Kissing Comfort Page 20

Comfort sensed something was different even before Bode broke off the kiss. She raised her face, following the kiss until it was no longer possible. When he straightened, he rested his chin on the crown of her head so she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  She drew in a shaky breath and whispered uncertainly, “What is it?” His chin rubbed her scalp, and she knew he was shaking his head. “Tell me.”

  Bode smiled, but the shape of it was rueful. “It’s not you.”

  “I know it’s not.”

  Her response surprised a back-of-the-throat chuckle from him.

  “Well, it’s not, is it?” she said. “I’m doing it right.”

  He raised his head and lifted her chin. “You’re doing it very right.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said gravely. She removed her chin from the cup of his hand and placed all of her fingertips against his chest. She applied enough pressure to encourage him to take a step back. As soon as he did, she quickly closed her splayed knees and pushed her dress over them. She didn’t jump down from her perch on the desk, but she did curl her hands around the edge to help her shove away when she was ready. Right now, Bode was still standing too close. If she moved, she’d be a barnacle on his hull.

  Comfort stared at him, her dark eyebrows lifting a fraction in inquiry.

  “Apparently I cannot be persuaded,” Bode said.

  She frowned slightly, slow to understand his meaning until she recalled their exchange just before she kissed him. She’d told Bode that she did not love his brother and wondered aloud if he believed her. I could be persuaded, he had said. And now his answer was apparently not.

  “Mm.” Her gaze fell away, and she looked on either side of her for the combs he’d removed while she gathered her hair and wound it around her hand. She loosely twisted her hair and stabbed it with the combs to secure it. Aware that Bode was studying her again, this time with wry amusement clearly defining the shape of his mouth, she gestured at him to move out of the way. What he did was pull her chair close behind him, palm the paperweight he’d dropped there earlier, and sit down, effectively blocking her from abandoning her roost unless she wanted to land in his lap. Which she did not.

  Leaning back, Bode bobbled the paperweight between his hands and stretched his legs under the desk. He saw her eye his shins as if she were gauging the distance between them and the pointed toes of her leather boots, but he judged it was more show than real threat.

  Tilting her head to one side, Comfort considered him. “It’s difficult to know what to make of you, Beau DeLong.”

  The infinitesimal lift of one corner of his mouth hinted again at his wry, reserved humor. “Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Bram is always so engaged and engaging. You’re not at all like that.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Do you dislike comparisons?”

  He shrugged. “It’s what people do. How they judge. But I don’t know that it’s helpful.”

  “I think it must be human nature to distinguish what sets each of us apart, but there are always more commonalities than there are differences. Certainly that’s true for you and Bram.”

  “Really?” He couldn’t recall that anyone had ever said so.

  “Of course. There are obvious things like the similarities in your height and frame, your carriage and gestures. You both have a habit of plowing your hair with your fingers, and you arch the same eyebrow. Even the way you sit when formality isn’t a requirement is almost identical. While you ease toward leaning but never quite surrendering your spine, Bram, I fear, actually becomes boneless, while you remain alert.”

  Bode had a vision of himself as she saw him. He was indeed sprawled in the chair, his legs slightly splayed, his shoulders resting comfortably against the leather, his hips inclined forward, but there was a line of tension that was his constant companion, not unwelcome because he believed it was what made him a sentient being. He supposed it was what she meant when she said he never quite surrendered his spine.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I imagine you’re more curious about traits of character.”

  “That is understating it.”

  “Very well. You share a wicked sense of humor and uncanny perception. You’re both clever, acutely so, confident, convinced of the rightness of whatever you do, and although it reveals itself in different ways, there is generosity in your nature. You both are frequently at odds with your mother, but you appreciate your family even in those circumstances, perhaps most especially then.”

  “I don’t know about that last,” Bode said. “But I believe you’re right about the rest.”

  “Oh, I am.” Her smile was deliberately smug. “About all of it, actually.”

  A low, appreciative chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. “Your conceit is rather more attractive than it should be.” He wanted to kiss her again. In point of fact, he wanted to do a great deal more than that. It was tempting to think that he could have her. He wondered, though, if he could keep her.

  Nothing was so clear to him as his intention to keep her.

  “What are you going to do about Bram?” he asked. Like a shadow overtaking light, distress chased away the lightness of feeling he’d glimpsed in her eyes. He regretted the loss.

  “I thought I’d already done it,” she said. “I was firm regarding my expectations. There could have been no misunderstanding.” She compressed her lips, remembering the laudanum.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The laudanum that he keeps at his bedside. I wonder . . .” She held up her hands, palms out. “I don’t know. Perhaps he never really heard what I was saying.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s more likely that you’re excusing him too easily.”

  “I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve never quite understood how that happens. Does he do something to encourage me to make excuses for him, or am I really so charitable?”

  “It’s not one or the other,” Bode said. “It’s both. And you’re not alone.”

