Chapter Eighteen

"Where is that blasted betrothal contract?" Honoria grumbled in the stuffy attic air.

She'd already spent half the night and early this morning searching the library and her father's study but had come up empty-handed.

That left only one place to look: her grandmother's trunks.

Unfortunately, after sifting through the contents, inspecting every hatbox, reticule and portmanteau, she'd found absolutely

nothing about the betrothal. And for a woman who'd apparently saved every possible letter, playbill, calling card and invitation,

it irritated Honoria to no end that the contract seemed to be the only thing missing.

But she had to find it. The solution to her current dilemma could be within the wording of the document. And if it weren't?

Well, she'd destroy it.

Of course, there were likely two copies of the contract—one here and the other in the abbey—which meant that she'd have to

return there and risk Oscar discovering what she was up to. Doubtless, he would use any means necessary to keep her from gaining

the upper hand... even kiss her to distraction as he'd done last night.

Yes, she might have started it, she admitted. But he'd waited until she was drunk on passion before revealing his cards.

Declaring to never kiss him again had seemed the perfect setdown given the circumstances. After all, she had felt the way his body had responded to her. Felt the intriguing hardness that he'd pressed against her. And she, as an intelligent adult woman, knew what that meant.

He had been aroused by her. Wanted her. Just as she had known that the clenching weight low in her belly and the insistent

pulse that thrummed between her thighs meant that she'd been equally drawn to him.

But after waking in the middle of the night from a lurid dream of him taking her out of an oven and devouring every naked

inch of her as if she were a biscuit, she'd already found herself wavering with indecision.

She'd never felt more alive than when she'd lost herself in his arms. And that frightened her.

She'd lain awake in the darkness wondering if she would ever feel alive like that again... Until she remembered that Oscar

was a lying, sneaking scoundrel who needed to be put in his place.

And that place was far, far away from her.

Frustrated, hot and grumpy, she slammed down the lid of the trunk and continued her search.

"There you are," Verity said as she climbed the stairs. "Tally said you'd gone to the attic, but she didn't know why."

Which was precisely the reason Honoria couldn't tell her. No one could know that she was looking for the betrothal contract

or else they'd start to ask questions.

She wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand. "I just think it's far too warm for puffed sleeves, cinched waists and

full skirts. Summer demands flimsy muslin with capped sleeves. So, I thought I'd look up here for the older fashions we've

packed away."

"Since I left my new wardrobe at Magnus's estate, I'll help. We could both use a change of wardrobe."

Thea popped up behind Verity, her hair frizzled with humidity. "Here you both are. Tally said you'd gone to the attic."

"We're on safari," Verity said as she tossed a straw bonnet in Thea's direction. "In search of cooler attire."

Donning the hat, Thea joined the hunt with alacrity.

As the minutes ticked by, it was difficult to concentrate. The long, narrow room was stifling with only one window at the

far end. The servants' rooms were on either side, lined with the dormer windows that would be beneficial on days like this.

Honoria was half-tempted to strip down to her chemise, and it wasn't even midday yet.

Of course, if she could keep her thoughts from returning to last night and the feel of Oscar's mouth grazing along the column

of her throat, her skin might not be beaded with perspiration.

She stopped after the third trunk, fanning herself and rustling her skirts for ventilation. "Any luck?"

"No, but I found some costumes," Verity replied.

"Same," Thea added before closing her trunk with a thud. "Though, I'm tempted to go down to tea in the pantaloons from when

we played pirates in Pericles ."

"I'm sure Mother would love that," Honoria said wryly.

Then she spotted a mysterious square shape beneath a holland cover in the corner. To get to it, she had to dance a pair of

dressmaker's dummies in Elizabethan costumes—a gent in blue and gold window-paned breeches, and a lady in a flattering indigo

bodice, tapered sleeves, and starched ruffs that were impossibly itchy—out of the way.

Believing she'd found the trunk she was looking for, she lifted the cover only to find paintings. An entire stack of them.

A glance at the familiar signature told her that they were her mother's watercolors, beautiful and bright. A vague memory

sifted through Honoria's mind, of a time when the family rooms of the house had been filled with them. But why had they been

tucked away?

She had her answer when she reached one toward the middle.

Her throat closed as she gazed upon the walled garden, vined with flowering clematis, slender, leafy trees standing in the corner, a sea of blossoms underfoot... and a fountain with two children splashing, both with pale blond curls.

For an earth-swallowing moment, she was lost in that day, the sound of laughter tinkling like rain falling into a deep well,

echoing in ghostly chimes.

