With a heavy sigh, Nicholas relaxed back in his chair. “Mmmm. Well, for one thing, I did not wake this morning intending to kiss a young woman at the breakfast table. Yet suddenly, I was doing just that. Without meaning to. It was just an, an impulse.”
“And what is so wrong about acting on impulse? It wouldn’t be the first time you have done so.”
“This is different,” Nicholas muttered. “I moved close to her intending to intimidate her, to make her uncomfortable, not to woo her. But I sat next to her in the morning sunlight, eating a bloody scone, and I had this irresistible urge to kiss her.” He took a deep breath, remembering the moment. “She tasted like strawberries.
“Why can I not control myself around her, Pawly, when the rest of the world thinks her so plain? The day after I met Mira, Blackwell went on and on about how he had been duped, how he had heard the available Fitzhenry chit was a stylish beauty, and the Fitzhenrys must be trying to pass off lesser goods.”
Pawly huffed in disgust. “She looked fine to me.”
Nicholas shrugged. “But she is not a fashionable beauty. The Haute Ton is quite particular about what is and is not beautiful, and Mira is too—” he struggled to find the right word “—too lush to fit the current mold.” He paused, thinking. “And then there is the matter of her wit. And her intensity, her passion. Neither is considered an admirable trait in a young woman.”
Pawly chuckled. “Lush, intelligent, and fiery…if that is unfashionable among the upper crust, I am glad to be a poor working man.”
“Yes, well, unfashionable or no, Miss Fitzhenry is like no other female of my acquaintance. She does not look as I expected her to look. She does not behave as I expected her to behave. She seems to lack any sort of guile or experience with the world. I haven’t the slightest clue how to deal with a female of her stripe. I was not even aware that females of her stripe existed. And,” he concluded with an irritated wave of his hand, “the whole situation is going to prove a monumental distraction. I cannot afford a distraction with Midsummer so fast approaching.”
Nicholas did not like Pawly’s expression. It was smug and knowing, and he had the distinct impression that Pawly was amused by Nicholas’s plight.
“So,” Pawly drawled, “you think this girl might distract you. Interesting.”
“What are you getting at?” Nicholas growled.
“Just that I have never known you to be distracted by a girl. Other men make cow-eyes at women all the time, make complete cakes of themselves. But you have always seemed immune to the fair sex. So I find it puzzling that you think this particular girl, this naïve and unfashionable girl, will divert your attention from more pressing matters.” Pawly smiled. “That’s all.”
Nicholas flushed. “It is not as though I am smitten with the girl. I will confess that I find her…interesting. But I cannot allow her to run amok, asking questions and…and…and thinking too much. I must manage her somehow, and I cannot imagine how best to do that as she defies my most basic understanding of the female of the species. Good God, I cannot even control myself in her presence, much less control her. I have an obligation to keep Miss Fitzhenry, well, contained…and it is just one obligation too many at the moment.”
“Right.”
“Pawly, it is obligation and nothing more.” Nicholas stood and moved to a window with a view of the sea, trying to pretend he believed the words himself.
…
Back in the main house, Mira flopped upon her bed and lay staring up at the embroidered blue velvet bed-curtains. She breathed deeply, exhaling through her nose in a long steady stream. Her hands were clenched tightly in the coverlet, and she was trying her best to compose herself.
She was so focused on calming her frayed nerves that she did not notice Nan emerge from around the open door of the wardrobe, where she had been storing the last of Mira’s belongings, those which had not been unpacked the night before.
“Miss Mira?”
Startled, Mira yelped and sat straight up on the bed.
Nan frowned in concern. “Miss Mira, are you all right?”