  “Oh, I realize that, but it’s always easier to see that he’s using misdirection when he’s not performing the trick for me.” Comfort saw Bode’s mouth twitch. “I suppose he never catches you unaware.”

  “He does it regularly. Why do you think he wouldn’t?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d be a more skeptical audience.”

  “I am. But he’s good. Very good. And as you pointed out, misdirection is easier to see when you’re not the one being misdirected.” Bode folded his hands on his chest. “So what will you do?”

  “I’ll call on him and remind him of our conversation. If he can’t, or won’t, tell his mother the truth, then it falls to me. I offered before to sit with him while he told her, but he didn’t want that, and now, I don’t want him. I’ll do it on my own.”

  “Are you certain you want to do that?”

  “I’m quite certain I don’t, but a letter is a cowardly compromise.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of a letter. I was thinking that you might allow me to explain the situation to her.” Bode saw Comfort stiffen, her surprise palpable. “I guess not.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. I offered.”

  “Then, no. I can’t accept. It will only confuse and complicate.”

  “Oh, good, because I thought we were already in those waters.” He ignored the sour look she gave him. “I have more experience than you delivering unpleasant news to my mother, particularly as it concerns Bram.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, but what is the explanation for your involvement? She’ll ask, you know.”

  “She will. And there’s nothing the least complicated about my answer. I’ll tell her that you came to me with the truth about the engagement and asked for my advice.”

  Comfort’s eyebrows lifted. “Asked you for advice?”

  “I thought that would be less offensive to you than telling her you nearly ravished me in the venerable offi
ces of Jones Prescott.” Bode swiveled his chair out of the way in the event she recovered herself quickly enough to deliver a bruising blow to his shins. She surprised him, though, because when she got over her initial astonishment, she had to press her hand to her mouth to contain her laughter.

  It occurred to him that perhaps he should be offended.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said through her fingers. “But I’m imagining how your mother would greet that news. I think there’s every possibility that she might be rendered speechless.”

  It wasn’t difficult to understand why that would amuse her. His mother believed there were correct sentiments for every occasion and not having those at the tip of one’s tongue was not only ill-mannered and a sign of poor breeding, but also hinted at an impoverished mind. Alexandra had probably shared her views with Comfort; she certainly had shared those opinions with him.

  “You make it very tempting to tell her,” Bode said.

  Comfort sobered. Her fingers fell away from her lips and curled around the edge of the desk again. “I’ll speak to her alone, but thank you for the offer.”

  “As you like.”

  Now that Bode’s legs were out of the way, Comfort was able to slide off her desk. She didn’t ask him to vacate her chair, choosing instead to busy herself picking up the papers and ledgers that he’d swept onto the floor. She was relieved that he didn’t lend a hand. It would have made the task awkward somehow. This way, when she finished, she could pretend the warmth in her cheeks was the result of exertion and not from the memories of how each object had come to be where it lay.

  She set everything on the desk without attempting to organize it. One of her hands rested on an accounts ledger. “You never mentioned what brought you around to see my uncles.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Comfort told herself to let the matter drop. She was used to confidentiality in banking matters. She pressed for information anyway. “I thought it might have something to do with the drawing I saw.”

  “What drawing?”

  “The one on your table. In your home above the Black Crowne Office. I think you were working on it when I went there. I interrupted you.”

  “I was, and you did.”

  She couldn’t recall if she’d apologized for it. “Well, I’m sorry for that.” Having the desk between them, even if she was opposite her usual place, helped make his presence in her office more in the way of ordinary than outside of it. “It looked as if you were working on the design for a ship.”

  “An iron paddle steamer.”

  “I see.”

  There was a wry tilt to his mouth. “Do you know what that is?”

  “From your drawing, I’d say she’s two things: a clipper and a riverboat. She has masts and a bowsprit like one and a steam propulsion plant amidships to turn two side paddle wheels like the other.”

  He was impressed. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten such a good look at it.”

  “I don’t think you wanted me to, so I apologize for that. As for remembering it, there are some things that just stay in my mind.” She closed her eyes a moment. “I can picture it.” She looked at him again. “Though I imagine it’s been revised many times since I last saw it.”

  “Many times.”

  “There were erasure shavings all over the paper. I had the impression you were revising it almost as fast as you were sketching it.”

  “I often do. I want to get it right.”

  “Is there a right way?”

  “Probably not. I should have said I want to make it better, the best it can be.”

  She nodded, understanding. “It’s important to do a thing well. When you’re done, will you build her?”

  “Eventually.”

  Comfort sat down in a chair usually occupied by visitors. “She deserves to be built.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course. She’s beautiful. She has the majesty of a clipper and the strength of an ironclad. What will you name her?”

  “I’m thinking, given your description, I should call her the Queen Mother.”

  Comfort laughed, delighted by his arid accents. “See? There is your wicked sense of humor. Call her the Alexandra Queen.”

  Bode found himself staring at her mouth again. Laughter made her lips as tempting as Eve’s apple. Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. “Alexandra Queen. Perhaps I will.”

