A Lasting Impression

the least, just not when she was . . . arranging herself.
    Needing to say something— anything, in her defense—she grasped what shreds of decorum remained. “A proper gentleman would have made his presence known, sir. At the very outset.” The reprimand didn’t come out nearly as convincingly as she would have liked.
    “Indeed, he would have.” His smile remained undeterred. “As I did. Twice. ”
    She narrowed her eyes.
    He held up a hand as though requesting her patience, then proceeded to clear his throat. Loudly—not once, but twice. Until he choked in the process. Or at least pretended he did. Rather convincingly too, going so far as to clutch his chest and reach for the back of the pew for support.
    Despite her embarrassment, Claire fought back a giggle—the response he’d hoped to elicit, she felt sure, considering the watchful glint in his eyes. He’d caught her in a most embarrassing moment, but just how embarrassing, she wasn’t sure. Had he actually seen her crawl out from beneath the pew where she’d hidden? Certainly she would have noticed him standing there, if so.
    Regardless, she recognized what he was offering her now—the opportunity to make light of the situation and save face. And she grabbed it with both hands, hoping she would be halfway convincing, and that he wouldn’t notice her stocking feet.
    “While that was a fairly convincing demonstration, sir”—her unease lessening, she still held her smile in check—“I fail to see how I could have possibly turned a deaf ear to so flagrant a display.”
    His dark brows inched higher. And the swift manner in which he masked his reaction told her he knew how to play this game, probably better than she. “Which accounts for my surprise, dear lady. And frankly, my keen disappointment when you failed to come to my aid. I could have choked to death. Right here, on this very floor.”
    “And what a loss that would have been for us all.”
    He frowned, feigning hurt and disbelief. Feigned, she knew, by the barely perceptible upturn of his mouth.
    Under normal circumstances, she would never have entered into such casual repartee with a stranger, but this man didn’t feel like a stranger to her. At least not completely. Having observed him with the workers at the train station, she’d glimpsed his lack of pretense, his sincerity of character, and she found herself wanting to trust that first impression.
    Very much.
    To her surprise, he walked toward her, the entire length of the pew, and stopped a respectable distance away. At least two feet separated them, but the distance felt much closer. He felt much closer.
    He offered another bow. “I’ve been remiss in my manners. Mr. Sutton Monroe at your service, ma’am.”
    She offered her hand, and he took it in his. His breath was warm against her skin, his lips soft, and his release all too swift. Claire had a difficult time not staring. Sutton Monroe . The name suited him.
    Acting on a whim, she gave a sweeping curtsy worthy of Emperor Napoleon’s court, careful to keep her stocking feet covered. “Miss Claire Elise Laurent . . .” She lifted her head as she rose. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Monroe. And my deepest apologies for endangering your life as I so obviously did with my earlier negligence.”
    His smile turned dangerously disarming.
    It occurred to her that perhaps her casual banter was giving him the wrong impression about what sort of woman she was. She looked into his sea-blue eyes and detected an inviting sparkle—and knew without a doubt that she was in trouble. Not because of any flaw in his moral fiber, but because she couldn’t stop looking at him. . . . At the quiet confidence residing in his features, the resilient strength in his manner. The smooth-shaven jawline and the fullness of his mouth. The way his dark hair fell in carefree fashion across one side of his forehead and curled at his temple.
    Her gaze lifted. And there again were those eyes. . . .
    Warmth spread through her, similar to moments before, only . . . different this time. But a good different. A very good different.
    His playful behavior fully convinced her that the fine lady mentioned in conversation yesterday by one of the workers must have referred to either his mother or a rich elderly aunt. And not a wife. Because she couldn’t imagine that this man—once having made a vow of faithfulness and oneness of heart—would ever do anything to tarnish it. Even a little.
    “Permit