Why weren’t they talking? They always talked while waiting for birds. They had perfected the art of speaking to one another so quietly, almost without moving their mouths, that no bird in the vicinity paid them any mind. But Adam, for whatever reason, wasn’t talking.
Neither was she. Susan racked her brains for any topic of conversation that didn’t seem unutterably stupid, before giving up with an internal sigh of frustration.
Fine. Wonderful. They would remain in awkward silence forever and ever, unless something dreadfully exciting happened in the next few moments to save them from their own awkwardness. Or perhaps, if she summoned up a scrap of bravery, she could simply ask Adam why the atmosphere between them had curdled like milk in the space of a single night.
She opened her mouth, only to find herself interrupted by a flutter of wings. Susan turned back to the tree, alive with excitement—only to sigh audibly as two doves settled on a branch.
Doves. So common on the Merston estate that they were the equivalent of London rats. Susan stared mutinously at the birds, until Adam’s quiet laughter stopped a deeper frown from appearing on her face.
‘Don’t needle me.’ She looked at him with a note of warning. ‘I’m very happy about the doves. It would be churlish not to like doves. They’re the animal of peace, after all.’
‘Don’t pretend you’re not disappointed.’
‘I’m not disappointed.’
‘What is it you often say to me, when I’m irritated about seeing yet another blackbird? Every sighting of a bird is a blessing, no matter what the bird.’
‘It’s a dove. You have thousands upon thousands of doves at Merston. Doves drip from the ceiling on a rainy day.’
Adam’s smile felt like a small victory. ‘You ask me not to pretend to be disappointed. I think you’re pretending not to be excited.’
Susan smiled back. This felt closer to normality, to the comfortable humour that they always shared. ‘I can’t get excited about doves. Unlike Buttercup, or the dogs and cats, doves don’t respond to any of my overtures.’
‘Give them time.’ Adam’s smile faded as he turned away from her. ‘No beast can resist you in the end.’
He had said something similar a thousand times before. Her ability to coax even the wildest animals had always been a source of humour between them. So why, on today of all days, did the phrase ring with a strange significance?
Talking didn’t work today. That was evident enough. They had to sit in silence and watch some doves, some immensely dull doves, in the hope of an eventual woodpecker—and if Susan could ignore Adam until the woodpecker arrived, ignore his altered manner and grave expression, perhaps she could find some measure of peace.
Doves were peaceful. That was their traditional role, after all. Susan settled down to watch some cooing, some ruffling of feathers, and very possibly the eating of an insect or two.
Her eyes widened, all of her tension returning in an instant, as the doves began to kiss.
Doves kissed. Of course they kissed—a lot of birds did. They bent their head towards one another, tenderly touching beaks, making a small, intimate world from the patch of sky that rested between them both. Quite why these particular doves had to kiss here and now, when she was already feeling most unsettled, seemed nothing less than a poke in the eye from Nature herself.
She and Adam had watched innumerable pairs of doves coo and kiss to one another. They had seen a good deal more, over the course of their observations—Nature was Nature, after all, and beasts were beasts. They had always been able to refer to the acts in a scientific manner, never spending undue time discussing them.
Today felt different. Everything felt different. Susan, watching the birds, spoke without thinking. ‘It… it comes naturally to them.’
‘What comes naturally?’
If she said it, she was fairly sure she’d die of embarrassment. But this was Adam—she’d never felt embarrassed in front of him before. She couldn’t begin now, even with her stomach in knots and her face hot with nameless, frightening sentiment. ‘Kissing.’
If the silence before had been awkward, the silence now was another level entirely. Susan wilted in her shoes as she watched the blissfully cooing doves, now snuggling against one another with a tender nipping of beaks.
What on earth had possessed her? She had never mentioned kissing in front of Adam before. She had never given any thought to the subject. If anything, she had pushed away every consideration of that kind when they were together.
It had to be the appearance of Lord Walcote in her life. It made sense that she would think of kissing, now that she had a suitor. But what didn’t make sense, no matter how much she tried to logically consider the problem, was how little Lord Walcote featured when she thought of kissing someone.
