Chapter Fifteen

The kiss began almost gently, tentatively, before it exploded in a blaze of desire. Courtesy and deference dissolved in an overpowering hunger. He had not known he could feel such hunger. He fell on her like a starving man, devouring, demanding. He crushed her to him as he invaded her mouth.

Vaguely he was aware that after a first moment of hesitation she was responding with enthusiasm. Her fingers seemed to have gotten inside his coat, where they fastened themselves on his shirt. His fingers made their way up from the nape of her neck, freeing her hair from the imprisoning pins, tilting her head the better to explore her face with his mouth.

Then she began to make more demands herself. Her hands reached up and tangled themselves in his hair, pulling him down to her for more kisses. He could hear whimpers, moans—her sounds or his? A growl—that was his. But when his mouth moved across her jaw and his teeth nibbled at the soft skin of her throat, the moan—that was hers.

Yes, his body was exulting, yes, this was what he wanted. This was what he needed. His hands explored her body and he thrilled to feel her hands on him. He pulled her closer, crushing the silly wire cage she wore under her dress. It could not impede him. He could feel the roundness of her buttocks and he pressed her to him. That gasp she gave surely meant that she could feel him too.

Her body fit so perfectly against his. They were made for each other. This was what he had been seeking all his life, this closeness, this woman. Time and space vanished. They were alone in the universe.

A raucous cry followed by a metallic clamor and the yowl of an angry cat shattered the quiet, shocking him into consciousness.

It took a moment to recall where he was. With something like horror, he realized that he had pulled up Marguerite’s skirt until his hand was on her thigh and he was pressed against her. Good God! He had her pushed against a wall in an alley.

Trembling, he removed his hand to let her skirt fall back into place but wrapped the arm around her waist to keep her close. His forehead rested against hers. Minutes went by while he tried to get his breathing under control. She was trembling as well, and her breathing was no steadier than his. Whether he should take comfort from that was not clear. He could feel her shiver within the circle of his arms. Unless that was his own trembling.

“Well,” he finally managed, “that was a surprise.” Oh brilliant, Ned. Could you manage to sound like any more of a fool? “I hadn’t realized…” Better and better. How romantic. That’s the way to woo a lady.

Perhaps Marguerite was feeling no more articulate than he was, because her response was a little sort of huff, barely a sound, and certainly not a word. When he managed to lift his head enough to look at her, her eyes were dazed, just coming into focus, and aimed at his shoulder, not his face.

“No, I…” She licked her lips and tried again. “I wasn’t expecting… I had no idea.”

It was good to know that he had not been alone in his failure to realize. But there were certain practicalities that required immediate attention. They were, after all, still in a lane of the village. Quiet, but hardly private.

She untied the ribbons of her cap to replace it on her head, but before she could, he reached out and fingered a lock of her hair that had come loose.

“Pretty. So soft.”

Her flush deepened. “You also need to…” She gestured at his disordered neck cloth and waistcoat.

He ought to feel a certain embarrassment, he supposed, but he couldn’t manage it. Instead a grin kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. A sense of the rightness of what had just happened buoyed him up. It was unlikely that she would appreciate the pleasure he felt in the realization that she had been an active participant in this, this tempest that had swept over them.

She was looking down the alley with some concern. “Oh dear. Your hat…”

He followed her glance. Oh dear indeed. His hat had landed in a puddle. Since it had not rained today and the road was dry, he did not care to think what it might be a puddle of. “I think I shall leave it. Should anyone ask, a determined breeze captured it.”

Strange, that he should be able to speak so calmly, and even make a small joke. One that even won him a small smile, though she would still not look him in the face. In fact, she stepped back from him—not far, only a step or so, but still it was a step in the wrong direction.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. “We need to talk, you know.”

She nodded, a brief nod, barely acknowledging his words. “Delphine…”

Delphine? Surely she did not think he was interested in her cousin—or perhaps she did. “Delphine is a pretty child,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but she is a child.”

Marguerite nodded. “And she must be taken care of.”

He was not sure just what she meant.

“She must be taken care of by me,” she said, clarifying her position.

“If you wish.” They could certainly take care of her cousin, if that was what Marguerite wanted.

“It is not a matter of what I wish. It is the promise I made to my mother as she was dying. Delphine is my responsibility.”

Now she looked directly at him, but it was almost a challenge.

“I would be perfectly willing to share that responsibility,” he said. “We can take care of her, and of your aunt and Horace as well.”

Shaking her head, she turned away. “No. You do not understand.”