Frovtunes’ Kiss by Lisa Manuel Page B

plummeting with a thud against her ribs. Her throat stung with the desire to grasp this unexpected boon. She turned away from him and spoke to the shadowy bedchamber. “I do thank you, but that would be impossible, at least for the time being.”
    â€œWhat the devil do you mean?” He stepped over the threshold and came up behind her, his breath warm on her neck. “Isn’t this the very thing you wanted?”
    â€œIt was. But it’s too late now.” She turned to face him. “The first move…well…confused my mother. It affected her health. I fear another move, even back to the home she knew, would only upset her further.”
    â€œYou keep insisting your mother is fine and that the two of you are amply taken care of. Is that a lie, Moira?” He took her chin, raised it, and lowered his own to meet her gaze. Their breath mingled, warm and sweet from the evening’s wine.
    Her thoughts thrashed, swam, foundered. What were they discussing? Her mother. Had she lied? Yes. And the truth…did she trust him enough? When he touched her, when his warm strength spread through her and her name became a rumbling murmur on his lips—yes, she wanted to trust.
    Or did she? Why, for all she knew, he was here winning her sympathies simply to steal another kiss. That was a harsh assessment, she knew, but in her admittedly scant experience of him, that had been the one dependable occurrence.
    Never before had she encountered a man like Graham Foster. When was he serious, joking, teasing, seducing? With this man she could never discern one from another.
    Trust him?
    She pivoted and made a tense circuit of the carpet before halting a safe distance away on the far side of the woven medallion. “What I want, what I need, is quite simple. Self-sufficiency. Not charity, not the tolerance or indulgence of a distant relative, but the provisions my stepfather made for us before he died. Only upon that am I willing to depend.”
    â€œI see.” His nostrils flared; his blue eyes frosted. “Then tomorrow we’ll continue the search. Good night, Moira.”
    His shoulders squared like twin battlements as he strode from the room. Her words had hurt him, and that she regretted. But could she have framed her wishes differently and still made them clear? She wanted him to understand. Wanted him to stop confusing and provoking her. Needed him to stop making things like thinking and breathing so blasted difficult.

    â€œShaun, wake up.”
    Graham nudged his friend and ducked the resulting blow. Shaun’s haphazard fist struck the bed table and upturned a glass of water, splashing the floor and Graham’s foot. He caught the tumbler before it rolled to the floor and shattered.
    Shaun flinched upright. “Who’s there?” He squinted, sniffed, pushed higher, and blinked. “Good God, Graham. I was out like a baby. Take ten years off a man’s life, waking him like that.”
    â€œI need to talk to you.”
    â€œCan’t it wait till morning?”
    â€œThere’s a matter that needs attending first thing tomorrow, and I’ll be busy with Miss Hughes.”
    With a sigh that conveyed he’d much rather sleep than talk, Shaun nonetheless asked, “What’s the problem?”
    â€œWell, after supper I lined up that family of mine and asked them point blank if they’d come upon any documents left in the house by Moira’s stepfather. Or if they simply felt the need to confess something.”
    â€œWhat sort of documents?”
    â€œA codicil. One that would have left Moira and her mother far better off than they are now. But neither Mother nor the twins seemed to know a thing about it. After exchanging utterly baffled glances, they stared at me as if I’d gone daft. Couldn’t help believing them, despite a lingering conviction that they
would
have interfered in Moira’s finances if they’d known about the