In fact, he didn’t feature at all. Susan took a deep, dizzying breath, trying to focus on the foolish birds, sure that her outburst had broken something fundamental between her and Adam. Something that she wouldn’t be able to get back, however hard she tried.
‘I don’t think it comes naturally to them.’
‘... Pardon?’
‘I don’t think—think these sorts of behaviour come naturally to birds. I don’t think it happens perfectly the first time.’ Adam’s voice was different, slower, as if choosing the correct words to say very carefully indeed. ‘I think they practice.’
‘They’re birds. I doubt they practice at anything they do.’
‘Come now. We’ve watched them learning to fly. They practice flapping their wings, flying shorter distances, building their resolve.’ There was the old Adam, the Adam that knew everything under the sun but never made her feel stupid. ‘They practice flying. They practice feeding.’
‘So… so they practice kissing.’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose it makes sense.’ How difficult it was to speak dispassionately with one’s mind in turmoil. ‘It’s an—an important behaviour. It encourages the formation of strongly bonded pairs.’
‘Quite. One wouldn’t wish to do it badly.’
‘No. One wouldn’t.’ Susan cleared her throat. ‘Especially with the person that has been—has been chosen for you to kiss. So to speak.’
The air shimmered around them, full of words that couldn’t be said. Susan tried to keep her attention on the doves, sure that they would fly away and turn the moment to ash before the minute was out. She should keep silent now, silence was best, why couldn’t she just shut up…
Oh, Lord. She was going to speak again, pushed onward by a force that she could neither understand nor name.
‘If someone wishes to kiss well, then, they should practice.’ Her words came out too loud; for a moment the doves stopped, looking anxiously around them, before continuing their kisses in a slightly more conservative manner. ‘Is that your opinion?’
‘I think it would be very unwise not to practice.’
‘Yes.’ Susan paused, her throat still very dry. Every word felt like a step into unknown territory. ‘I think you are correct.’
Adam was still looking hard at the kissing doves. Almost as if he were afraid of looking at her—but that would make no sense, because he had never seemed frightened of looking at her before. Apart from yesterday night, at the Witford Ball.
Was she making a mistake?
No. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt frightening, very frightening indeed, but also entirely right. Susan took a deep breath, hoping her voice wouldn’t waver as she spoke.
‘Would…’ Lord, it was difficult to phrase even though it was ostensibly simple. ‘Would you help me practice?’
Adam blinked as he turned. ‘Did you—’
‘Ask. Yes. I’m asking you.’ Susan quickly brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Practice didn’t mean things had to be perfect from the first moment, and Adam had certainly never criticised her wild hair, but she suddenly felt unkempt. Unkempt, and ill-equipped for the moment at hand—whatever this moment was. ‘But you d
on’t have to, of course—I’d never make you, and I certainly wouldn’t beg you, and really, now that I think about it it’s a foolish request—’
Adam moved closer. ‘I’ll do it, if you want me to.’
‘I want you to.’
It was only as Adam’s lips met hers that Susan realised she hadn’t asked him about his experience. Of all the things that she and Adam had discussed over the years, romance and its auxiliary arts were a subject that they had never covered.
Had Adam ever kissed someone? Had he ever done more than kissing, with a woman that he had never mentioned to Susan?
Strange to remember this only now. Strange that a stab of jealousy moved through her at the thought of Adam doing this with someone else—anyone else but her. But as the feeling of his lips on hers flooded her, sparks setting every nerve and bone in her alight, Susan knew that it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered apart from Adam’s kiss, gentler than a butterfly, as rich and strange as a sunrise. Susan’s knees threatened to buckle, her body in rebellion over something as light as the touch of his mouth.
Then, just like that, it was gone. Susan brought two fingers to her lips, touching them in wonder as she stared at Adam.
For a moment Adam’s face reflected the liquid, golden feeling running through Susan. He looked transfixed. When he coughed, looking away, Susan felt her soul return to earth with a thump.
