His expression was impossible to decipher. “And?”
Her mind spun, finding the best answer, the most cautious answer, the one that would cause her the least humiliation.
“Very good,” she said in a confiding tone. “Excellent.” She met his eyes and let clear honesty shine in her own. “You kiss marvelously, Thaddeus.”
It worked.
Lavish praise did for him what gushing acknowledgments of her beauty did for her.
The edges of his mouth tightened.
“We should return,” she said. “I enjoyed rolling in the grass with you, Thaddeus, I truly did, because your kisses are wonderful. Better than Anthony Froude’s by far.”
With a sinking feeling, she watched as he stood up and then held out his hand to help her to her feet, the very image of a proper gentleman once again.
In case the compliment wasn’t enough to squash the idea that she was besotted, she put a hand on his arm and looked up at him, giving him a frank look. “I haven’t hurt your feelings, have I?”
“Certainly not. Why would you think that?”
“I just wanted to make sure.” She hesitated, counting the seconds, and then added, “You are finding me a husband, after all.”
His eyes were completely shuttered by his thick eyelashes. “I had not forgotten.”
“Of course not.” She smiled. “I have several candidates in mind for you as well. We shouldn’t frolic about in the grass again, though. It isn’t proper for two people of our age.”
“Of our age?”
“I didn’t mean to say that we shared our birthdays. I meant for two people such as we, who have made up our minds to seriously commit to a future life,” she said. “I consider my days of kissing random gentlemen to be in the past.”
That did it. His eyes narrowed.
Thaddeus didn’t like being compared to a random gentleman. Why would he? He was a future duke, no matter what his father had to say about it.
They walked back to the castle side by side, bare feet scuffing through grass. Gully was nowhere to be seen as they walked through the orchard.
“I fear your shoe has been taken to the stables,” Joan said.
Thaddeus was staring ahead; he didn’t even turn his head. “A gift to the castle goat.”
They crossed the lawn in silence; presumably Fitzy was dozing somewhere in the shade.
Thaddeus pulled open the tall double doors that led to the library. “I will return the basket to the kitchens.”
“Thank you,” Joan said quietly.
She’d fallen in love, and that love felt like a millstone around her neck. He wanted her, but didn’t love her. She wasn’t even certain that he liked her.
And she loved Thaddeus, every inch of his disagreeable, composed, ducal self, from his hairless toes to his tousled head. She wanted all of it. Even the moments when he made his face unreadable and yet disdainful.
She walked past him, her bottom prickling at the idea he might be watching her. She could still feel the warm imprint of his hand clasping her rear.
Leaving the library, she paused and looked back, but Thaddeus hadn’t followed. He was crouched down at the side of the room, staring into Aunt Knowe’s knitting basket. There couldn’t be anything very interesting there; her aunt never got farther than creating squares or rectangles, all of them adorned with holes, because she couldn’t seem to avoid dropping stitches.
But Joan had a sudden thought and turned back. “Is it a nest of mice again?” she called, stopping about halfway back and making sure a chair was between them, in case a mother mouse was about to make a break for freedom. “You could bring them outside. Or ask Prism to do so. I’m afraid that the castle is very old, and mice are inevitable.”
Thaddeus looked up at her, and to her relief, the wary look had disappeared from his eyes. “I am starting to believe that Lindow Castle is akin to a menagerie.”
Joan took a wary step backward. The last time a family of mice were born in Aunt Knowe’s basket, she had decided to let them be. Joan had avoided the library for a month, until the babies were deemed old enough to be moved to the stables.
“No mice,” Thaddeus said. “It’s Percy. Our piglet has apparently been transported to a somewhat cramped bed in the castle.”
“Percy?” Joan frowned. “Percy sleeps in Cleopatra’s cowshed. I visited him there this morning.” She walked back. Sure enough, Percy was curled in a tight ball, napping peacefully. He barely fit into the round basket, but he looked comfortable enough at the moment. “He can’t stay there,” she said unnecessarily.
Percy opened sleepy, long-lashed eyes, so she crouched down and gave him a rub. Her knee touched Thaddeus’s, sending a pang through her body. “Hello, Percy, old fellow,” she said, shifting away.
The piglet grunted in a welcoming sort of way.
Joan was tinglingly aware of Thaddeus crouching beside her. He turned his head, and their eyes met. Joan caught her breath. His eyes were so beautiful: grave, honorable, everything she could ever want in a man.
Facts tumbled through her mind. She was smitten. He couldn’t know she was smitten. She wanted to kiss him. He couldn’t know she wanted to kiss him.
They were still looking at each other, speechlessly, when the library door opened with a bang, followed by the sound of running footsteps.
“Joan!” a voice shrilled. “It’s me, Artie. Did you see Percy? He’s my baby now, and I’m bringing him supper.”
Joan turned around with a huge grin. Her six-year-old half sister trotted toward her, a cream puff in each hand.
“Hello, darling,” Joan said, holding out her arms.
Artie swerved past her. “Hello!” She dropped to her knees by the basket. “Are you quite fine, Percy?” she asked breathlessly. “See what I brought? Cream puffs! You love cream puffs!”
Thaddeus was chuckling on Joan’s other side, his big body vibrating slightly. Sure enough, Percy thought a cream puff was a very fine gift. He uncurled himself with some difficulty, stood up, and snuffled one up. It wasn’t the neatest meal in the world.
“I hope your aunt doesn’t value her knitting,” Thaddeus murmured.
“Those are her scraps and remnants,” Joan said. “We should take Percy back to his shed, Artie,” she added. “Percy is not an indoor pig.”
Artie’s eyes narrowed. “He could be.”
“Your mother has already said no, hasn’t she?”
Artie’s mouth pressed together.
“And your governess?”
“They will never know he’s here,” the little girl argued. Her brows drew together. “What are you wearing?”
Joan glanced down at her breeches. “A costume that your uncle North used to wear when he was a boy.”
“What will Percy eat besides cream puffs?” Thaddeus asked. “He doesn’t have a trough in the library.”
Artie cast him the same narrow-eyed look. “I’ll bring him carrots every morning and cream puffs in the afternoon.”
“That sounds like a pleasant repast, but not enough for a growing piglet.” Thaddeus scooped up Percy, tucked him under his arm, and rose to his feet. “Lady Artemisia, Percy needs to sleep in his own sty.” The piglet grunted, looking longingly at the second cream puff clutched in Artie’s fist, threatening to spill cream on the Aubusson carpet. “Let’s give him to a footman, so he can sleep in his own bed tonight.”