Page 38 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Say goodbye

Go to your favorite novelist for advice

C onnie awoke from her unexpected doze with her cheek pressed against a warm, firm shoulder.

A puddle of drool darkened his jacket. Embarrassment warred with the need to stretch like Prince had after waking in this same lap.

Opening her eyes to Southwyn’s angular jaw and an up-close view of his sideburns had been disorienting at first. Individual strands of deep red and black blended into his dark brown hair.

The scent of cologne was stronger there, as was his underlying natural smell.

For those few seconds, she had everything. Constance felt safe, cherished, and content—but with a low simmer of desire that would become a conflagration with the tiniest spark.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” The rumble of his voice acted as that spark.

She’d never been simultaneously aroused and dismayed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’ve been awake since two o’clock this morning, and—”

“Constance,” he interrupted, cupping the back of her head and meeting her gaze.

Hearing her name on his lips made her toes curl.

“Please don’t apologize. Holding you while you slept is something I never thought I would do outside of my dreams.” He touched their foreheads together.

“I was able to pretend for a little while that I had you. Thank you.”

Under her bottom, something stirred, and they shared an amused look, loaded with awareness.

“Perhaps I should leave before we do something we’ll regret,” Connie said. Slowly, she cradled his face, then placed a gentle kiss on his lips. A goodbye of sorts, and her heart broke at the contact. After today, they wouldn’t speak of this again, or of their passionate encounter in the storeroom.

His expression mirrored her feelings, and she knew he’d received her wordless message. “Farewell, Oliver.” It seemed appropriate to use his given name aloud. Just this once.

At the door to the study, she donned her outerwear, then glided a hand over Prince’s shiny head.

“It was easier before I knew what this felt like,” he said, low enough that she wasn’t sure he meant her to hear.

Tears streamed down her face the entire way home, while Constance chastised herself for being ridiculous. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d had a real relationship to end.

Why, then, did it feel like she’d lost something precious?

When the sun chased away the clouds an hour later, she begged her father to cover the store, since Hattie had slipped off to places unknown. Owen agreed readily, noting with concern that her red-rimmed eyes would drive away customers.

Gingersnap purred when she slipped the lead over his head and grabbed his basket. While he loved to walk on a leash, there were times when it was unwise to do so on London streets. Even where she was going, in Bloomsbury.

Because when a woman realized she’d fallen in love with a man entirely beyond her reach, then fell asleep in his arms and had the best nap in the history of the world, she needed a sympathetic, nonjudgmental ear.

Preferably one who grasped the awful, gut-wrenching beauty of this emotion pushing against the seams of her soul.

Thus, she needed Caroline, the Duchess of Holland—a vicar’s daughter and erotic fiction writer who’d thumbed her nose at the ton and snagged herself a duke. If anyone would understand what Constance felt for Lord Southwyn, it would be her cousin.

Except, when Hastings showed her into the drawing room, she found more than Caro.

In the doorway, she hitched Gingersnap’s basket deeper into the crook of her arm. “H-hello.”

On the sofa sat Caro with Baby Nate and Dorian, as expected. Beside them was Hattie, not expected. As well as Althea and Oliver—definitely not expected. He didn’t meet her gaze, although his spine straightened when she spoke. Damn and double damn.

“Connie! What a lovely surprise,” Caro said.

Gingersnap mewed a pointed complaint. Releasing the animal to wander gave Connie something to do besides gape at her friends.

During those vital seconds she forced a friendly smile.

An outward appearance that didn’t betray how her mind spun.

Had she forgotten they were all meeting today?

Wouldn’t Oliver have said something if that was the case?

And wouldn’t she remember an appointment that included him?

Except, Caro said it was a surprise to see her. Ergo, Constance hadn’t been invited to whatever this was.

Thoughts raced, searching for an explanation and finding none.

Southwyn still hadn’t looked in her direction, while the others glanced around with a distinctly sheepish air. Years of being told she was sensitive and took things too personally stopped Constance from asking outright why they’d excluded her.

Instead, she reverted to her usual carefree chatter. “The sun came out, so Gingersnap and I are taking some air. Are we interrupting anything?”