‘Well.’ At least his voice mirrored how Susan felt inside. Husky, low, a touch of verdant forest running through it. ‘That’s kissing.’
If that was kissing, then she didn’t know how anyone did anything else. The wider government of the world would be in ruins, absolute ruins, if everyone found out about kissing.
She wanted to do it again. Wanted it very much. A dozen woodpeckers could fly past, each one carrying an egg wrapped in a roll of silk, and she wouldn’t care in the slightest. The awkwardness fell over both of them again, tension wreathing through the clump of trees, but her growing need forced Susan to be brave.
‘They’re still doing it.’ She pointed to the doves. Fortunately they were still exchanging affectionate pecks; she hadn’t checked, and luckily Adam hadn’t checked either. ‘Look.’
‘Well? What does that mean?’
‘It means that—that a single kiss doesn’t seem to be adequate practice, where nature is concerned.’ Susan kept pointing, hoping that the birds weren’t about to fly away. She didn’t want to look at them when looking at Adam was an option. ‘If nature is to be our model, we’re failing.’
‘Goodness.’ Adam looked at the doves. When he looked back at her, Susan was almost sure she caught a glimpse of gratitude in his eyes. She had to be imagining it—Adam was performing a favour for a friend, and nothing more. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I know I’m right. I’m nearly always right.’ Susan nodded. ‘So—so we should continue practicing.’
‘I can only agree.’
‘Well then.’ Susan stood still, her hand falling to her side. ‘Continue.’
She closed her eyes. After a short, breathless moment of anticipation, she opened them again with a touch of annoyance. Adam was staring at her, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Why did he have to look at her like this now, at this precise instant of vulnerability? ‘Why aren’t you kissing me?’
‘I have taught you how to be kissed. Taught you the elementals of it, at least.’ Adam paused, his eyes briefly darting to Susan’s mouth. ‘Now you need to attempt a kiss.’
‘I do?’
‘Yes. There are two parts to a kiss—kissing, and being kissed. If you’ve done one, you have to try the other.’ Adam’s smile grew a little. ‘That’s the rule. Isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Perhaps there really were rules for kissing. Perhaps there was a little room in Middle Temple, where the lawyers and judges lived, dedicated to the legislation of kissing. The thought was almost comforting; it meant that they weren’t breaking new ground, she and Adam, even if it felt as if they were. Even if it felt as if every breath, every soft touch they had shared, brought a new wave of sensations that had never previously existed. ‘I suppose it must be.’
‘Then try.’
‘Kiss you?’
‘Kiss me.’
Susan leaned forward. Closing her eyes, the beat of her heart rapid in her throat, she was sure that something would go terribly wrong. She would fall over, or bruise him somehow, or… or she would die, die instantly and silently, thanks to the sheer tension of the moment…
… but no, no, no. As soon as her lips met Adam’s, things were as they should be. The world stopped on its axis for a single, precious instant, pleasure filling her like wine, the soft exploration the only thing that meant anything. Yes, practice was needed, it was always needed—but it came naturally, so naturally, if one surrendered to the moment. One’s body obeyed one’s heart without argument.
A teasing shiver ran through her as Adam’s lips parted. Still so soft, so gentle, coaxing rather than ordering… his tongue brushed lightly against the roof of her mouth, shockingly unexpected, and a sigh of pleasure left Susan’s throat before she could stop herself.
She pulled away, her cheeks hot. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For—for making that sound.’ Susan swallowed. ‘Is it normal?’
Adam’s expression showed a unique combination of humour and frustration. ‘Yes. If you’re doing it right.’
‘Oh.’ Now there was even more reason to be embarrassed. ‘So I was—I was kissing you correctly?’
Adam’s soft nod made everything alright again. How the man could cause such contentment with a single gesture, Susan would never know. ‘More than correctly.’
‘More than correctly? Such high praise.’
‘Perfectly.’ Adam paused. ‘You were—you were perfect.’
