by C. J. Archer
"I'm not a child." The petulance in her response destroyed her argument. She sighed. Perhaps Blake was right and she was being petty to deny it—she was an innocent when it came to matters between men and woman. Carnal matters.
That truth made her want to hide far away from this man. He saw too much. Knew too much. Thrilled her too much. She might not remain an innocent if she stayed in his presence for too long.
But she couldn't hide, not from him and not from the way he made her feel. Her heart wanted to leap out of her chest even as her head wanted to bury itself in the ground.
"You're right," she moaned into her hands. "How am I going to write about kissing when, when..."
"When you've never kissed anyone?"
Lord, it was so humiliating. She was twenty-two and had not even teased a peck from the stable boy before her father had let him go. Her female cousins had all experimented with the servant lads before they met their husbands. It was how things were done. But Min had always been too busy studying and the experience had passed her by.
She said nothing. She couldn't admit he was right or ask him to show her what a kiss felt like, even though it was all in the name of research for her play.
His eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sky as his gaze locked on her mouth. "Do you think if someone kissed you that you could write about it?"
"Well...yes." Perhaps she could ask Ned—.
All thoughts of Ned were sucked from her mind when Blake leaned across the table and cupped her face in both his hands.
"For the betterment of the play, you understand." His low rumbling voice sent vibrations chasing across her skin.
And then he kissed her.
Blake knew it was one of the most foolish ideas he'd ever had. She went as rigid as a pole. Her lips were tight beneath his, still shaped in the perfect 'Oh' of her shock. She didn't reach for him, didn't sigh against him, didn't even close her eyes. It was like kissing a rock.
Then, slowly, the rock began to crumble. She closed her eyes and murmured something he didn't quite hear. Her lips softened and opened to him and he took that as a sign to deepen the kiss. She tasted of wine, smelled like lavender, felt like a Goddess.
He knew he should stop, should consider her reputation. They were in a public place for God's sake. He hadn't meant to take it this far. It was supposed to be a simple kiss, a peck on her lips to loosen her, shake up the prudish little miss.
But there was nothing simple about it. Not for him. Heat curled through his body, licking and teasing him until it threatened to swallow him whole. The familiar ache in his groin didn't surprise him either but the other ache, low in his belly and higher up beneath his ribs, did.
He'd worry about that later. He didn't want the kiss to end. Not ever. Right now, in this moment, everything felt right with the world.
That was something to cherish.
Somewhere, someone moaned. He pressed a hand to the back of her head, and—
She pulled away.
He silently swore, not just because she'd broken the kiss but because cold, hard realization began to sink in. He'd just done a very foolish thing. He was going to pay for that kiss. He was certain of it.
"What was that?" she mumbled.
"A kiss." He spoke low, to keep as much control over his voice as he could.
"But...your tongue, it...was, er..."
"Inside your mouth?" He smiled. He couldn't help it. She was so sweet and—.
Sweet! Christ. Too much bloody poetry.
"Well, yes," she said, turning scarlet.
"That's how men and women kiss." He snorted. "Don't worry, it means nothing."
Her big gray eyes blinked slowly. It hadn't meant nothing to her. He could see her digesting her feelings, thinking over what that kiss did mean. Could she see from his face what it meant to him? That it had affected him more than any simple kiss should?
Bloody hell he hoped not.
"No one saw," he said, forcing himself to look away from those big eyes and swollen lips. "Your reputation is safe."
"Oh. My reputation. Yes. Good."
He stood up. "I have to go." Somewhere. Anywhere.
"Wait!" She stood too, reached for him, but he pulled away before she could touch him. She looked down at her outstretched hand then pulled it in to her chest as if he'd bitten it. "There was something I wanted to ask you. If only I could remember what." She frowned. "Oh, yes, that's it! Why are you helping me? And I want an answer this time."
Of all the questions she could have asked, that was the last one he expected. She was as tenacious as one of his brother's hounds on the scent of a hare. "I had nothing better to do this week," he said.