A chorus of guilty-sounding no s confirmed her anxiety. Fine. She could pretend there wasn’t anything suspicious about all of this.

Nathaniel slept in his father’s arms, wearing the hat she’d knit for him.

The wool was remarkably soft, one she’d bought from a lovely woman at the market.

Well, Constance began the project, then passed it on to her mum to finish—who’d done an excellent job as expected.

The hat fit his adorable little head perfectly.

Dorian smiled at his son before handing him to Constance when she held out her arms and made a silent grabbing motion.

There. Armed with a sleeping infant to provide comfort and something to do with her hands, she turned and realized the only available seat was beside Oliver on the tiny settee.

Althea waved from her chair but didn’t seem inclined in the least to move and sit beside her fiancé.

But then, Althea wanted to throw Connie and Oliver together as often as possible.

If she only knew how little assistance they needed to develop feelings for one another.

There was nothing to do but perch next to him and pretend that the last time she’d seen him, they hadn’t been closing the book on Althea’s hopes.

Constance offered Southwyn a tight-lipped smile as she snuggled Nathaniel close to her chest and sat as far from the earl as possible. Which, she noted with a resigned sigh, wasn’t far enough to escape her thrumming awareness of him.

The Hollands had boatloads of money. They could afford larger furniture.

“It must be the day to call on the duke and duchess,” Althea chirped. “Oliver arrived a few moments before you. What happy luck.”

Constance risked a glance at Southwyn and caught him watching her before he looked away.

But not before she noted his closed expression.

That ability to lock away emotions behind cool reserve was something she wished she possessed.

Especially when she feared her heart bled on her sleeve for everyone to see.

Thankfully, Nathaniel’s soft baby snores distracted her from mulling over the effect Oliver—no, Southwyn—had on her feelings. A soft grunt escaped her when Gingersnap landed on her lap with a heavy thud.

“Are you jealous of the baby? Apologies, but you can share me for a few minutes,” she told the cat, cradling Nathaniel closer. Goodness, he was such a delightful weight in her arms.

After fleeing her wedding, she’d accepted that Georgia might be the closest she’d get to having a child of her own.

Which was a little bittersweet, but fine.

After all, she’d never longed intensely for a child, or felt like her life would be somehow incomplete if she wasn’t a mother.

But right then, she understood women who desired that.

Especially when long, strong fingers she knew felt delicious on her skin entered her vision and gently plucked the orange cat from her lap.

“Young man, Nathaniel doesn’t need fur up his nose.

You can share your mother this one time.

Come here.” Southwyn placed Gingersnap on his thighs and petted him with a long stroke that made her temperamental cat reconsider the immediate instinct to bolt.

When a deep, rumbly purr rattled from Gingersnap, Southwyn exchanged a look with her.

He didn’t even fully grin—more a quirk of one side of his mouth. That devastatingly imperfect smile.

It was a mere second in time. A minuscule blip in the day everyone else missed entirely.

But in that instant, she experienced a flash of what could have been.

In another lifetime, when Lord Southwyn was plain Mr. Oliver Vincent and within the realm of possible marriage options.

A man who spoke to their pets as if they were people.

A man who came alongside and helped. Who would gaze adoringly at the child they’d created.

He’d stare at their baby the way Dorian watched Nathaniel.

And he’d greet her with kisses and a private, uneven smile he saved just for her.

And every morning, she’d wake with her head on his shoulder, as she had this afternoon.

The mirage of another life gripped tight enough to make swallowing a challenge. Constance allowed the time it took for a single deep inhale to enjoy the fantasy, then shoved it aside. “Gingersnap likes you. Not that I’m surprised after you successfully earned Prince’s affections.”

“Winning over that kitten was impressive,” Althea interjected. “Ladies, don’t you find it attractive when men are kind to animals?”

Caro and Hattie agreed, while Constance held her tongue and brushed a fingertip over Nathaniel’s perfect cheeks.

“Does that mean we need to get a cat?” Dorian asked his wife.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Caro said.

“Father keeps hounds in the country. I can send you a puppy the next time there’s a litter,” Althea offered. Then she grimaced at her watch pin. “Speaking of my father, I should depart for home. My parents’ goodwill only extends so far.”