His Heart's Delight (16 page)

She raised her eyebrows. “Does that mean that
you did not like it when you first tasted it?”

It was so long ago he could barely recall
that first taste. Port had been his initiation into strong drink.
He could still recall all too clearly how he felt the morning after
that adventure. “Miss Lambert, exactly what did you and your sister
do last night?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It tastes
perfectly hideous, like fire trailing down your throat, and then it
settles in your stomach in the most sickening way.”

Her expression was eloquent and Morgan was
hard-pressed to hold back his laugh. He did, though. She was
completely distracted from her misdirected anger and he had no
desire to resurrect it.

“Are you laughing at me, my lord?” She
narrowed her eyes, but he saw no anger there.

“No, never, my dear.” He let his own smile
show.

“Well, whom can I ask when I have questions
like this? My brother is in Jamaica and Peter Wilton has forgotten
we exist. You have grown as dear to me as a brother and I hope you
think of me in the same way.” She looked at him through lowered
lashes and in such a way that he knew she was testing his
reaction.

Morgan relaxed, surprised at the tension that
drained away. This sort of conversation he could handle. “I have
two brothers, neither of whom are particularly dear to me at the
moment. No, Sprite, I refuse to think of you in that way.”

“That is not what I mean and well you know
it.”

“Ahh, do you mean do I think of you as a
sister?”

She gave no answer, but pursed her lips and
waited.

Until that expression settled on her face, it
had not occurred to him that there was a wrong way to answer the
question. But obviously there was. “No, I do not think of you as a
sister.”

He looked at her face and then let her see
his eyes travel down the length of her very close-fitting habit. He
smiled at her blush. “A sister? Most definitely not.”

He stroked his horse’s neck to quiet him. The
movement brought his horse closer to hers, so that her skirts were
brushing against his riding boots. “I may have taught my sisters
the steps to the minuet, but I never wanted to dance with them. I
may have noticed their new dresses, but I never once admired the
way they fit. I may have been sorry to see them crying, but never
sorry enough to want to wipe away their tears.”

With each phrase his voice grew softer, so
that she had to lean closer to hear him. He could see the color
rise in her cheeks, not a blush of embarrassment this time, but of
awareness.

“I never once wanted to drink brandy from the
same glass that their lips had just touched.”

Her eyes were wide. They went from his eyes
to his mouth and only then did he realize how very close they
were.

He wished the prospect of a kiss brought
pleased surprise. He had a sinking feeling he had answered the
question incorrectly after all. And he could think of no way to
change his response. Nor did he want to. He did, however,
straighten in the saddle.

She moved away abruptly herself and looked
straight ahead. “I...” she began, but her voice was hoarse. She
stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I can not...”

Now he thought there were tears in her voice,
but she still would not look at him. She mumbled a word he was
almost sure was “Richard” and turned her horse with a jerk that was
another indication of how upset she was.

Morgan cursed his stupidity. For all her
flirtatious ways, Christiana Lambert was young, as he had told
James, and provincial, as James had reminded him. A few weeks in
London might have given her some Town polish, but a lifetime of
country living was not forgotten so quickly.

There was no denying his actions were the
reason for the set-down today. It had passed just far enough beyond
innocence to rouse guilt.

If he was not more careful, he would lose his
chance with her and be left with no courtship pretense. He would
have to think before he spoke. Simple enough, but when he was
around Christiana he seemed to have an increasingly difficult time
with that basic precept.

With real regret, Morgan turned his own horse
toward the gates. In truth, a sincere courtship would hardly
require more effort than this sham.

“W
hat I wish to know
now and can not possibly ask him is how you tell the difference
between a flirtatious comment and something sincerely meant.”
Christiana was pleased with that phrasing. It was the essence of
the problem. In truth, her feelings were at the core of it, but she
was not sure she was ready to share her confusion with anyone, even
Joanna.

