The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series

by Quince, Dayna

  She scanned the room patiently, ignoring the area of space where Patrick—Lord Selhorst—was. Drat. He was only Patrick now, at least in her head.

  She focused on Lord Densmore. They had spoken once or twice. He seemed a reasonable fellow, if a little too brooding, as if his mind was focused on something else, something unpleasant, even though he was here. Then there was his brother, Mr. Denham. Just as handsome, Josie could say, but there was something about him that was entirely too…youthful, she realized.

  Neither of these men sparked any sort of emotion at all in her. Nothing remotely close to what Patrick made her feel. And that was integral to her experiment. It was, after all, about sensation and not just emotion. If she sat and closed her eyes, focusing only on sensory stimulation, it was as if her body was searching for Patrick, sending out echoes the way bats do that would strike him and only him. Waves of sound returning to her, little quivers touching her skin and reverberating to her marrow. She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes, her stomach doing a flip as she glanced up and met Patrick's gaze. Did he feel it too?

  He must, and that was why he was so necessary to her experiment. These feelings that she needed to explore, to understand, were connected only to him. She would not rest until she did. She held his gaze with meaningful intent and then she calmly stood. With a cursory glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, she stepped through the curtain into the King’s Hall.

  Golden morning light filled the room. She took a deep breath. She didn't know how she was going to begin to convince him to rethink her offer, but she had to. She was not going to give up. It was only a moment before he stepped through and they faced each other.

  “You summoned,” he asked.

  Her lips twitched with the urge to smile. In a way she had, hadn't she? How was it that they were able to communicate without speaking?

  “Have you come to your senses?” she asked.

  “Have you?” he countered and then folded his arms.

  She turned away, overwhelmed by the effect of his nearness on her tattered, stretched-over-a-torture-rack nerve endings. She surveyed the King's Hall, bright warm sunlight shining through the tall upper windows, the row of polished suits of armor nearly blinding her with winks of light.

  She felt more than heard his approach. His hand touched her shoulder, and he turned her to face him.

  Her lungs locked, holding her breath in.

  His hands moved to cup her face. Her heart kicked into a frantic gallop, spears of thrilling excitement shooting off inside her.

  Was he going to kiss her?

  The thought immobilized her.

  He held her face, the fathomless deep blue of his eyes boring into hers.

  “You feel this, don't you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered, more breath than word.

  “It's not going to stop with a kiss,” he said. “I have much more experience than you. And I can tell you, I've never felt this way, this deep gnawing attraction that I can't shake.”

  The burning in her lungs warned her she needed to breathe. She slowly took in a breath, the stitches of her bodice protesting.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean to warn you away from the stupidity of this plan. If you want me, which I think you do, then we should marry. To explore this without that protection, you're putting yourself and your sisters in harm's way. You may think you don't need to marry, but you do. And your sisters do as well. Don't ruin their futures because of your obsession with knowledge.”

  She stepped out of his hold. “It's not just an obsession. Knowledge is the key to freeing me and other women like me from the hold of men. From destinies controlled by men. From poverty imposed by men.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in apparent frustration. “There's just no convincing you to see reason, is there? For all your love of knowledge, you are behaving remarkably ignorant.”

  Josie folded her arms, staring him down in indignation. “I should have expected this. How like a man to refuse such an offer. You want to be in control of me. That's it.”

  “I offered to marry you,” he said, his voice low.

  “Marriage is control,” she returned.

  “Then we are at an impasse, because if you won't marry me, I won't help you with this ridiculous experiment.”

  “Then I'll find someone else,” she said, bluffing.

  He smirked. “No you won't.”

  He pivoted and walked back through the curtain, leaving her there, accurately calling her bluff.

  Could he read her so easily? She wanted to curse. But she didn't. She gathered herself together and returned to the drawing room. She was prepared to offer an excuse to leave the gathering, and avoid whatever festivity was planned for the morning, when she had a sudden idea.

  If what he said was true about what was happening between them, then he was just as hooked as she, and he wouldn't be able to ignore another confrontation. She would bide her time. Josie would even return to the library tonight because there was a very good chance he would too.

  She would have to be bolder and braver, but at some point he would give in. He was a man, after all. And even men admitted their baser instincts controlled a large part of their actions. He was resisting now, but he couldn't resist her forever.

  Chapter 8

  Patrick knocked the ball into the pocket with a satisfying thunk. The evening was winding down. They'd had an excellent dinner, splendid conversation, and a rousing game of charades in the drawing room. The ladies had retired for the evening, including Miss Josette. He was aware of her every movement. Hell, he could almost sense her thoughts, and he just knew without a doubt that she was in the library at this very moment. The question was, did he have the bollocks to go see for himself, to prove beyond his understanding that he knew this woman as he knew himself?

  He felt as if he could sense her thoughts or emotions and guess her motivations. Perhaps it was because she was so similar to him, so doggedly determined to be right, not to be questioned, and not to be stopped.

