Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Jemma hadn't meant to be careful in her selection of gowns on the day she was to meet Miles. It just happened. She chose her new sea-green dress with the wide neckline, hoping the color would bring out her eyes. The slender gold chain she donned on a whim, much like the splash of rose water to her throat. She added a pale-pink bandeau around her head and sighed. "What am I doing?"

She studied her reflection in the mirror, and her fingers began to tremble. She was nervous to spend time with Miles again. Excited, too, if she were honest.

Lisette knocked and let herself in. "I thought I would accompany you on your walk today, if you would like a companion." She stepped farther into the room. "I feel the need to stretch my legs and take in some sunshine."

Jemma's hand gripped the edge of her dressing table. Any other day would be acceptable, but not today. It wasn't like she could confess that she was seeing Miles—not with her feeling the way she was lately. Her guilt would be all over her face. It could be that way even now. Lisette would feel betrayed ...

Or maybe this was the perfect opportunity to tell her cousin everything. Jemma could invite Lisette to join them to see that it was all harmless and for a good cause. And that neither her nor Miles was at all confused. "Actually—"

"Good morning, girls." Mrs. Manning stopped in the doorway behind Lisette, cutting of Jemma's response. "I have a short visit planned this afternoon to see Lady Felcroft around nuncheon. Would you two like to come and visit with Cassandra?"

"What a lovely idea," Lisette said.

Jemma chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I had some things I wanted to see to today. Go ahead without me."

"Are you certain?" Lisette's forehead puckered.

"Send Cassie my love. Tell her I will see her next week at the cricket match."

They agreed, and Lisette followed her mother out.

Jemma groaned and let her face fall into her hands. Nothing felt right anymore. If Grandmother had known how difficult her last wish would prove to be, she was sure Grandmother would have taken it all back. The life of a rich spinster sounded much simpler than chasing love—or running from it.

When the time came, Jemma let herself out and walked the road to the church. She beat Miles to the bench, so she took a seat and waited for him. The slow trickle of water down the hill into the creek made a pleasant dripping sound, soothing her nerves. She pictured Mr. Bentley's face and repeated his name like a personal creed, ensuring she would not forget her purpose for their lesson.

She heard Miles's soft footfalls before she saw him. She turned and lifted her hand in a slow wave.

He lifted his hand in a wave of his own. "I hope you did not wait too long. Mrs. Fortescue needed to speak to me."

"Is she well?"

Miles grimaced. And was that a blush? "She is considering courtship, actually."

"I suppose it is never too late, even for a widow of her age, to find love or companionship." Jemma paused, piecing together Miles's discomfort with Mrs. Fortescue's reason for coming. "You're jesting! She came because she hopes to court you?"

"I plan to speak to Lady Kellen about arranging a match for her."

Jemma giggled. "Brilliant."

"For her situation, it might be. For the man she pursues, perhaps not." He took a seat beside her. "But it is a discussion for another day. I know you are limited in time before your family grows suspicious. Shall we begin our lesson?"

She swallowed. Was it her, or was he sitting closer than normal? She could not remember what normal even was anymore. She caught his scent, and her lips started to smile all on their own.

"I'll take your smile as a yes. Our next lesson is on the power of touch."

Jemma choked on dry air. Coughing into her hand, she sputtered, "T-touch?"

Miles's grin was almost roguish. "Touch," he repeated. "The ability to physically feel the emotion so often trapped inside us."

"Is it necessary?"

"Absolutely." He reached over and picked up her hand. She wanted to act unaffected, but she was very much the opposite. "Do you mind if I remove your glove?"

She bit her bottom lip but nodded. With his other hand, he tugged at the kid glove, the fabric sliding off. Every inch of her trembled, and she willed her body to be still. With the glove out of the way, he took her hand in his and tightened his grip into a gentle hug around her fingers. It was similar to the heart-pounding moment when he'd tucked her hand in his and hadn't let go the night they'd eaten dinner at the Kensingtons'. But no one was under duress now, and the privacy of the moment made the connection all the more intimate.

With her skin bare against his own palm, she suddenly could not remember the name of the man she was supposed to be thinking about. In fact, she could hardly think at all.

"See, it is not so painful?" Miles's grin was soft now, more sincere.

"Not at all."

His thumb drew a slow circle on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arms. "Even the smallest touch can feel intimate when given and received with equal intent and desire. Do you agree?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his, those brown eyes asking far more than the question on his lips. It was difficult to process anything besides the feel of her hand in his, but something he'd said struck her. "Are you saying I cannot create a moment unless the other person feels something too?"

"As much as you think I am an expert on the subject, I am not, Jemma. The only thing I know for certain is from my own experience."

If he was basing his lesson off this moment, could his feelings mirror hers? Was this the sort of moment he was speaking of?

"What about kissing?" she blurted. Every time the word came up in conversation, palpable energy pervaded the mood between them, but she had to know. Eventually, she must kiss Mr. What's His Name, and the idea was not entirely appealing. She longed to hear Miles's opinion.

He smiled as if she had just broached his favorite topic. "What about kissing?"

The teasing in his eyes was nearly her undoing. "I brought it up during a previous lesson, and you had strong feelings about it."

"Yes, but then you were ready to kiss a stranger." His leaned back and studied her. "Our Society has two general camps: the rakes and the prudes. I prefer you remain a prude ... at least where Mr. Bentley is concerned." He muttered the last part under his breath.

She barely suppressed a giggle, warming to the topic—or maybe to him. "And is this excessively prim Jemma allowed to kiss before she is wed?"

Miles's eyes sparked. "Some say it is not advisable to kiss before marriage, but I think there are circumstances where it might be appropriate."

