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“I should like to spend some of it with you,” he said quietly. He would prefer it to inspecting the horses. Her hand remained upon his arm. He watched her consider his answer, her lower lip caught lightly between her teeth, and wished he knew what made such a simple statement seem to trouble her. “Have I embarrassed you?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

“I am sorry.” He hated that he had made her uncomfortable. That had never been his intention.

“No.” Her reply came quickly, surprising them both. She glanced away, then back, her cheeks coloring. “I did not mean that I wished you had not said it.” He waited, giving her time, his hands still at his sides. “It is pleasant,” she said at last, her voice low. “I am merely uncertain what to say when you say...”

Julian turned toward her. She let her hand slip from his arm but stayed close, near enough for him to see the faint rise and fall of her breathing. “You need not find an answer to please me.”

“I should like to please you.”

The words were quiet. Their effect upon him was considerable, a hot, swift rush through his chest that left him momentarily without speech. “You do,” he said, and his voice was rougher than he intended.

For a moment, neither of them moved. In the lamplight, he could see the color rise in her cheeks, soft and rosy. She lowered her gaze to his cravat, then looked beyond him toward the house, as though seeking an escape she didn’t truly want. He wanted to kiss her. He had wanted it when she laughed beside the bookshelves and returned to him, her shawl gathered over her arm. Now the wish was hard to hide, and he felt it burning in his eyes.

Perhaps he had failed, for her attention returned to him and lingered at his mouth. Julian drew a slow breath to steady himself. “Lady Andover.”

“Yes?” It was barely a whisper.

He was taking a risk, but he could not stop himself. “I should very much like to kiss you.” Her lips parted. He stayed where he was, though every instinct urged him nearer, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You need not decide quickly,” he added gently.

She looked down at her hands. One had tightened upon the fringe of her shawl, twisting the silken threads. Should he have waited another day? He had enjoyed their morning together, but perhaps she had understood his interest as nothing more than companionship. He would regret spoiling that, and the thought tightened his stomach.

Then she lifted her face, her eyes luminous in the lamplight. “I think I should like that too.”

He took a step nearer. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move away, and he heard her small, quick intake of breath. “May I?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Julian touched her cheek first, lightly enough that she could have turned from him. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft beneath his fingers. She looked at him with such open uncertainty that his desire caught at something tender, and he moved slowly, as one approaches a shy creature.

He bent his head and kissed her. Her mouth was soft and still beneath his. He kept the kiss gentle, giving her time to become accustomed to him, tasting lemon and warmth. Then her fingers closed upon his sleeve, and he felt the first hesitant movement of her lips, a shy, trembling answer.

It was enough to make him forget the garden. He drew back before he forgot himself entirely, his pulse thundering. Elizabeth kept her eyes closed for a moment, her dark lashes against her cheeks. When she opened them, her hand still clung to his coat. “Oh,” she said, softly.

Julian could not help smiling, a helpless, glad curve of his mouth. “I hope that was a favorable observation.”

Her answering laugh was faint and unsteady. “I had not prepared one.”

“Neither had I.” He smiled.

“You asked,” she told him.

“I was confident about that part,” he said, tilting his head wryly.

She looked down, smiling now, a flush spreading to her throat, and he reluctantly let his hand fall from her cheek. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted her closer, with his arm around her, and time to learn what other sounds she might make against his mouth. The wanting was sweet and fierce, and he curled his fingers to still them. For now, he watched her recover, trying not to seem as affected as he felt, drawing slow, rose-scented breaths.

After a moment, she raised her eyes. “You have gone very quiet.”

“I am trying to behave myself,” he admitted.

Her gaze moved over his face, curious and warm. “Were you not behaving well before?”

“I thought so,” he told he. “I would prefer to leave you with that impression.”

The amusement in her expression softened into something tender. Her fingers loosened upon his sleeve, but instead of withdrawing, she smoothed the place she had gripped. Her touch light and lingering. “You need not leave it quite yet.”

Julian looked at her hand, then at her face, and his heart gave a hard, startled beat. “Would you like me to kiss you again?”