The vast emporium that was Schomberg House
rose before them. They had planned this expedition days ago. Until
this morning the sum total of Christiana’s worries had been whether
the two of them could find a bonnet that would match Joanna’s
newest dress.

However, as a result of her morning ride,
Christiana realized that she needed to clarify her mind before she
could give the myriad of goods the attention they deserved.

“He did not seem to be flirting at all when
he told me that he wanted to drink from the same glass that had
touched my lips and I did not feel at all like giggling when he
said that.”

“What did you feel like doing?” Joanna asked,
pausing inside the entrance, giving her sister her full
attention.

Christiana stared at the furs and fans in the
first shop and did not really see any of them.
What did I feel
like doing? I wanted to kiss him. And that is precisely why I
hurried away.
Christiana could feel a blush rising at the
memory of his caressing eyes, his smile, the chance touch of their
bodies as his horse moved closer.

She moved on quickly, stopping at the next
display.

“Oh, Joanna, look at this wonderful porcelain
vase. Do you think it is French?”

Joanna took her arm and drew her away from
the display. “Yes, it is precisely the sort of thing Mama would
like.”

Christiana was about to argue the point
further when Joanna gave her a look. “Now why did you ask me a
question and avoid the discussion? The difference between flirting
and a sincere compliment? Exactly what did happen this
morning?”

“Nothing happened.” Oh dear, now there was no
way to avoid telling the truth. Christiana looked around. No one
was paying the least bit of attention to them. Still, she urged her
sister into an alcove where they could pretend to examine some
shawls. “I am being foolish. It remains a flirtation as long as I
behave as a flirt should.”

“Christy, you make flirting sound like a
virtue.” Joanna shook her head.

Any other time Christiana would have read
disapproval but right now her sister was smiling. “Well, it is a
skill at the very least. And there is nothing wrong with it as long
as it is done properly.”

“And you did not ‘do it properly’ this
morning?” Joanna’s smile had disappeared and Christiana could hear
the edge of alarm in her voice.

“No, no I was very proper.” She paused and
drew a deep breath. “It is only that my thoughts were not precisely
proper. All I could think about for a moment was what it would feel
like to lean closer, to touch his lips with mine.” No blush this
time, but guilt at her weakness.

Joanna laughed, actually laughed at her, and
she laughed so loud that a gentleman passing looked their way and
smiled. Pulling her from the alcove, Joanna took Christiana’s arm
and urged her to the next shop.

“My dear heart, that is the very sign of a
successful flirt and not some great wrongdoing on your part. Do you
think that just because you have given your heart, you will never
be attracted to another man?”

Well, yes, she had, Christiana realized. But
even a bare moment’s thought made her realize how naive that was.
“I suppose you are right.” Of course she was right, but Christiana
did not like the feeling that an element of her long-held romantic
conviction was so easily crushed. Did that mean that the other
elements were as vulnerable?

That worry made it worth one last defending
gesture. “No, Joanna, I take that back. I am not at all convinced
you are right. A true love match would indeed make you oblivious to
all others.”

“That may be, if it is a true love match, but
even the most devoted lovers must eventually notice the world
around them again. Especially as their lives change and their
family grows.”

Christiana saw Joanna’s blush now, but
forbore to tease her about it as her words registered.
If it is
a true lave match.
That was exactly how Joanna had phrased it.
Was she suggesting that her love for Richard was not a true love
match? That was not something she cared to discuss right now. The
very thought made her shiver. Not that she doubted her love for
Richard.

Fortunately Joanna did not press the point.
“Christy, I think that this is the issue: It is no longer a
flirtation when the lady thinks the compliment is seriously
meant.”

“No, Joanna, part of the charm of an
accomplished flirt is this very ability to be convincing. No, I
think it passes beyond flirtation if the words make the lady
uncomfortable.” Is that how she would describe what Morgan made her
feel? Uncomfortable? She tried the word out and found it did not
suit her reaction at all.