She crossed her arms. "You are not the sort of man who does things without a reason. And I don't want to hear excuses about other people's secrets this time."
He was wrong. She was much too perceptive to be an innocent. "Let's just say I have my own reasons for wanting to be a part of Lord Hawkesbury's Men. Reasons I'd rather keep to myself."
Her eyes narrowed as if she would challenge him. "Whatever it is," she said, "I want nothing to do with it."
"Good, because you will have nothing to do with it."
"And it better not jeopardize my play."
"It won't." Hopefully she didn't hear the heartbeat of hesitation before he spoke.
"Good." She tossed her head. "Now, I have to go home. I can't sit around kissing you all day no matter how much you enjoyed it."
Amused, he watched her leave, her skirts swishing from side to side with the sway of her hips. Definitely too perceptive to be an innocent.
And far too tempting.
CHAPTER 6
Min wasn't sure how she got home but somehow she managed it despite leaving her senses back at the inn. And a great deal more.
Blake had kissed her! Not just a friendly peck but really kissed her. Deeply, and so very thoroughly.
He'd wanted that kiss just as much as she had. She might never have experienced a kiss before, but she knew what desire felt like and could see it in his smoldering eyes and feel it in the urgency of his mouth. He'd wanted the kiss and he'd wanted her.
It was enough to make a girl swoon. Fortunately Min wasn't the swooning type and made it to the doorstep of her Knightridge Street house without doing anything more foolish than stumble over a sleeping dog in her absent-mindedness. She did, however, slump against the door once it was closed behind her and draw as much air into her body as she could. She seemed to need a great deal more of it after Blake had stolen her breath.
Jane found her like that. At her quizzical frown, Min made up an excuse about needing to lie down. It wasn't far from the truth. But what she really wanted to do was lock herself away and write while her emotions were still raw. Words and phrases jostled each other for space inside her head. If she didn't write them down soon something inside her might burst and she'd really need to lie down after all.
"But yer supper is waitin'," Jane protested.
"Is it that time already?"
"Aye. Yer father doesn't know yet." Jane gave Min a wink. "Shall I tell him his supper and his daughter are here?"
"No. Give him his supper by all means, but I have a headache. I think I'll retire early." She couldn't eat. Couldn't even face food. She had more important things to think about, like what would have happened if that kiss had been performed somewhere more private. Would Blake have taken it further, shown her other pleasures? Would he have endeavored to teach her what happens between a man and a woman who desire each other? For the betterment of the play of course.
The play. Yes, the play! All thoughts of Blake were swept aside. She had some writing to do. Now, thanks to that kiss, she knew where the tension could be heightened between the amorous lovers and how her heroine would feel afterwards. She even had a ribald jest for the clown. Blake's teaching methods had proved rather enlightening.
She sat at her desk in the small chamber adjoining her bedroom and pulled out the smudged and creased pa
ges of her play. She read from the beginning, keeping Blake's kiss and her own reaction to it in mind. Not a difficult thing to do at all.
***
Min sat up with a start and squinted into the sunshine streaming through her study window. She was still at her desk wearing the previous day's clothes. Jane knelt by the fireplace, humming a tune as she added kindling.
"Is it morning?" Min asked. She stretched her neck from side to side and flexed her achy, ink-stained fingers. They weren't the only body parts suffering from sitting at her desk all night. Her legs tingled with numbness and she couldn't even feel her rear despite all the padding of her underskirt and cushioned chair.
"Aye," the maid said, adding more wood. "Thought it was time you rose. Yer father's been askin' for you." She turned to her mistress and smiled. "You might want to wash yer face first. You've got ink all over one cheek."
Min yawned and shuffled the pages. The revisions were done and they were quite good. They certainly made the play stronger. That kiss had proved useful.
Warmth spread through her, thawing her extremities and easing the aches. She smiled. Useful didn't adequately describe Blake's kiss at all.
