She did not know what to make of Miles Fletcher or his remarks. The popinjay was become a swooping falcon. He hoped for far more! And yet, it was he who had stopped the soft wonder--the tender heaven of their kisses! Dear God, what did he mean? He hoped for more lovemaking perhaps? Such a thought made her very ears burn. More, far more, he had said. She brushed a curl away from her eyes with the end of the fan.“Have I changed?” he asked. His voice, cool, calm and collected in the asking of such a question, startled her. “What?”He pointed to the fan. “The language of the fan,” he said. “Did you mean to tell me I have changed?”Oh my! The mere touch of the fan to her forehead carried a message. How provoking! And yet, this moment of misunderstanding offered unexpected opportunity to return their conversation to more comfortable footing. “Have I remembered it rightly?” She touched the fan to her forehead again.He nodded, studying her expression. “I do apologize . . .”