  And therein lies the weakness because he also knew without a doubt, deep in the marrow of his bones, in the fibers of his heart, that one kiss would not be enough. It would lead to more and more and more, which is why he couldn't risk following along with her idiotic plan without an assurance of marriage.

  But he was not going to get it from her, not willingly. She had to decide on her own that it was what she wanted. Yes, she was very much like him, which led him to think that maybe, like him, she would eventually realize marriage to him was the only answer. Only not until she tried and failed in her experiment, and since her experiment involved him, he could go along with it.

  Essentially, pretending to cede control to her as she wanted, but in reality being in control. Because he knew he could control himself. He could keep things from straying too far into the unforgivable. He could set his own boundaries and enforce them. Her being inexperienced, she could easily be swept away by the passion, by the fire that roared inside them. It was the only way. He was calling her bluff when she said she'd find someone else. At least he was hoping. He wasn't going to wait and see.

  “Well, gentlemen, I think I've had enough for tonight. I'm going to head to bed,” he said.

  The other gentlemen bid him adieu. He went in the direction of the bachelor chambers but then cut through the darkened sitting room and into the hall that connected to the upper floor of the library.

  He opened the door silently. The shadowed interior of the upper balcony did not reveal whether she was on the chaise. He crept in, as silent as a mouse, and peered over the railing.

  So I was right.

  She was down on the lower floor, paging through a book, in the chair that remained by the fire from their last confrontation. He closed the door with an audible click, giving her fair warning. He didn't want to startle her. He made his pace casual, but loud enough for her to hear. As he traversed the upper balcony and then slowly descended t
he iron spiral staircase, she did not turn his way as he reached the lower floor. But he knew, like him, she was aware of every movement, every sound that his body made, like a predator hunting prey. Except in this they were both predators, not hunting but courting their mate, whether or not she wanted to admit it.

  He strolled forward, claimed the chair across from her, and waited for her to admit defeat and look up. She didn't. She just turned another page slowly. Bravo, he thought. But he had another card up his sleeve.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice tinged with boredom. “I’ll agree to let you experiment on me.”

  Her gaze darted up, her eyes flaring with heat and excitement before she put on her mask of disinterest.

  “Oh,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Why not? Could be fun. I've never dallied with an innocent before.”

  She snapped her book closed and crossed her legs at the knee, kicking her foot in agitation.

  “Well, maybe you'll learn something too.”

  There's no doubt about that.

  She uncrossed her legs and set her book down, straightening her chair, her fingers fluttering nervously, he would guess. Her gaze drifted up to his and she licked her lips.

  “Well, there is no time like the present,” she said.

  His pulse made a racket in his ears. Desire spread through his body on a wave of heat, arousal thickening his blood. Oh no, he thought. He wasn't ready. He couldn't just start this madness that she was proposing. If he wanted to stay in control of himself and her crazed ideas, then he needed a little more time.

  “Not tonight,” he said.

  She tensed. Was that disappointment he saw in her face? He bit back a triumphantly smug smile.

  She frowned at him. “What do you mean, not tonight?” She crossed her legs again, and her toes resumed the tapping of the air.

  He feigned a beleaguered sigh, but really he was just gathering his own self-control. “Dalliance should be pursued carefully,” he said. “I'm not ready, you're not ready. We have to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?” she asked skeptically.

  “You said this was purely academic, did you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we can't just jump into the kiss right here in the library at night. It is dangerous to both of us. We need to plan our location so we don't get caught and are compromised.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “This surprises me. Given your earlier proposal.”

  “Well, I don't want to kiss or marry an unwilling woman.”

  She cocked her head, seemingly accepting his argument. “Fine. Then when do you want to meet?” she asked.

  He glanced toward the fireplace, the ash thick in the hearth, black disintegrating logs sinking into their final resting place. The flames had died low, casting them in eerie red light.

  “It shouldn't be at night. That's when anyone suspecting a scandal will come looking for one. We could meet here. It is a common enough place for both of us to be seen spending time in. But it should be in daylight hours. The in-between times when no one would think to suspect the two of us might be sneaking off for an illicit meeting.”

  She nodded in apparent agreement. He was surprised she didn't challenge him, but he wasn't going to point out his surprise. He remembered her sister's warning. He didn't want to be seen as underestimating her. They were partners in this, and her trust was invaluable to him.

  He also knew it would be important for her to feel as though she was in control.

  “So where do you think that location should be?” he asked.

  “Well, given what you've said, I think the library is the best location since we both have a preference for it. It won't be strange if we’re both seen coming and going. And whoever heard of a dalliance occurring in the library?” she asked with skepticism.

  He decided not to inform her that libraries were prime locations for trysts, so he just nodded in agreement.

  “Go on,” he encouraged.

  “The best time I can think of would be before dinner when everyone's gone to their rooms to rest and change,” she stated.

