The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Read online

  “Not with only one privy,” Josie said.

  “Josette!” Luna scolded in a whisper.

  But his eyes never moved from her, and again Josie had the sensation she was sinking into them, floating in the blue like it was a placid sea, and then she sank into the depths, utterly calm, the warm liquid accepting her with grace.

  The clink of a spoon on a plate pulled her from the depths.

  She would have splashed and spluttered, but she was at a table, dry, the only liquid, the tea in her cup.

  She peeked at him.

  And the ocean in his eyes.

  A hand grabbed hers in her lap. Josie jolted, thinking it was his but no. It came from the wrong side. She twisted toward her sister, and Luna bent near but spoke across her.

  “What did you do to occupy yourself as a child if you had no siblings, my lord?” Luna asked, apparently oblivious to Josie having journeyed into the depths of his fathomless blue eyes and back again. Except maybe not because she clung to Josie’s hand as if to keep her grounded.

  He cleared his throat. “I was quite busy as a child. I inherited when I was eight. I was kept from school and tutored at home, quite rigorously, I should say. But I happened to enjoy my studies.”

  “You weren’t allowed to go to school?” Josie asked. Why did she sound so breathless?

  His gaze returned to her, and the butterflies didn’t just flutter, they attacked her insides viciously.

  “Not at first. My uncle wanted to keep me close through the mourning period, and I was a small lad. He feared I’d be teased and feel alone. I went when I was fourteen after I’d had a growth spurt.”

  And my, what a growth spurt it was. Even sitting, he was almost overly large.

  Wait. What was she doing? She didn’t like this man. He’d knocked her down, and he’d condescended to her and worst of all…

  Spoiled the ending of her book.

  She wouldn’t be taken in by his tale.

  “I’m sorry about your parents, my lord.” She took a sip of tea, pulling her hand from Luna’s grip. She was grounded now.

  All she had to do was not look him in the eye and his effect, which was probably practiced charm, would be lost on her. Luna continued to chat with him while Josie ate in silence, ignoring his presence as much as she could. But she just couldn’t. And it bothered her a great deal.

  As an intellectual, she needed to know why she didn’t like him. He was handsome, yes, but handsome men were not a rarity. She’d grown up living beside two such men, the duke, Weirick, and his younger brother, Roderick, Lord Andrews. Their male beauty was lauded, but that didn’t negate their faults in Josie’s mind.

  Lord Selhorst was no exception.

  She finished her plate and a footman took it away.

  “Shall I escort you down to the beach?” Lord Selhorst asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  Luna nudged her.

  “What? I can say no, can’t I? I wasn’t planning on going to the beach. But you may.”

  “It’s rude,” Luna whispered. “This is a house party for us. You can’t refuse to attend the events.”

  In her periphery, she could see Lord Selhorst pretend not to hear their little squabble, but it would be impossible for him not to.

  “But— I’m…” She didn’t have a valid reason to avoid the beach other than she just didn’t want to go, especially with him.

  She sighed. “Very well.” She folded her arms.

  Lord Selhorst leaned close, so close she could smell him.

  He smelled like a book.

  Her nostrils flared as she inhaled a hint coffee, a tinge of chocolate, and a clean sweet dry element that must be his soap. Nothing overpowering like a cologne.

  “Do you not like the beach?”

  She turned to him, her breathing faster than she wanted to account for. But it was him. All him.

  He did something to her. He set off reactions in her body she didn’t understand.

  But she would. There were books about everything. She just had to find the right one to explain all that she was feeling.

  But until then…

  “Whatever it is you’re doing… Stop it.”

  She heard Luna’s quick indrawn breath.

  His expression didn’t change at all. She would guess he had lots of experience playing this game with women, but it was in his eyes, his thoughts, his intentions. Those blue orbs were crystal balls, and for whatever reason, she was his focus for the near future.

  * * *

  She didn’t like him.

  Bloody hell.

  Everyone liked him.