He had never called her perfect before. Not once. He had never complimented her with such feeling, either—or perhaps he was being as he always was, and it was her own soul that was altering everything beyond recognition. Susan brought a hand to her chest, worrying for a moment that her fiercely beating heart would master her completely.
She could ask him what he meant by it. She could interrogate her own mind, her own conscience, for answers. But neither of those perfectly rational responses held the appeal of leaning towards him again, watching him lean towards her in kind, their mouths meeting in the middle of the space between them.
This wasn’t kissing, or being kissed. This was both, both at once, and it was easier than Susan had ever imagined. Easy to accept every overture he made, offer experiments of her own—easy to move her hands to his face, her fingers tingling as she touched his cheekbones. Easy for sigh after sigh to leave her throat, small, intimate noises of pleasure and want, mirrored by Adam’s low growl that promised infinitely more. This was kissing as it should be, their bodies close, every finer feeling slowly but surely engulfed by a hunger that she had never experienced before. A hunger that was as pleasurable as it was frustrating—a hunger that could be met if they kept doing this, exactly this, with Adam’s hands slowly encircling her waist—
‘Well I didn’t expect to actually see a woodpecker. I feel as if the sight was lost on me. Should we tell Adam that—’
‘Ssh! They could very well be nearby.’
‘But we really did see the woodpecker! What are the chances!’
Their friends’ voices were far too loud, and far too close. Susan and Adam sprang apart, tangling themselves in branches and twigs as the doves flew away in alarm. Susan busied herself with brushing away stray leaves from her skirts, her hands still tingling, her body in fierce rebellion at the sudden cessation of pleasure.
She had never hated anyone, not even a small amount—but in that moment, she hated all of her friends profoundly. She couldn’t quite understand what they were discussing—why was Samuel so excited at having seen a woodpec
ker, given that it was the entire reason they had gone to the woods?—but it didn’t need to be discussed here, or now, or so very loudly. She glanced at Adam as he adjusted his coat, not wanting him to catch her looking, and found herself obscurely relieved that he seemed as angry as she was.
‘Well.’ It was difficult to speak normally. Difficult to do anything normally, after what she had felt. ‘Thank you for the practice.’
‘Not at all.’ Adam still wasn’t looking at her. It was almost a relief; Susan didn’t know if she would be able to bear the force of his gaze. She had never been frightened of her oldest, best friend before—but could this feeling really be called fear, when other words were available? ‘I’m glad it helped.’
‘Yes.’ Susan swallowed the pain in her voice as she spoke, walking slightly ahead of him. ‘I’ll be able to go out into the world and kiss with sufficient expertise.’
It wasn’t a cruel thing to say. If anything, it was accurate. But as Susan said it, she felt a stab of sadness that seemed disproportionate to the situation at hand—and when she caught a fleeting look at Adam’s face, the same sadness was evident.
Watching birds. All they were meant to do was watch birds. Woodpeckers couldn’t lead to the same sadness as kissing could.
A pity, then, that she wanted to kiss him again.
The Merston estate always looked wonderful in the morning, before the sun had completely rose. When the light grew brighter, it was easier to see the damage the house and grounds had sustained from the tramplings and nibblings of assorted animals. The former earl had fought furiously against the invasion of whiskery, bright-eyed beasts for many years, before finally conceding to the intellectual curiosity of his son.
Adam, looking wearily out of the window after a sleepless night, noted with a sigh of surrender that the badgers were digging a set at the edge of the woods.
‘Well.’ He looked at Lorenzo the parrot, sighing deeply as he considered the events of the previous day. ‘I don’t suppose you have any advice.’
He waited for Lorenzo’s wisdom. The parrot, a beast of indeterminate age and a slightly ragged appearance, had been rescued from a ship five years ago and sold to Adam at the county fair. Its vocabulary, gained from years at sea among the roughest sort of sailor, was vast and filthy enough to ensure that none of the more impressionable housemaids were asked to clean its cage. Alas, in this moment of crisis, the bird had no wisdom for him.
A Most Unusual Earl Page 3