Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,2
the front, which could be seen from the grounds of Southmeade Cottage. It always made James smile when he thought of the name of the sprawling country house. It was the largest, grandest cottage he had ever seen. Even the dowager house boasted eight bed chambers.
Lady Philomena wrinkled her nose. “Why so formal? You know I hate when you call me my lady.”
“Then call me James, and I’ll call ye—what did we decide? Mena?”
She shook her head. “Phil. That’s what everyone calls me.”
He could smell her scent. It was subtle, floral and earthy, and reminded him of heather. He wanted to move closer but forced himself to stay where he was. “It’s hardly a name that suits ye.”
“Neither is Mena. That’s for a petite girl with black hair like yours. I’m far too tall and my hair too yellow for the name Mena.”
He would have described her hair a thousand ways before he’d call it yellow; it was more gold than silver, more sunlight than starlight.
He almost made another quip, but he noticed she was shivering. It was a cold day, and they’d met on other cold days. Once or twice, they’d even gone inside the house. Lady Philomena had the key, but he couldn’t be the one to suggest it. “Yer shivering.”
“The damp, I think.” She fished in the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a key. “Shall we go in?”
He took the key from her gloved hand and opened the door, holding it so she could pass through first. The fact that she trusted him enough to be alone with him humbled him. He did not deserve that trust. But then she didn’t know that, did she? She had no reason not to trust him. He’d never done anything she didn’t want, though adhering to that pledge—one he’d made to himself—just about killed him. As many times as he’d met her alone, he had only kissed her a handful of times, and most of those had been as chaste a kiss as a boy gave his grandmother.
He pulled back the Holland cover on the couch and eyed the dark hearth in the sitting room they usually sat in. “Sure and I wish I could light the fire.”
“That would give us away.” She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Sit here, and I’ll be warm enough.”
He did, careful not to touch her. The small distance between them didn’t stop him from feeling her heat.
“Do ye want to talk about it then?” he asked.
She paused in the act of removing her hat. “Talk about what?”
“Oh, so it’s to be that way. I was in the dining room, and though we act like we’re deaf, servants hear everything.”
“I know.” She surprised him by reaching over and putting her hand on top of his. He wasn’t wearing gloves. His gloves were for work. He had two pair, and they had to remain spotless if he was to serve at dinner and other meals. He couldn’t afford to soil them and had left them in his rooms before sneaking out this afternoon. He could feel the heat of her gloved hand on his skin.
“It’s just that I want to forget all of that for a little while.”
“We’ve forgotten it for months. I don’t think we can put it aside much longer. Ye have to marry, Phil. Ye should have said yes to Knoxwood.”
She made a face. “I don’t want to marry him. He’s a decent enough man, but...” She looked at James, and the implication was clear. Knoxwood wasn’t him. James should have been glad she thought herself in love with him. It was what he’d wanted. But he couldn’t rejoice.
“A decent enough man is nothing to scoff at. And don’t look at me like that. Ye know ye can’t marry an Irishman. And even if I wasn’t Irish, I’m a footman. I’m no match for a duke’s daughter.”
“I never said anything about marriage.” She tossed her head in an effort to look unconcerned, but he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes before she looked away. “I may never marry. I may devote myself to the role of maiden aunt to my nieces and nephew or perhaps I’ll travel abroad and see the grand cities of the world.”
“Without a chaperone?” he asked, his brows raised.
She looked back at him. “You could be my chaperone.”
He laughed until he noticed she wasn’t smiling. “Ye can’t be serious. How would we live?”