Seven Minutes in Heaven(56)

Eugenia opened her mouth to stop him, but Lizzie got there first. “Why was Mrs. Snowe in a basket?”

“She had memorized a soliloquy from Othello, and wanted to give it to the company,” the bishop said. “As I recall, her father had made her promise not to recite any more Shakespeare, but she got around him by being delivered as a birthday present.”

“I have memorized the whole of Othello,” Lizzie said, nodding. “I was the prompter when my mother played Desdemona.”

“Lady Lisette playing the innocent Desdemona,” Chatty muttered. “Flabbergasting.”

Eugenia threw him a quick frown. No matter her reputation, Lady Lisette had been Lizzie’s mother, not to mention Ward’s.

“Well, go ahead and give your speech,” Chatty said. “If you’re anything like young Eugenia, you won’t relent until you have your way.”

“What did Mrs. Snowe do when she didn’t have her way?” Lizzie asked, eyes wide.

“I am not a good model,” Eugenia said hastily.

“Oh, she was a terror, a right terror,” Chatty said. “Burst out screaming, she would. Her papa had spoiled her rotten.”

Eugenia swatted her old friend on the arm. “Hush, you beast.”

“I am not spoiled,” Lizzie said. “I don’t mind if no one hears my speech.”

“Good girl,” Chatty said, bending down. “I hate Othello myself. That being the case, would you be so kind as to escort an old man back to the vicarage?”

“I can do that,” Lizzie said, as regal as any queen. She and the bishop left the room, her high voice fading as the door swung shut behind them.

“Spoiled, were you?” Ward said, with distinct amusement.

Just a few minutes before, he had resembled an ancient berserker, wanting only an axe resting on his shoulder to complete the picture. Now he looked like an English gentleman again, if handsomer than most.

“Well,” Eugenia said briskly, gathering up her reticule and shawl, “we’d better follow them.”

Ward took the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “How spoiled were you?”

“Monstrously,” she admitted as he drew her down the aisle. “I was the light of my father’s eyes, and I spent a good deal of time with him or alone. Thus the plays.”

“Is that why you became a governess?” He held open the door.

“I was never a governess. I operate a registry office for governesses, which is not the same thing.”

They entered the dim passageway leading to the vicarage. Its only illumination was weak sunlight filtering through narrow windows badly in need of a wash.

Ward took a quick look ahead to make certain they were alone, drew Eugenia to a halt, and slid his arms around her waist. “I thought you were too naughty to be a governess.”

“I think we established that you were a naughty child, Mr. Reeve. I was quite biddable.”

“Only if you weren’t crossed, according to your friend the bishop.” Ward drew her closer and bent his head. “I can’t go on without a taste of you.”

Her eyes were luminous in the dark corridor, her skin translucent. “You’d best be careful, Mr. Reeve. You’ve made Chatty curious, and if he were to drop a word to my father, you might find yourself dumped at the base of an altar. And I don’t mean as a pagan sacrifice, either.”

“You’re a widowed woman,” he said, his lips hovering over hers. “Your father needn’t defend your honor the way he would a maiden’s.”

Eugenia shook her head. “You have a great deal to learn about fathers and daughters.”

“I have time before Lizzie grows up.”

Ward’s ready acceptance of Lizzie and Otis into his life was almost as alluring as the muscled leg holding her against the wall.

Or the warm mouth ravaging hers, kissing her with a ferocity that pricked all over, making heat radiate through her body.

“We can’t do this here,” she whispered.

“No one can see,” he growled back, the catch in his voice making her knees wobble because he so clearly wanted her as much as she wanted him. His hand slid past her shoulder and shaped her breast as he drank from her mouth.

“How spoiled are you these days? Will you scream if I don’t give you what you want?” He was rubbing her nipple with the side of his broad thumb, making her eyelids droop and her knees tremble.

“Screaming in the vicarage would not be a good idea,” she managed. She could scarcely speak. She was boneless against the wall, her hips arching instinctively against the hard muscular curve of his thigh. With a gasp, she pulled away from his kiss and sank her hands into his hair.