Jane frowned at her. "You all right, Mistress?"
"Most certainly. Why?"
"It's just that you look...distracted."
Min quickly sobered. "My play is finished. That's all."
"I thought you finished a few days ago."
"I did. But there were some changes I had to make at the behest of the manager of Lord Hawkesbury's Men."
Jane's eyes widened. "He read yer play? M'lady, that's wonderful! But..." the frown returned, "does he know you wrote it?"
"That," Min said, rising and stretching her back, "is not your business."
"I know, I know," Jane grumbled. "I'm just a servant." She stood and ran her dust cloth across the top of the mantelpiece. Min braced herself for a lecture but none came. "When you're ready to tell me the truth," Jane said, "you know where I am."
Jane had worked for the Peabodys since the death of her husband nearly twenty years earlier. Ever since Min's mother died, she'd taken it upon herself to care for Min, and had kept the household in better shape than could be expected of a single servant. She knew everything there was to know about Min. Knew when she went out, came home, who she had been with, what she ate and what play she was currently working on. Although illiterate, she enjoyed listening to Min read her sonnets and plays aloud and had even acted out the parts on occasion.
Min adored her. But there came a time when a girl had to have secrets. And Blake was her secret. She wouldn't share him with anyone.
"Have a lad run this down to the White Swan on Gracechurch Street for me," Min said, gathering up the play. She tied a ribbon around the pages to secure them and gave the package to Jane. She then dug into in her leather pouch, the one item she owned that wasn't wearing thin because she hardly used it, and produced two coins. "Give him a penny now and promise him another when he returns." As she handed Jane the coins, she caught sight of the sun out her window. It was well above the rooftops. "It's very important that he go quickly."
She watched the maid leave and a solid lump of mixed emotions settled into her stomach. That was her original copy of the play. Her heart was in those pages, and a large slice of her soul. If the new lines didn't work...
But they would. She was certain of it.
Almost.
Soon Style and the other players would add the new lines to their own copies which would have been written overnight. Each copy would be rolled up into a small scroll to be kept in the player's palm during the performance so he could refer to it as needed. Usually a scrivener prepared them but with the time constraints, it would be every man for himself.
Jane returned when Min had finished freshening up and helped her to dress. She chose a black velvet bodice with green vine leaves embroidered across it, a plain black skirt and matching gown to wear over the top. The outfit was usually kept for special occasions but Min felt like wearing it today. After all, seeing her play performed for the first time was special.
"If you insist on wearin' yer best," Jane said as she helped Min into the gown, "then I insist on doin' yer hair all nice. Curls, I think." She sounded annoyed.
Min sat at her table and held up her small looking glass. "But it'll be hidden beneath a hat," she said, glowering at the dark circles under her eyes.
"Well then you'll have to wear a caul. Yer black one will go nicely with the clothes and shows a good lot of hair. You'll look quite fetchin' for—." She broke off and clamped her lips shut.
"For whom? I'm not meeting anyone, Jane. Certainly not a gentleman if that's what you're thinking."
An image of Blake came to mind, his simmering dark looks contrasting with his bright blue eyes. The wide shoulders, the capable hands and kissable mouth. No, not a gentleman in the chivalric sense of the word. No gentleman would avoid questions about himself the way Blake did. And no gentleman would have kissed a young maiden in full view of the patrons at a busy inn. Nor had any gentleman Min ever met made her stomach flip or her mind scatter every time she thought about him.
"That's a shame," Jane said around a mouthful of hairpins.
"As a matter of fact, I'm going to see the first performance of my play at the White Swan today."
Jane gasped and the pins fell onto the rushes. "Today! So soon! Oh, dear child," she kissed the top of Min's head, "to see Marius and Livia on the stage! I wonder who'll play Marius. Not Roger Style, he's too old." She bent and picked up the pins. "Ooh, that lovely new man would be perfect. What's his name?"