Pleased. Yes, that was it. She’d been
pleased, flattered, and totally entranced. Then shocked at the
feeling of intimacy that had surrounded them in an open field so
early in the morning.

It was hours later and that feeling of
pleasure was still hers to summon. Did Joanna have any idea exactly
how entrancing true flirtation could be?

They walked on toward the shop featuring
hats. The hallway was as crowded as the entrance had been. Everyone
abroad seemed to be intent on shopping along Pall Mall and at
Schomberg House specifically.

Christiana looked around again to see if they
were overheard and then realized not a single person cared what
they were talking about. Some much more august personage was moving
toward the small furniture display and much of the crowd was
following.

Joanna moved closer to her sister and Sally
and the footman closed in behind them. “There is also a quality of
credibility in a true flirt.”

“Hair like corn silk?” Christiana asked,
recalling Joanna’s least favorite compliment.

Joanna laughed. “And creativity.” She looked
at her sister out of the corner of her eye. “I think Lord Morgan
scores very highly on that point.”

Christiana paused to consider a display of
buttons. They were truly elegant and clearly beyond her allowance.
Without discussion, they walked on.

“Perhaps that is where the awkwardness is. If
he would use the tried and true compliments that would be
acceptable, but to say ‘I taught my sisters to dance, but never
wanted to dance with them’ is beyond clever and charming, you must
admit.”

“Yes,” Joanna agreed, “and as beyond our
experience as Mr. Harding’s buttons.”

“But you see, Joanna, we can enjoy the beauty
of his buttons, can we not, just as we should be able to enjoy a
flirtation.”

“And are you?” Joanna stopped and looked at
her sister.

Christiana did not care for any of the
stationer’s wares, but she stared at the display. “Yes, yes, I do
enjoy his company and his conversation and even his very elegant
flattery. I do.” She said the last almost to herself.

“If this flirtation with Lord Morgan is a
pleasurable experience and you are enjoying yourself, then exactly
why are we having this conversation when we could be examining any
number of fine shops?” Joanna was not so much exasperated as
confused.

They moved on, their attention drawn by the
steady stream of people in and out of the milliner’s shop a few
steps ahead of them. “Joanna, my question is simple: How does one
react to a compliment that appears more meaningful than
flirtatious. Especially when I am not at all certain which it
is?”

“How did you handle it this morning?”

Joanna asked the question so cautiously that
Christiana was not sure her sister really wanted to know.

“I stammered incoherently and then left;
actually I would say that I ran away.”

Joanna pursed her lips. Was she thinking
about her answer or trying not to laugh?

“I can tell you one thing, Joanna, that bit
of truly gauche behavior guarantees embarrassment at our next
meeting.”

“It was an honest reaction though,
Christy.”

“You are sweet as can be to try to find a way
to make it sound acceptable.”

“I suspect, Christy, that there is no answer
good for all such situations. It must depend on the people
involved, their level of friendship, and their understanding of
each other’s minds.”

“I suppose you are right: the level of
friendship is the key.”

“And as far as I am concerned, a direct
response is infinitely better than a simper.” Joanna looked
genuinely puzzled. “What is a ‘simper’ anyway?”

Christiana knew that her sister was trying to
distract her. And in truth, she was tired of attempting to puzzle
it out. So she gave Joanna’s question some thought.

“A simper? Let me see if I can describe it.”
She considered it thoughtfully. “A simper is an unspoken way of
accepting a compliment that you know is your due.” Christiana
paused a moment.” Which is precisely why it is so unappealing.
There is entirely too much self-conceit in it.” She looked at her
sister. “Miss Perry.”

“Ahhh,” said Joanna in perfect understanding.
They were outside the millinery shop now. Despite the heavy custom,
the display-stands were still filled with an appealing range of
hats and bonnets. As they watched, the prettiest of the lot was
taken from its stand and into the shop. Christiana and Joanna
looked at each other, sharing dismay.