  He nodded his acceptance. “Then tomorrow we will meet here following the afternoon’s festivities?”

  “Yes,” she said, her fingers fluttering on her knee again.

  He wondered if that was a sign of her nerves. He would guess she was a bundle of them. Which was good. He’d be more nervous if she wasn't. What they were embarking on was serious enough to ruin lives and friendships and to alter both their courses for the rest of their lives. He hoped she understood that fully. Either way, he was prepared to gamble on the future, especially if that future included her.

  He stood. “Then I will bid you a good night, Miss Josette.”

  She came to her feet, brushing her skirts. “Goodnight, and… Feel free to call me Josie when we are alone,” she said.

  Patrick nodded and then turned away, striding to the door and leaving her there in the library. His manners wagged its finger at him. He should've escorted her to the hall where her room was, but he wasn't going to take the chance, and she probably wouldn't have liked it. She wasn't the sort of woman who wanted to be managed. She'd made that clear. The biggest danger to her in this castle was him and her, and the bargain they’d struck just now.

  Chapter 9

  The following day, the morning proved treacherous. Anne slipped and fell at the tide pools but was fine once she returned to the house, and Roderick, one of their hosts, fell ill unexpectedly. Josie paced in the library, feeling as though her experiment was doomed before it even began. Were these bad omens? She was tempted to pour herself a glass of sherry from the sideboard to soothe her rattled nerves before Patrick's arrival.

  She'd never done something this willfully wanton before. It was usually Bernie or Georgie who had the heathen ideas, and it was always up to Josie to be sensible. She was, after all, the smart one, the one who lectured about practicing their sums, knowing their history, building their strengths as women in a world run by men.

  She wrung her hands as she paced before the hearth, the little fire in the grate almost obnoxiously warm. She felt him before she heard the click of the door of the upper balcony closing, the sound like the starting shot of a racing pistol to her frazzled nerves. Her heart rate took off like a thoroughbred eager to win at Newmarket.

  She returned to the long table, the one closest to the hearth, and leaned against it casually, the rapid beat of her heart steadying as he drew near, as if somehow he quieted the racing horse inside her. But that couldn’t be true. He was also the thing that set off little fires throughout her body that went unchecked until they consumed her.

  He set a book down on the table and pulled out a chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with a frown.

  “We have to look like we came here to do something other than kiss. It's called plausible deniability.”

  “Oh.” Josie was starting to think she really was in over her head. She'd given this plenty of thought alone in her room, which was how she worked through most problems with no one to question her because until now, she hadn't needed it. Josie was her own voice of reason. But she'd be an ignorant idiot if she went into this experiment with that sort of false confidence leading her. Josie would have to let him lead a little bit, she hurriedly thought. He was, after all, more experienced.

  Josie strolled to the shelf and picked out a book, scanning the title.

  She pulled out a chair across from him and sat down, opening the book before her. She glanced up and he was staring at her with a crooked smile, so boyishly charming. Josie completely lost her train of thought about what she was supposed to do or say next.

  Josie blinked at him. “What?” She had that terrible feeling she just made her first big mistake, and she didn't even know what it was. But God bless him for not laughing at her, or she would have to throw this book at his head.

  “If we are to…um…experiment, you'll have to be closer than that.”

>   A raging blush spread over her face. Now she really felt stupid.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead, her hand feeling blessedly cool against her fevered skin. “I'm terrible at this already.”

  He chuckled. “I'd be concerned if you weren’t,” he said. He opened his book, not looking at what page he was on and stood, the slide of his chair ratcheting along her nerves. That horse living in her chest galloping toward the finish line was now spooked, bounding all over the racetrack, destined to trample someone to death. If she ever had the calling to own her own horse, despite her lack of riding capability, she would name the horse Heart.

  After this very moment.

  He came around the table and held out his hand as calmly as if he had asked her to dance, and he was going to escort her to the dance floor. She opened her book and left it there just like his and stood, taking his hand, but he didn't take her away from the table. He stood there, holding her hand, and then he moved closer. His other hand rose up, her nerves cranking tighter like the tuning of a piano or the strings on a violin as his fingers rose closer to her face.

  His gaze darted from her face. “The door is open.”

  “What?” She blinked, dazed as if waking from a dream.

  “Someone’s coming. Quick. Argue with me.”

  “What?” She tried to organize his words into meaningful sentences in her mind. Door open, someone coming…

  She jerked to attention. He spun away from her, putting significant distance between them.

  “There is nothing to be learned from poetry that can’t be learned from Shakespeare or any other philosophical text,” Josie said, louder than she ought, considering he occupied the same room as her.

  He snorted, his eyes dancing with amusement. He raised a brow, the glint in his eyes wicked. “Poetry is lovemaking with words.”

  Warmth enveloped her. She licked her dry lips, fumbling for words. Why would he say such a thing to her at his moment? Did he mean to turn her into a melting, sputtering fool?