A Mother for His Family by Susanne Dietze

Author:Susanne Dietze
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-10-16T15:08:57+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

John’s pulse beat fast in his throat as his hand cupped the silken skin of her jaw, gently tilting her head up so he could better kiss her—

What was he doing? Ruining everything, that’s what. His hands fell, and he pulled back as if she scorched him.

He had tried to offer comfort, offer tenderness, show he cared for her with a small kiss on her brow, but he’d had such little control of himself he’d kissed her, really kissed her, like a husband kissed his wife.

“Forgive me. I never should have—I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“I promised the same.”

But she’d not returned the kiss. Her lips had moved against his and in the moment, he’d assumed she was responding, but she was probably about to reprimand him.

How could he have been so stupid? Not ten minutes ago he’d determined to be her friend and champion, nothing more. He thought hugging her would demonstrate care to her, and maybe a friendly kiss on the brow wouldn’t hurt.

If only he’d stopped there.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. To her, to God, to himself. “I don’t know what got into me.”

Well, he did know. She was beautiful and he was drawn to her, but to cross this boundary? “So can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” As if to prove it, she met his gaze.

“I assured you that you could trust me, and I’ve betrayed that trust. I should never—”

A loud knock rapped the front door, followed by footsteps striking the stone floor as a servant rushed to answer. By the murmured voices and sounds of the shuffling as the servants collected coats and hats, it sounded like a small party had entered.

And John and Helena were hiding in an alcove off the foyer.

She tugged him flush against the wall, the better to stay concealed.

He shook his head. They weren’t children, to be caught in such inappropriate circumstances. Better if they stepped out—

Her head shook with more vehemence. Uncle Cecil, she mouthed.

It didn’t matter who it was, but fine. He’d play it her way. Quiet as a cat, he sidled closer to her, hopefully out of sight when the guests passed the alcove into the drawing room.

Meanwhile, she still clutched his hand. He squeezed back.

The party passed them—two men and a woman—and once they were gone, Helena expelled a huge breath.

John tipped his head down toward her. “Relieved they didn’t see us?”

“Shocked, actually,” she whispered back. “We are right here—but more than that, Uncle Cecil brought Young Cecil. And his wife.”

“What’s wrong with his wife?”

“Aunt Davinia and Mama loathe each other.”

Helena’s mother didn’t seem to like much of anyone. John almost smiled.

“It’s quiet out there now.” John tugged her hand. “Are we safe to go out? And go home?”

The moment he spoke, footsteps rapped the stone floor of the hall again. A servant bearing silver cups walked past the alcove, then spied them, pausing half a second to peek at them before resuming his trajectory.

Helena watched after him. “They must be preparing to toast the day with lamb’s wool punch.

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