  He was handsome, wealthy, and generally kind to all people. Patrick knew he was blessed in life, except for the fact that both his parents died when he was eight, but even then, he’d had a loving family to take him in. He’d never wanted for a single thing.

  Until now.

  Miss Josette Marsden did not like him, and the sensation of being disliked turned the fine cambric touching his skin into a hair shirt. He stood because she and her sister now stood, exiting the breakfast parlor to join the others. All nine of them looked remarkably alike, dark brown hair and eyes with varying heights among them, but Miss Josette carried herself differently, her back straight, her stride purposeful.

  Manners.

  Patrick knew his manners to be exceptional. Was this all because he’d bumped into her? And then fallen on her? He’d apologized and didn’t even hold a grudge about her nearly gelding him. Patrick ground his teeth, following the swish of her skirts.

  He’d win her friendly regard. He never backed down from a challenge. If he was going to be here for a fortnight, he wasn’t going to spend it walking on eggshells.

  Which was another thing. Roderick had fooled all the men invited here into thinking this was a reprieve from their social obligations in London. But the obvious objective now was to match one of them to one of the sisters, presumably to salvage the Marsdens from misfortune.

  Patrick couldn’t blame Roderick for trying. They were a nice family, and he’d come to like most of them the last time he met them, but Josette was a peculiar girl. She had wit and intelligence, a keen sense of herself.

  He admired her for it. Most women he knew didn’t even try to expand their mind. Intelligence in women was derided, but Patrick found it refreshing. He liked to talk about things, not the weather, not gossip. Important things. Growing up an only child, he had many adults to fill his needs, but no one like him in age or interest. Even at university, it was difficult to find someone who shared his love of learning.

  But Josette just might.

  He’d never know if he couldn’t get on with her. He frowned, Lord Densmore beside him as the crowd moved out of the drawing room and to the beach. They attended Oxford the same year and roomed together.

  “You’ve a thunderous look about you,” Densmore commented.

  “I know.”

  “You’ll frighten the seagulls with such a scowl. It isn’t like you.”

  “I know that too.”

  “So what is it?” Densmore prodded.

  Patrick flicked a glanced toward Miss Josette.

  Lord Densmore caught it. “And?”

  “She doesn’t like me.”

  “Impossible,” Densmore scoffed.

  “Apparently not.”

  “Was she not informed we are here to court them, however mischievously that came about?” Densmore took a deep breath. “What does she not like precisely? You’re titled and wealthy.”

  “But that isn’t enough.”

  “Did you bore her to death with a lecture about Phineas Copperdick or whatever his name was—”

  “Copperdink,” Patrick muttered, an unwilling smile coming to his mouth.

  Densmore grinned. “There’s your good humor. Think nothing of it. ’Tis likely she finds the idea of this party just as ridiculous as the rest of us. Your streak of luck with women is over. It was bound to happen sometime.”

  “She doesn’t
like me. Everyone likes me.”

  “That’s statistically impossible. You’re an affable fellow, Selhorst, but not everyone can like you all the time.”

  Patrick frowned. That was not his experience at all. He could say everyone liked him because he worked to make it true. When his parents had died in the carriage accident, he’d felt nothing but cold emptiness. It was the kindness and gentle warmth of others that rescued him from the cold dark depths of grief. The love he was shown, by his uncle and guardian, by the staff that mourned his parents with him, fundamentally altered him. He’d survived his greatest fear because of them and swore to honor the example they had set by becoming the best man he could be. Honorable, responsible, and damn it, likable.

  He never turned his back on someone in need, friend or foe. He gave his wealth and his time, volunteering at St. Arthur’s orphanage, reading to the children, supplying books and other education materials.

  Helping children the way he’d been helped was integral to him.

  And though it may sound vain or prideful, there just wasn’t a reason for Miss Josette to not like him.

  It galled him. He would prove himself to her.

  “I can see the cogs in that big brain of yours have been churning. What do you intend to do?” Densmore asked with a beleaguered sigh.

