Chapter 4
Four
LELAND
“And that’s the whole story?” Wilhem asked, his skepticism clearly conveyed in his arched brow. Singular. Just one singular brow was raised.
Casually, Leland scooped another spoonful of potato and leek soup into his mouth. Once finished, he answered, “Yes, of course.” There was really no need to fill in any unnecessary details. Tell them what they need to know, and leave it at that.
“I don’t believe it.” Wilhem sat back in his chair, raking a hand through his hair. “You promised us the whole story, and I can’t help but think something is missing.”
When no one answered as quickly as Wilhem had obviously preferred, he turned to Etta and prompted her. “What do you think, Novelina? Is that the whole story?”
Etta blushed at the nickname, which, if Leland was labeling anything utterly ridiculous it would be that moniker.
He would never be caught dead saying something like that to his betrothed.
He choked down a laugh. What would he even call, Tilly?
Lucky? Horseshoe? Bumble. Well, that last one had a nice ring to it.
Especially since Tilly was much like a bumblebee, always busy at work or a new hobby.
And it was also particularly relishing because she’d think he was calling her Bumble due to the clumsiness that sometimes befell her.
An uneasy chuckle broke him free from his rambling thoughts.
“I don’t think it is the full story, actually. I mean,” Etta cast a fishy eye at her brother, “I don’t think I’ve ever caught Leland even giving Tilly an admiring glance. Have you, Wilhem?”
What were these two doing? Volleying a shuttlecock back and forth over an invisible net?
“I haven’t—”
“I stare at Tilly plenty,” he blurted out. Damn. Tilly kicked him under the table mouthing, Compose yourself.
Aloud, she chuckled a very natural and feminine sound. “Wilhem, Leland is not like you. He doesn’t walk around with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and wearing his heart on his sleeve. He’s much more reserved than that.”
“You’re calling a known rake, reserved?” Wilhem’s cynical tone clearly enunciated.
“Reformed rake,” Leland clarified, eyeing Wilhem. For unknown reasons—even to him—he turned to Tilly needing to shed light on one point. “I wouldn’t label myself as reserved—”
Wilhem cleared his throat. “We don’t need to hear about that,” he said, sending a death glare in Leland’s direction.
“She brought it up,” Leland shrugged, still unsure why he wanted to die on this hill.
“There’s one way to clear this all up,” Etta announced. “Kiss her.”
Spoons clattered to the table. Soup—liquid as it was—lodged in throats. A fist—someone’s, surely not his—pounded the table.
“Now see here—”
“Just one kiss,” Etta explained. “I’m sure we could tell by one kiss how you feel about her.”
“I’m afraid that would not be proper—”
“But you’re going to marry her.” Etta pointed out with her glass raised toward the innocent bystander—otherwise known as the heretofore silent Tilly.
“Fine,” he grumbled, leaned toward Tilly and beckoned her with his finger. Then he pressed the chastest kiss known to mankind on her cheek. “There. Are you happy?”
“No—” Etta started but was interrupted by Tilly’s exact same response.
“No, I am not happy with that.”
And that’s when he met Tilly’s eyes.
Blazing fire like an inferno met him. He disintegrated into ash on the spot. Dear God, that chaste kiss had been the death of him. The fuel to a lethal fire.
“You will not kiss me like that to prove to my brother your love for me.” Her jaw was clenched. Hard. And she was hissing her admonish to him in steady beats. “Kiss me properly, Leland.”
Giving his body up the flames, he leaned closer. “I’m not going to kiss you like that in front of your brother, Tilly,” he grit out between teeth clenched so tightly together he could feel new grooves forming.
“Then they’ll know—”
Before he knew what he was doing, his hand cupped the back of her head and closed the small gap between them.
And he did what he’d been longing to do since forever.
It was a horrible mistake. An incalculable misjudgment. But one that he wouldn’t realize until much later because at this moment, the world disappeared.
The very moment his lips crashed down onto hers, nothing else existed. Her lips were plump. And by God they had parted. A damn invitation, if he’d ever known one.
And he took it. Couldn’t have been stopped even if he had wanted to be.
One of her hands rested on his arm, the other fisted his shirt. In return, he held her in place, angling her back for more access to her mouth. The other hand was on her jaw, his thumb rubbing along her cheek.
Lost. But downward. He knew that much. He didn’t know where he was, except that he was with her. Finally. And he knew which direction he was going, though he couldn’t be sure if it was the right one.
“Ahem!” A voice yanked him back to the present. “That’s my sister, Leland.”
“I think we believe them now, don’t we?” Leland caught the tailend of a smirk on Etta’s face and what looked to be a wink. No. It must have been a blink.
“Did you—”
The door opened, and the butler waltzed in. “Your Grace, you have a visitor.”
“I—”
“Your…other Grace,” the butler craned his head toward Wilhem.
“Here? Who could have come here for me?”
“Sir, if I may, he claims to be a prince.”