  “She’ll like it. More importantly, she’ll be flattered. I would be.”

  “You’d be a schooner,” he said. “Swift. Sleek. A ship that’s responsive to a light hand and easy to maneuver.”

  Comfort’s eyes widened fractionally. Her lips parted. She was able to resist placing her hands against her cheeks, which were warming rapidly. There was no need to call more attention to their deepening color. “Forgive my poor breeding and impoverished mind,” she said finally, recalling something Alexandra DeLong had told her. “But I’m afraid the proper response eludes me.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “It seemed as if you had.”

  “But you should probably slap my face.”

  “I wondered about that.” His sudden grin, full of mischief and boyish charm, put all thought of retaliation out of Comfort’s mind. “That’s Bram’s smile,” she told him.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. The one he uses when he knows he’s been naughty and is about to be forgiven anyway.”

  “I object to ‘naughty,’ but I am in favor of being forgiven. Am I?”

  She sighed heavily. “Yes.”

  Bode appreciated that she offered surrender against her better judgment. “I wasn’t certain I could do it,” he confessed. “It was my smile before it was Bram’s, you know, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had reason to use it.”

  “Keeping it in reserve is probably a good strategy.”

  Bode nodded. He set the paperweight on the desk. His smile faded, and his look became considering once more. “If I hadn’t come here this morning, when would you have told me about the engagement?”

  The change of subject didn’t throw her. She’d known he’d bring her around to it eventually. He was like a dog with a bone. “I don’t know,” she said. “I fully intended to do it right after I spoke to Bram. I didn’t expect to spend so many days away from work—or anything else.”

  “So you weren’t avoiding me.”

  “I might have been. You are not always a comfortable person to talk to.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, and don’t say it as if you’re unaware.”

  “All right. But doesn’t it strike you the least bit odd that you find me comfortable enough to kiss?”

  “Comfortable? That is ridiculously inaccurate.”

  “Convenient, then.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Well?”

  She fell silent as she searched for the appropriate word. “Compelling,” she said at last. “You’re compelling.”

  “Then we’re staying with words that begin with C. That’s good. I appreciate consistency.”

  She rolled her eyes at his wordplay but couldn’t quite smother her smile. “What do you think explains it?”

  “You’re curious.”

  “Really? About what?”

  “Kissing, for one thing. Me, for another.”

  “I think I understand kissing.”

  “You do now.”

  She thought he sounded a tad full of himself, but she didn’t take issue. Arguing would have had an effect opposite of what she wished, namely that the conversation be steered to a different course. In spite of that, she heard herself ask, “Why do you kiss me back?”

  “For the pleasure of it.”

  “Oh.” Comfort found that she was oddly disappointed by his answer, but then she wondered what sort of response would have satisfied. There was no time to dwell on it. She was suddenly aware of Bode’s shifting attention. He was looking beyond her, just above her head, and she realized he was alert to som
e movement in the corridor. She twisted in her chair to share his view and was in time to see her Uncle Newt step into the hallway from the stairwell. Tuck followed closely on his heels. Bode must have heard them, she decided. His searching look had been in anticipation of their arrival, not because he’d already seen them. Here was further proof that virtually nothing got past his notice.

  Bode stood and made himself visible in the open doorway. Newton and Tucker saw him at once and passed their office in favor of greeting him in Comfort’s domain. Tucker rounded her desk and put out his hand to Bode while Newton stood behind Comfort and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “I came to ask for a moment of your time,” Bode told them as they approached. “And Miss Kennedy was kind enough to allow me to disturb her while I waited.”

  “How did he get your chair, Comfort?” asked Newt.

  “Trickery,” she said.

  “I prefer to call it misdirection.” Bode smiled pleasantly. “I distracted her by rearranging items on her desk.”

  Tuck and Newt glanced simultaneously at Comfort’s desk. It looked no different than it ever did.

  “Apparently she’s put it back the way she likes it,” said Tuck. “Chaotic.”

  Newt squeezed Comfort’s shoulders. “It was good of you not to slam his fingers under a paperweight.” He saw Bode wince. “Yes, you were surprisingly fortunate, but then I wonder if she’s fully recovered.”

  Tuck turned to Comfort. “Are you? Should you be home?”

  “I’m fine. Really,” she added when he continued to regard her doubtfully. She reached up to her shoulder and tapped Newt’s hand. “Please take Mr. DeLong to your office and make it a point to discuss something other than me. In fact, ask him about the Alexandra Queen.”

  Comfort was gratified to see them accept her prompting so readily. Only Bode’s sidelong, faintly sardonic glance told her that he wasn’t fooled by her misdirection.

  Alexandra DeLong sipped her tea with delicate precision and nodded approvingly at her guest. Sunday afternoons were her favorite time for intimate chats, and she’d been looking forward to spending time with Comfort. There was a great deal to discuss, and she favored Comfort’s candid recitation of her dilemma. “I know, dear. It’s distressing the way men use women. They have every advantage and we have every consequence.”