“Yes,” he said, noting that she wasn’t looking directly at him. “We can talk about literature. Which of the ancient Greek playwrights is your favorite?”
She told him with a great deal of enthusiasm as they traipsed up the stairs. He enjoyed listening to her spout her obviously well-educated opinion so happily. He also enjoyed seeing her from behind, and he didn’t feel a bit guilty about it. They were talking about cerebral things, so why should a man feel guilty for enjoying viewing a woman’s shapely rear through her gown, and perhaps imagining what she looked like without that gown on her pleasingly rounded form?
Of course, she being a maiden, they really shouldn’t spend time alone in her living quarters, but she’d already flouted convention by running her own bookshop, hadn’t she?
She must have read his mind. “I’m aware that it’s rather improper for us to be here in my private quarters without a chaperone,” she said a bit stiffly. “Which is why we shall dine al fresco, where we’ll be in full view of the entire street.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you had a balcony.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But we do have the roof, if you don’t mind climbing.”
She pointed to a set of rungs on the wall.
Stephen looked up and saw a trapdoor. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “Shall I go first?”
She blushed, no doubt understanding that if she went first, he’d be able to see up her skirts.
“That’s an excellent suggestion,” she said. “You go ahead with a blanket. You’ll see just where to place it.” She reached into a cupboard, withdrew a cheery quilt, and thrust it into his hands. “I’ll follow behind with the food and drink.”
“Good plan,” he said, and clambered easily up the rungs. When he pushed on the roof door, it gave with a mighty squeak. Above his head, he saw the usual gray skies that hung above London.
Once on the roof, he saw the perfect place to sit, a rim of bricks surrounding the chimney. The bricks would make an excellent bench with enough room in between the people reclining there to place a picnic. And yes, if neighbors chose to look up from their windows or the street itself, they’d be able to see the two of them on the roof.
He laid the blanket down and walked closer to the edge. Dreare Street from this vantage point didn’t look so bad, even with the bits of fog still clinging to a street lamp and a large tree in Lady Duchamp’s yard. He gazed down at his house and wondered what Sir Ned and his family were doing. Probably bickering.
Behind him, he heard Miss Jones climbing the rungs, and he got on his knees to grab the food, the drink, and then her hand. When he pulled her up, she grazed his chest with her own soft one before falling back.
“Oh, my!” She looked up at the sky with a pleased grin on her face. “I see some blue.”
It was a small spot of color but just cause for celebration—and a good way for him to avoid thinking about the fact that they’d just come into very close contact.
He picked up the jug of water, and Miss Jones carried the basket and cups to the brick bench.
She poured water into their cups and dispensed bread and cheese. “There,” she said, looking well pleased. “I do enjoy a picnic.”
Her eyes were bright, he noticed. She’d never looked prettier, especially with that shaft of sunlight piercing her hair, turning its black color almost blue.
“Everything’s better outside,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
Did she have any idea how appealing she was when she smiled?
“Yes,” he said. “Everything. Especially a kiss.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It happened so fast, Jilly didn’t have time to think. Captain Arrow’s pupils darkened, and next thing she knew, he leaned toward her.
She didn’t back away. She couldn’t. It was as if she were riveted to the spot, lost in the dark depths of his eyes, the irises rimmed with gold.
And then he was kissing her with his warm, seeking mouth. He pulled her into a different world, a new place where she was no longer Jilly, runaway wife and bookseller, living in London.
But she stayed in that world willingly. How could she not? She was sharing a blissful, heady moment with a handsome, virile man, one who made her heart beat fast and her limbs melt like butter—
Who made her forget to think.
She’d never been kissed this way.
Ever.
She didn’t know a kiss could be so—
Perfect.
When he gave a little groan in his throat and pulled her closer, she delighted in the sensation of being held so closely to his broad chest, his hand pressed possessively on her lower back.
She wanted more.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, and kissed her neck.
Oh! How sweet of him. Hector had never complimented her.
Hector!
She opened her eyes wide and pushed him away. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” His voice was low and husky. “No one’s looking up from the street, and I’ve seen nary a curtain move.”
She felt almost desperate to stay right where she was, but instead she shook her head and scooted away.
“No.” She felt shaken to the core by her lapse. “I’m not one of your easy women. I—I can’t do this. I don’t
She told herself her heart was beating wildly because she was angry at him and shocked at herself—not because she wanted to kiss him again.
He followed her and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “A man who doesn’t try to steal a kiss from a pretty miss at a rooftop picnic is remiss in his duties as a man.”
He had the regretful, lost look of someone whose desire has gone unsated, even though he also sounded amused. Confident. The way an Impossible Bachelor likely always was.
It was the lost look that touched her. She felt adrift of a sudden, too. Everything in her ached to be with him that way again—to kiss him, to be held by him, to mingle breaths and feel his skin against her own.
But she mustn’t. She must protect her identity at all costs.
“What a silly sentiment,” she forced herself to say.
She knew very well she couldn’t kiss him again.
She was Jilly Jones, bookseller.
Prim,
Yet another part of her still reveled in the kiss and in the fact that he’d called her not only
“Is it a silly thought?” The captain arched a brow. “If it is, I want to be silly always.”
Heavens. She wished he would say something annoying—not something appealing. She looked away from his golden eyes and the intensity of his heated, hungry gaze.
He wanted more.
So did she.
It was like a fire between them that she’d have to pretend didn’t exist. Not only that, she’d have to douse it somehow.
She stood and walked a few feet away. “Now tell me about yourself,” she said to the line of rooftops across the street, then dared to look back over her shoulder at him. “How did a Lothario like you come to be a captain in