  “Win her favor, of course.”

  “Wha— How? Do you intend to court her in earnest? Are you prepared to marry her just to prove to yourself how likable you are? Or is it your savior cloak you wear?”

  Patrick scoffed. “Savior cloak?”

  “We have a duty to help, Densmore, blah, ba-blah, ba-blah…”

  “I can see you’ve been listening to me carefully,” Patrick returned.

  Densmore’s expression darkened. “I’ve enough work to do keeping my brother out of trouble.”

  “Then this should be a great deal more fun.”

  “What should be?”

  “Helping me change her mind.”

  Densmore rolled his eyes. “What am I to do with you?”

  “Not me. Escort Miss Josette down the bluff and put a good word in for me.”

  Densmore glared at him. “That isn’t what I meant at all.”

  Patrick clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”

  The group of guests crowded around the path leading down the bluff. He and Densmore approached the two sisters, and Patrick offered his arm to Miss Lunette.

  He caught a glimpse of Miss Josette’s interested glance, peeved but interested.

  “A fine day for a stroll along the beach, is it not, Miss Lunette?”

  She smiled, but her gaze was quizzical. “It is, my lord.” They descended the narrow path, the sandy silt demanding his attention as he led her down the slope. Once on the beach, he tried not to peek at Miss Josette and Densmore. Was she more affable with him? Was Densmore flirting with her?

  Not that he should care in the least. Densmore could flirt, she could enjoy it if she wished, but what he hoped was that she would no longer look at him as if… he was a brute.

  He was a large man, bigger than most of his schoolmates. Some assumed that meant he was a bully, and when he proved he wasn’t by showing general kindness and compassion, others thought him weak.

  He’d proved them wrong too. He’d ended up with friends on both sides, so why had she jumped to ugly conclusions about his character? He realized he was being a horrible escort, ignoring the woman on his arm who he’d meant to endear himself to.

  “My apologies, I was lost in thought. What were we discussing?”

  “Were you thinking about Josie?” she asked point blank.

  He stilled, as if she really held a gun to him. An embarrassed flush climbed the back of his neck, and he had the urge to scratch at it, but that would be telling.

  “She upsets many people. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Is that so?” His stomach muscles had clenched as if he’d eaten bad meat.

  “She has a singular focus. The improvement of her mind. She wants to help other girls in a similar predicament.”

  He didn’t think he should mention their predicament.

  “We’re poor, my lord, it’s no great secret.”

  “Can you read thoughts, Miss Lunette?”

  She gave him a small smile, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Don’t try to impress her. It will come off as contrived. If you will excuse me, I need to speak to my sister Anne.”

  He nodded numbly. Disconcerted, his emotions shifted like the sand under his feet.

  “Watch out!” a voice cried.

  Patrick was shoved in the back. He caught his footing and turned to find another Marsden, Miss Georgette, sitting right where he’d stood, skirts above her knees. He peered at the bluff, seeing the steep path from which he could only assume she slid down. He raised a brow and averted his gaze.

  Miss Georgette addressed him. “My apologies if I startled you, my lord.” She was now on her feet, dusting off her hands.

  “You certainly did.” He bit his cheek, fighting the urge to laugh.

  “He saw your knees,” Weirick whispered to her, loud enough for Patrick to hear, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

  Miss Georgette feigned a shocked gasp. “Did you?”

  Lord Selhorst tugged on his cravat, uncomfortable but amused.

  “You knew women had knees, didn’t you?”

  He coughed, hiding his laughter. “Of course.” He didn’t want her to be embarrassed, though she didn’t seem the least bit bashful and clearly had a decent sense of humor.

  “They bend too. Just like yours.”

  He cracked a smile. “Is that so?”

  “No more stunts,” Weirick scolded her with a wink and went back to Violet’s side.

  “I promise I’ll behave,” she said after him.