"Henry Wells?"
"Yes, him. He's got such nice shoulders. Such stage presence. He'd make a glorious Marius." Her gaze locked with Min's reflection. "Are you goin' to the inn alone?"
"Yes."
"Yer father won't approve."
"If he finds out."
Jane thrust a pin hard into Min's hair. "It's likely he won't notice." That was the maid's way of saying she wouldn't tell him.
Min smiled and Jane smiled back at her in the looking glass. "There's always Ned," the maid said.
"Yes." Min sighed. "There's always Ned." That was Ned—always there.
Jane worked silently on Min's hair until the final pin slid into place. "Lovely. Now, off with you downstairs. Yer father's waitin'."
"I thought you said he wouldn't notice."
"Don't fret. Go on, off. I've got work to do up here." She began to stab spare pins into the pincushion but Min put a hand over hers.
"I'll do it later. I'm sure you've more pressing work to do."
The maid sucked in her top lip. "Well, there is dinner to prepare..."
"Go then. I'll be with you soon to help."
"You'll do no such thing. Not in that dress. I don't want either of us to be up all night cleanin' it." She chuckled at her mistress when Min put her hands on her hips and attempted a glare. Jane never did take her very seriously.
Sir George met Min at the bottom of the stairs. He held his arms out and she stepped into them, reluctantly at first. Then she drew in his familiar inky smell and hugged him tighter. She hated arguing with him.
"I've been waiting for you to come down," he said, holding her by her upper arms and smiling.
"I'm sorry I slept late."
"Never mind that. Are you well?"
"Quite well, thank you. I did have a headache last night," she said, remembering her lie to Jane the night before, "but it's gone now."
"Good, good. Jane tells me you missed supper. Come, it's warmer in the kitchen. We can sit and talk while she prepares dinner."
"Talk? About your work?" Perhaps now was the time to tell him his latest theory needed more thought or to be entirely discarded altogether if he didn't want to become a laughing stock. Any more than he already was, that is.
"Whatever you want to talk about," he said. "I must say, my dear, you look pretty today." He held her at arm's length and studied her. Pride filled his eyes
and tears filled Min's. She hated arguing with him. She would try harder in future to be more considerate. "That gown does suit your coloring."
Her father noticed what she wore? Either the moon had turned blue or he was still feeling guilty about their little argument the day before last. It had been a long time since he'd admired her. Certainly not in the past year.
They shared some bread and cheese in the kitchen while Jane bustled around them preparing the midday dinner. They spoke about a new idea he was pursuing—one that Min encouraged because it had to be better than his last one—and a copy of a map he wanted to acquire if only he had the funds. It was mostly a one-sided discussion, but Min didn't mind.
She was reminded of how they used to be, talking comfortably about ideas and worldly matters. She might not know as much as her father about the sciences of geography, mathematics and astrology but she knew enough to join in the discussion. In some ways, it was her lesser knowledge that pushed him further. By asking pertinent questions, he had to explain his work which often led to his own deeper understanding or the generation of more ideas. She wasn't sure how their partnership worked, but it seemed important to his process to discuss his theories with her.
It was important for her as well. They'd talked like this for many years, since her mother died. It was familiar, and if she was being honest with herself, interesting, despite what she'd said to Blake the day before. Not exhilarating like her poetry, with its blinding need to write down the precise word and get the story onto the page before it vanished, but thought-provoking.
A knock at the front door interrupted their discussion and Jane went to answer it. "Mr. Taylor is here, Sir," she said on her return. "To see the mistress. He's waitin' in the parlor."
Sir George peered down his long nose at Min. "That's the second time this week the Taylor lad has stopped by."
Actually it was the third but Min had told Jane to tell Ned she was out the last time. As she moved past her father, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"Do you think he...he has intentions towards you?" he whispered so Jane couldn't hear. It was pointless because Min knew Jane's hearing was superb. She could eavesdrop on conversations going on at the other end of the house.