A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

R uth blinked at him, and a thought occurred to Philip. Finmore was convinced Miss Devenish was not unpracticed in such matters. Was the same true for Ruth? He knew a stirring inside himself at the thought, something akin to protectiveness.

“Oh,” Ruth said in a blank voice. “A kiss.” She rubbed her lips together, and he resisted the impulse to look at them and wonder what the answer was to his question. “It is certainly something we should discuss. It is always best to be prepared.” She smiled, and he felt another surge of embarrassment. Was he the only person of his acquaintance who had never kissed someone?

“I await your expertise,” he said, and he could hear the sourness in his own voice.

She laughed lightly. “I am afraid this will have to be more of a theoretical discussion than a lesson, as I have little to offer in the way of instruction. My wisdom comes from observation, you know, and people were disappointingly slow to kiss in the Pump Room.”

He laughed—one full of strange relief. “Yes, I believe such actions are generally frowned upon in polite company. So, you abandon me here—leave me to my own devices, then?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him and turned away, walking toward the sofa. “I can’t teach you everything . At some point, you must go out on your own into the world, little one.” She shot him that teasing smile he was coming to feel belonged to them somehow. “Besides, I am not foolish enough to think you need my help on this topic.” She straightened a pillow on the sofa.

He said nothing for a moment. He had caught glimpses of people kissing in dark alcoves at places like Vauxhall, had heard plenty of men brag about their conquests, but he had none of the experience she assumed he had. And he didn’t know whether he wished to let her go on thinking such a thing or admit his naivety. Would she think less of him?

“And what if I do need your help?”

She paused, hand still on the pillow, and turned her head, wariness in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

He swallowed down his reluctance and fear—the things that told him that admitting his weakness would mean rejection—and forced a laugh. “You think the man who, prior to your arrival, couldn’t even speak to a woman without humiliating himself is somehow experienced in this area?”

She laughed softly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I had wondered if perhaps your lack of confidence was limited to Miss Devenish’s presence—she is frighteningly perfect.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately I am incompetent around the opposite sex in general. I have never felt at ease around them, and I am the insufferable type of person who, rather than proving his ineptitude beyond any doubt, chooses to avoid situations that highlight it. Hence my inexperience.” He cleared his throat. “Finmore seemed to think that Miss Devenish would not be so deficient, though.”

Ruth bit her lip. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

He let out a large gush of air. “So you are telling me I must swallow my pride and accept that I might make a bungle of it?”

“It might be good for you to have a little humble pie,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smile. “It wouldn’t be fair for the rest of us if you were good at everything.”

He let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Heartless panda, aren’t you? You have given me enough humble pie to last a lifetime. And what if my bungling it is the difference between two hundred pounds and three hundred pounds? Finmore insists that one kiss can make or break things.”

Her smile faded slightly. “I think you are worrying more than is needful. It is the same problem you have always had—thinking too much. Forget whether you are impressing Miss Devenish or not. A kiss should be an expression of the way you feel for her, not a performance.”

Philip frowned. How did he feel about Miss Devenish? And how did she feel for him? And if he didn’t have the answer to those questions, how could he possibly convey it in a kiss? “But how am I to know if she even welcomes such a thing? The last thing I want to do is force it upon her—I have no desire to be slapped.”

“I very much doubt that will happen. I think you will know . Much like the last lesson we had, you will observe the way she reacts to preludes to the kiss.”

“Preludes?”

She shrugged with a bit of impatience. “Brushing a hair from her face, holding her gaze—things like that.”

Philip could remember what had happened the last time he had tried to hold Miss Devenish’s gaze.

Ruth pursed her lips and strode over to him. “Here.” Her lips drew into a thin line. “You will have to imagine for a moment that I have long, silken locks of hair like Miss Devenish.” She raked a few fingers through her hair, bringing the strands forward onto her forehead. The hair was growing quickly, a fair amount longer than it had been when Philip had first met her a few weeks ago.

“Now,” she said determinedly, “you must—what?”

Philip was trying in vain to suppress a smile, and he put a fist to his mouth to cover it, clearing his throat and looking at her with feigned innocence. He couldn’t imagine Miss Devenish looking like the disheveled woman before him—indeed, he doubted Miss Devenish ever had a hair out of place. “Nothing. Proceed.”

She shot him a censuring look and folded her arms across her chest. “Do you wish for my help or not?”

He straightened and let his hand drop from his face. “I do.”

She pursed her lips and uncrossed her arms. “Before you do anything, you should make sure that her attention is on you—all the things we discussed before about the unconscious language people speak with their eyes and the position of their bodies.” She turned toward him, looking up into his eyes, and Philip’s heart skipped a beat.