  Patrick offered his arm. “But will you?” This sister might be easier to make an ally.

  Georgie shrugged and returned his friendly smile. “I will try. Trying is what counts.”

  He considered her. “I don’t believe we’ve had a chance to converse yet.”

  “We have not. Have you known His Grace and Lord Andrews long?”

  “Many years, yes. Since before university. We attended Eton together.”

  He told her a story about him and Roderick, Lord Andrews, at a race in Hyde Park. She listened, but soon he was aware she was only placating him. Being polite, as it were. He accepted the blow to his ego gracefully, wrapping up his story as they hunted for shells.

  Perhaps he was just having an off day? Miss Lunette had said not to try too hard, well, perhaps that was it. These women, who grew up far from the gilt banality of London social life, where pretending was an art form, had no patience for it.

  Excellent, he was tired of the same old conversations. He would do better at the next opportunity. His mood improved as he considered what topics of conversation might intrigue Miss Georgette.

  “Josette, come hither,” she called out to her sister, startling Patrick.

  He cleared his throat, his palms sweaty in his gloves as he straightened.

  Miss Josette danced over, holding her skirts as she tripped along the sand to Miss Georgette, not even noticing him.

  Miss Georgette held out a shell to her sister. “Look at this shell. The blue matches Lord Selhorst’s eyes perfectly, does it not?”

  She blushed, the color as radiant as a sunrise, and hesitantly met his gaze. “So it does.”

  Patrick’s breathing hitched. The breeze ruffled her hair, and the sunlight gave her a golden halo. Lust stabbed him through the gut, and heat zinged through his blood.

  Miss Georgette, seemingly oblivious, pressed the shell into her sister’s hand. “Add it to your collection.”

  She took the shell reluctantly. “Thank you.”

  “You collect shells?” he asked, his throat grating and dry.

  “I do.”

  Miss Georgette sauntered away without another word, leaving them both flound
ering.

  He cleared his throat. “You needn’t speak to me if you don’t wish to.”

  She tucked a raven lock behind her ear. His attention snagged on the pale, perfect swirl of her ear, so delicate, and desire exploded inside him like a cold forge bursting to life. The bands of muscles across his stomach tightened, lust weaving into his blood like alcohol, warming his skin and his stomach.

  He swallowed. “I hope Lord Densmore didn’t bore you to tears with his escort.”

  “He didn’t. He seemed…nice.”

  “Probably because he didn’t crush you underneath him,” he quipped but instantly regretted the words. His body now throbbed with lust, and he could acutely recall the feel of her body under his, the soft cradle of her hips.

  She tipped her head down and to the side. “Please don’t apologize again. I’d rather forget the whole scene.”

  “Please don’t. I’d like to leave a lasting impression with everyone I meet, no matter how ridiculous.”

  Her lips twitched.

  A point for me.

  “You have, my lord.”

  Her wry tone didn’t dent his lustful haze in the least. He’d almost made her smile. He tried to smooth the unsteady gait of his breathing.

  “Would it be all right if I escorted you back to the house, Miss Josette? I’m inclined to prove I’m not the bumbling oaf I presented earlier. But I won’t apologize again.”

  She cocked her head, assessing him. “Why?”

  He blinked. “Why?”

  “Why do you want to escort me back to the house?”

  “Um…because I find you intriguing.”

  “And you think I might feel the same about you?”

  “I would never presume to guess what you think, Miss Josette. That is why I find you so intriguing. I’ve yet to meet a woman like you.”

  Her expression revealed her surprise. “Am I unusual?”

  “No, not to me. Just different.”

  “I’m not sure I shouldn’t be offended by these differences. Kindly explain your reasoning.”

  The knot in his chest eased. He meant no offense. He just wanted her to like him as much as he liked her. Enough to talk to him. Behind the chocolate swirls of her eyes, he could see her mind working, and he wanted to know what she thought, her opinions and ideas. Her asking for clarity rather than storming off in a fit of pique was the first step.