Look, Ernest! I can blow bubbles with my face underwater. See?

I bet I can blow more bubbles than you .

Cannot .

Can too. Watch me .

Watch me... The words haunted her even now.

"That's rather pretty. Is it yours?" Thea asked, peeping over her shoulder and nearly startling her out of her skin.

Honoria took a breath and slid the painting behind the others before issuing a practiced shrug. "Oh, just one of Mother's."

"I've seen her sketch before but didn't know she had actual paintings up here."

"Well, you know how she is. If her latest endeavor doesn't excite her passions, then she will abandon it and move on to something

new."

"Speaking of passions," Verity said from the other side of the narrow room, "look what I found."

Thankful for the distraction—really, any distraction would do—Honoria turned.

Both Thea and she groaned at the sight of the little puppet theater that their mother had used to perform a sock puppet play,

informing them of the supposed pleasures that awaited them in marriage. Flanked by rose satin curtains, the stage was dressed

as a flowery bedchamber.

"I had nightmares for a month about Lord Turgid," Thea said, stalking across the room and searching through the trunk for

the puppets. Finding two of them with an aha! she held them aloft. "I mean, just look at the size of him. He's a veritable monster compared to drooping, wrinkly Lord Flaccid."

She proceeded to move the puppets in a pantomime of Mother's play, walking the bumbling Lord Flaccid across the stage.

"I'll just be two shakes of a lamb's tail, my sweet," he lisped, disappearing behind the miniature dressing screen in the

corner.

Then out popped Lord Turgid with a low, comically sinister chuckle. "Where are you, Lady Content, my little rosebud? Don't

be shy. Not with me, your husband."

Honoria and Verity stifled a giggle.

Thea returned to the trunk and found the puppet dressed in the petals of a silk flower. Her voice became high-pitched and

trembling. "Oh my! Lord Turgid! How big and strong you are. I feel so dewy in your presence."

And then Lady Content fainted onto the bed with a sigh.

By the time she finished, Honoria and Verity were doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"I don't see why it's so amusing," Thea said, staring perplexedly at the puppets. "Lord Turgid is clearly the villain of this

play. Just look at how he's proportionately larger than the painted doorway and more than twice the size of Lady Content,

which left me to wonder if I was watching a tragedy. Do you think Mother was trying to frighten us?"

Honoria dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. "We could ask our resident expert on the matter. Well, Verity? As

the only married woman of the three of us, did Mother exaggerate?"

"I am not— absolutely not —answering that," she said with a gasp, her cheeks poppy red.

Turning away, she draped the holland cover over the stage once more. However, when she turned around, her lips were pressed

together to hide a telling grin.

Thea didn't see this look or the perceptive eyebrow waggle that Honoria cast her eldest sister. She was too busy putting the puppets back into the trunk when she said, "And no matter what Mother professes, I cannot imagine how all the kissing and plundering that Lady Content endures could convince her that she was in love. Then again, I never understood why Romeo didn't simply wait a few minutes— before gulping down a vial of poison—to realize that Juliet was still breathing. If he had, they both would have survived."

"He did make a great number of assumptions in the span of a few seconds. Not very sensible, if you ask me," Verity said wryly,

and Thea snickered.

But this time, Honoria didn't join their amusement. She moved to the window and looked out over the garden, her attention

distracted by the words kissing , convince and in love .

She'd forgotten that had been part of Mother's lesson, too. That a woman, who wasn't necessarily in love, could be convinced

by pleasure that she was. Essentially, falling in love against her will.

Which was the very reason Honoria had decided not to marry at all.

She didn't want to fall in love. Love was painful and wretched and empty. It was half of her gone and gone forever. And it

certainly wasn't necessary to experience life to the fullest. To feel every single beat of her heart as if for the first time,

to taste every breath as if it were her last, and to live inside the moment that fell in between.

Unfortunately, the only time she'd felt that way was when she was kissing Oscar. She'd felt something bloom inside her like

a star in the heavens, beautiful and destructive all at once.

She wanted to keep her distance. But she was drawn to him by a force that she couldn't explain, even to herself.

He was calculated and ruthless. But he was also a man who'd run into the path of danger for a boy he didn't know and who'd been swayed by a woman's tears. And, for reasons unbeknownst to her, she was curious about him.

Not curious enough to want him to remain here, of course.

She just needed to remember that for the next time she was with him. Because she knew that, unless she found the contract,

there would be a next time.

Therefore, she made a vow to herself. There would be no kissing. Absolutely no more kissing.