“She might show a bit of shyness—fluttering lashes, breaking her gaze away—but her attention will always return to you if she invites more intimacy.” Ruth adjusted her stance, and her arm brushed Philip’s.

He nodded with a swallow, trying to understand what was happening to him. He had been this close to Miss Devenish at the card party, but that had felt nothing like this—every bit of his body on alert, aware of the small space that remained between him and Ruth.

“Now what would you do?” Ruth looked at him expectantly. “Try not to overthink it. Just imagine that I am Miss Devenish, and try to focus on how you might convey your intentions without words.”

Try as he might, though, Philip could see none of Miss Devenish before him. How could he, when he could see every speck of black in Ruth’s brown eyes and the delicate curve of her dark lashes? The hair she had combed forward hung down, nearly reaching her eyebrows—the hair she had cut to afford the journey to London, to help her family. It was like seeing her heart on display, and he reached for it, as though by touching it, he might feel her heart.

She was still, her brown eyes looking at him intently. The air between them thickened as his hand hovered at her brow, his heart thumping so powerfully that he could hear it in his ears. His gaze moved to her lips, which parted briefly. He hardly knew what he was doing as he brushed the hair from her forehead then let his hand slide down the length of her warm cheek, bringing his thumb to her mouth and letting it graze her bottom lip and its soft, pink curves—imagining what it would be like to feel the softness against his own mouth, to feel without seeing.

He shut his eyes, and the world went dark, but he could still feel Ruth’s lips under his thumb. He raised his other hand to her cheek and wondered at the way the feel of her both grounded him and erased the trace of anything else in the world.

Slowly—more slowly than he had done anything in his life—he lowered his head, sensing the closing of the distance between them, feeling the warmth of her sweet breath grazing his face, anticipating the moment when their lips would meet.

A swishing of skirts, and cold air filled the space between them, making Philip blink and draw back.

Ruth was turned away from him a few steps away, and her hand covered her mouth. “You will do very well.” Her voice was gravelly, and she cleared her throat.

Philip’s heart was still thrumming, his chest rising high and falling deeply. “I…I…I am sorry.” He had nearly kissed her. He would have, more sure than anything, if she hadn’t…

She forced a smile and raised a hand to stop him, her other hand still pressed to her lips. “Don’t regard it—there is no reason to apologize. You were only following my instructions. You haven’t any reason to worry over your kiss with Miss Devenish.” She let out a laugh, strangely clipped. “I think that is enough for today.”

He nodded quickly, but the mention of kissing Miss Devenish made him frown, feeling almost as abrupt as Ruth’s breaking away. “Yes, of course. Here I am, forcing you to continue with lessons despite your injury.” It was a flimsy excuse. How many times had she assured him that she was fine? But, for the first time, she didn’t counter his words. “I should be going. I believe Alice meant to visit today.”

Ruth quickly raked her fingers back through her hair, arranging it in place. “Give her my regards—and my thanks again for acting as hostess last night.”

“Certainly.” He hesitated then made for the door, the quick beating of his heart still betraying what had happened. He paused again on the threshold. Why was it so difficult for him to leave Ruth without knowing when he would see her next? “Perhaps I shall come tomorrow for that game of chess you promised—after church?” Tomorrow, he would have sorted through this. Whatever it was.

Ruth smiled and nodded, and Philip took his leave.

R uth stared at the drawing room door as it shut quietly behind Philip. She didn’t move—not until she heard the muffled closing of the door to the street.

Her hand stole to her mouth, brushing at the place on her lips where Philip’s thumb had last touched.

She clenched her eyes shut, as if it might erase the feeling, but his face swam before her. She had let herself be swept up for a moment, certain that he must have been feeling what she was—the electricity that made every inch between them feel a mile too far.

And she might have let it continue—indeed, she thought she might have been too weak to stop herself—had she not opened her eyes for a brief moment. Long enough to see the soft half-moon of his eyelids and to wonder whether, behind them, he was picturing Miss Devenish.

Nausea swam within her at the memory. She had told him to see Miss Devenish in her place. Of course that was what he had been doing. How in the world had she let herself be so carried away by her own silly wishes?

This was not what she came to London for, and only the thought that the Walthams’ masquerade was in three days kept her from ordering Lucy to pack away all of her things so that she and Topher could leave London behind.

She didn’t even want Philip’s two hundred pounds anymore. But she needed it. And the knowledge that it would certainly be three hundred rather than two was no consolation at all.