Page 52 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“I’d better return you to the party,” Teddy said. “With luck, you’ll have time to steal a final kiss under the mistletoe before everyone retires.”

Stella tipped her head back to look up at the stars. A smile sounded in her voice. “Foolish beyond permission, just as I said.”

“Why foolish?”

“I won’t be kissing anyone under the mistletoe this evening.”

Teddy didn’t believe it. He’d seen the way some of the gentlemen had looked at her that night in the drawing room as she’d passed them, silk clad and auburn haired. She could have had her pick of any of them.

He mustered a weak chuckle. “Had your fill already, have you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I’ve spent most of this week in hiding, and the rest of it either with Lady Anne or with you. Who exactly am I meant to be kissing? There’s been no mistletoe for me, and no willing partners. Disappointing, really, given the season. Even the grimmest frump garners a dry peck on the cheek at this time of year.” She exhaled a visible puff of breath. “I suppose I shall have to chalk it up alongside every other failed effort—”

“Do you require mistletoe?” he asked abruptly.

She turned her head. “I’m sorry?”

“For a kiss,” he said. “Must there be mistletoe hanging about?”

She considered the proposition. “No,” she replied. “Not in theory.”

Before he could counsel himself against it, for the second time that evening, Teddy brought the horse to a halt in the snow. He tied off the reins and turned to face her, his heart thumping heavily. By some miracle he managed to keep his nerve. “It’s unlucky anyway, in my opinion. Who wants to share a kiss under a poisonous parasite? Wouldn’t it be better out here, in the moonlight, under a shimmer of stars?”

Stella had gone unnaturally still. There was a glimmer of alarm in the blue-gray depths of her eyes. That, and something else. Something Teddy couldn’t precisely identify. Whatever it was, it made his pulse pound with a frightening power.

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “I rather suppose it would be.”

“Well, then?”

“Are you asking if you can kiss me?”

“May I?”

She nodded, only the subtle tremble in her breath betraying that the prospect of a kiss was anything other than the veriest commonplace.

He brought his hand to cradle her cheek. His eyes looked steadily into hers. “I expect I should make a humorous remark now. Either that, or say something romantic.”

Stella’s throat bobbed on a delicate swallow. She appeared to be at a loss for words.

“Very well.” His leather-gloved thumb moved over the curve of her cheek in a lingering caress. “Romantic it is.”

Thirteen

Stella couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She was frozen in the sleigh, her eyes riveted to Teddy’s.

Though frozen wasn’t wholly accurate. Indeed, despite the snow swirling all around them, she wasn’t cold at all. Quite the reverse. She was as warm as a furnace beneath the layers of her cloak and gown. Warm in her limbs, and in her blood, and in the deep core of her stomach where butterflies wafted their wings in tremulous anticipation. It was a heat that had been ignited by the touch of Teddy’s gloved hand, and by the look in his eyes, so unwavering in its intensity.

He brought his face closer to hers. His nose brushed her cheek. She felt him inhale. “Lilacs,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was a trembling squeak.

“The scent you’re wearing. Your soap, I presume?”

It was too personal a remark not to inspire a blush. “Yes, if you must know. But why—”

“I’m the son of a perfumer. My family paints their life in terms of fragrance. Lavender, roses, jasmine, and orange blossom. A single scent can conjure the past as vividly as any painting. But I had no memories to associate with lilacs. Not until you.” He stroked her cheek. “It’s your fragrance now, absolutely,” he said. “I’ll never again encounter it without thinking of how luminous you are in this moment.”

Stella’s heart beat swiftly. “That is, indeed, very romantic,” she managed. “If only I could believe you meant it.”