not even know she knows something. She might tell you, a fellow woman and a member of her social circle, things that she wouldn’t tell me.”

She smiled. “I think I have a sudden yearning for Mrs. Finch’s company.”

A look of wonder softened his eyes. “You’re really very remarkable.”

It was all she could do not to preen.

“But I fear for your safety.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’ll take two of our brawniest footmen.”

He nodded. His eyes focused on her lips, but he stood. “Shall I come back later this afternoon to hear how your unofficial interrogation went?”

“You are welcome to come back, any time, for any reason.”

“Be careful making that kind of invitation, because I just might take you up on it.” He grinned, and her heart flipped over. “Until then.” He inclined his head, still smiling, and strode away.

Margaret sent off a note accepting Mrs. Finch’s offer for tea. She’d meant to reply sooner. Though they’d never been true friends, Margaret had a distinct lack of allies and a powerful urge to leave the confining walls of her brother’s house. In addition, it seemed ungracious to refuse the one offer she’d received since Hennessy’s death. Now that she had another purpose, she looked forward to the visit.

Mrs. Finch’s reply came quickly, assuring her that today would be a lovely time for a visit. Margaret ordered the carriage and arranged for two footmen to accompany her.

In the Finch’s ridiculously ornate drawing room, with enough gold and red to decorate a palace, Mrs. Finch poured tea and handed a cup to Margaret. “Thank you for accepting my invitation, Lady Margaret.”

Margaret smiled, perhaps not as warmly as she ought, but still, she appreciated the gesture. “I admit I was surprised to receive it. As you can imagine, most of society still believes I’m a murderess.”

“My husband certainly says that often. He was, to be honest, rather overset when the magistrate exonerated you.”