"I have always thought a kiss a measure of physical pleasure, not real devotion."

His brow rose, all pointed in the middle, as though she had spoken blasphemy. "How can you judge if you have never been kissed yourself?"

"I just know." She shrugged, smiling at his indignation. When his thumb moved against her skin again, it made her want to lean into him. Kissing couldn't be as sweet and pure as hand holding. This was heaven. She never wanted Miles to let go.

"Your statement on kissing is fairly ignorant—not at all like the Jemma I know, who is passionate about exposing the truth."

"Yes, but couldn't I kiss someone and feel wonderful whether it was for the right reasons or not?"

Miles was not quick to answer. She liked that about him. He pondered a matter, not just debated it. "Let me ask you this," he finally said. "Wouldn't kissing someone who trusted your heart and you theirs be different from kissing just for sport?"

"I suppose so," Jemma answered. "The intent would be different."

Miles nodded once. "It would be with their feelings and care in mind. No one would be taking advantage of the other person. Instead of a trite kiss, it would be a beautiful expression of love."

His words painted an image so sweet it nearly cracked years of resolve. Tears suddenly pricked her eyes as a realization hit her. It was his kiss she desired, not Mr. Bentley's—who she seemed to forget completely at times like this. It had always been Miles she'd wanted to have by her side. Why couldn't it have been her all those years ago who had fallen through the ice? Why couldn't Miles have saved her?

She sniffed, blinking to clear her eyes before Miles could notice and doing her best to seal those determined cracks with greater determination. "It is a good thing I will not be married for some weeks. My talents at romance are sorely lacking. You should have seen what sort of power my eye connection had over Mr. Bentley. I sent him running."

Miles threaded his fingers through hers. "Romance does not take talent; it takes love."

"I don't know how to force those feelings."

"Who said anything about force?" He leaned close. Wonderfully close.

A nervous laugh bubbled out. "I meant learn . But perhaps a vicar should not be the one to teach such things."

"You mean, someone might be shocked to find I am meeting a young lady in secret and holding her hand?"

She should have let go of said hand ages ago and run home. Even now, her disobedient fingers remained safely ensconced in his. She looked everywhere but at him. "At least we are not kissing."

His voice came steady and sure and entirely too convincing. "But then you might always hold the opinion that kisses are irrelevant and inconsequential physical gestures. What sort of teacher of romance would I be if I let you believe that?"

She looked at him again, for she could not help it, her eyes going straight to his mouth. "Miles, I ..."

Miles leaned closer, his voice husky. "They say a connection with a kiss is something indescribable—a sort of bond between two people for those sweet, tender moments."

She swallowed, her chin lifting of its own accord. "Who says that?"

He reached up and tucked a ringlet behind her ear. "Mr. Romantic. Who else? It's exactly what I imagine it would be like kissing you."

Her heart pounded in the most delicious way. He lowered his head, and she tipped her own back to meet his. She wanted him to kiss her. To hold her.

To marry her.

Those words sent her dreams crashing back into reality, and she yanked her hand away from Miles's, his lips a breath away from her own.

She practically leaped off the bench. This lesson was getting wildly out of hand. A chill swept through the air, but she could finally breathe again. "It is not like we can practice ... that." She could no longer even say the word. She took a step backward for good measure. "If what you say is true and a kiss bonds two people, then what could happen between the two of us? If you were right, ... then ... then the two of us would be in a precarious position." She had to leave. She took a step toward the path, but Miles captured her wrist.

"Jemma, wait, please. Let's talk about this." Like molasses, deep and sweet, his voice pulled at her.

"Talk?" Jemma gave a depreciating laugh. "You talk a great deal about feelings, Mr. Jackson. I wouldn't want you to give someone the wrong idea." She needed a fan. Where was hers when she needed it? "I would prefer that you talk less right now and ... and ..."

"And?" He stood, placing himself much too close to her. "Kiss you?"

She shook her head, desperate to be rid of him but desperate to never leave him at the same time.

"I can see in your eyes that you are considering this. There can be more than friendship between us. You never needed a matchmaker."

"And do you see the fear and panic in my eyes too? I am the one who is nearly engaged . You are to marry Lisette!" She would cry if she did not leave now.

Reluctance flashed through his eyes before he released his hold on her, leaving her skin cold. "Don't we have a say in our own happiness?"

His question lingered between them. "Our greatest chance for happiness is if I listen to the matchmakers and you marry Lisette as planned."

"That plan was made for us."

"You're confused. This is what you want." She put her hands to her cheeks, willing them to soak up the heat radiating there from all the emotion whirling inside. She dropped them uselessly to her side. "Listen to me, Miles. I am no expert on love, that much is obvious, but I do know a little about life. Happiness is fleeting and temporary and often comes with a price. Grandmother was lucky to have had more. I was a fool to think I could have the same. But you ... you and Lisette have a chance for the real thing."

His voice was calm, opposite of her own. "I already told you I cannot marry her. I think you know why."

"No, no, no. Our feelings are jumbled from spending too much time together. Chaperones are the protectors of hearts. I was wrong to discredit them."

Miles stared at her. The disappointment in his eyes sent pain through her chest and twisted her stomach into a knot. She hugged her middle to combat the fierce ache, hating that there was no better solution.

"Jemma," he whispered. "I'm in love with you."

She shook her head. "I have to leave."

He stared hard. "Is this checkmate, then?" He took a step back. "It's your move."

He was letting her win again. He'd always let her win. And this time, he was doing it by leaving the decision completely up to her own heart. But nothing would change today. It couldn't. She moved around him but only made it a few steps before turning back. "Please, Miles, don't let this ruin our friendship." Then she turned away again, tears choking her. She could not let him see how hard it was for her to leave him.