Frovtunes’ Kiss by Lisa Manuel Page A

over-the-shoulder good night, and slipped into the bedroom that had once been Moira’s own.
    Alone in a guest room, she wrapped a robe around her nightgown—the plain one she’d worn as a maid—and sat before the dressing-table mirror. These Fosters were a perplexing family, painfully ill at ease and on their guard. And resentful. Yes, resentment weighted this house like a pall.
    As she ran a brush through her hair, she cringed to remember how Graham had taken Augusta to task for her mistake. What kind of son embarrassed his mother before guests?
    What kind of man robbed a nation of its treasures?
    What kind of rogue stole kisses from unsuspecting ladies?
    A tap sounded at her door. Rising, she hoped it was merely the upstairs maid. She’d quite had her fill of Fosters for one day. “Who is it?”
    â€œGraham. May I have a word?”
    She might have guessed. Ever since he had discovered her identity, the man seemed intent on never letting her out of his sight. She opened the door an inch or two. “I’m very tired.”
    A candle in his right hand illuminated his crisp, white shirt, his bronzed cheekbones. A sense of impropriety rippled through her. She was, after all, clad only in a night shift and robe, her hair loose about her shoulders. She stepped behind the door, leaning to poke only her face into the opening. “Can’t we speak in the morning?”
    â€œIt won’t take but a moment.”
    She sighed and nodded.
    â€œI wanted you to know that Mrs. Higgensworth spoke with the servants. They are now aware that you are a guest, not an employee. If there’s anything you need, you have only to ask.”
    â€œI appreciate that.” She grimaced. “I hate to think what they’re all saying about their odd houseguest.”
    He flashed his devastating smile. “I suppose the tale will have spread through Mayfair by tomorrow at supper time.”
    â€œUndoubtedly.” She waited, for he looked as though he had something more to say. He also looked far too casual for her liking, in shirtsleeves with cravat and collar gone. Didn’t he know that was no way to appear before a lady?
    Of course, the rascal knew, just as he undoubtedly understood the effect he was having on her at that precise moment. She pried her gaze away from the smooth column of his neck, from the sight of strong collarbones revealed by his partially unbuttoned shirt.
    â€œGood night,” she said, and tried unsuccessfully to close the door.
    â€œMay I come in for a moment?”
    She frowned, considered delivering a blunt no, and hugged her robe tighter around her. “It’s rather late.”
    His candle fluttered and sent a shimmer through the golden ends of his hair. “I wanted to apologize for this evening.”
    â€œWhich part of it?”
    He tilted his head and leaned into the gap between the door and lintel, bringing his face close to hers. “You know which part. My mother had no right—”
    â€œShe had every right.” Knowing she should simply accept his apology and bid him a final good night, Moira ignored her better sense and opened the door wider. “It was you who behaved rather badly, if the truth were told.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYes. Under the circumstances, your mother’s accusation was perfectly understandable. She thought I was a maid, and I’m to blame for that. When you think about it, the entire situation was funny. You might have laughed it off instead of embarrassing her as you did.”
    â€œI was defending you.”
    â€œWere you? Or was something more going on, something that had nothing whatsoever to do with me?”
    His eyes smoldered with unspoken ruminations. “Since you won’t accept my apology, perhaps you’ll accept this. I’d like you and your mother to move back into Monteith Hall as soon as it’s convenient.”
    Moira’s heart made a little leap before