Chapter 15

His gaze shifted between her lips and her eyes. The moment seemed frozen, time stopped.

He should have been cold, but the longer he stared at her the more heated he became.

Her tongue moved across her lush lower lip.

He felt himself bending toward it.

Her eyes, which had been focused on his mouth in a most physical manner, suddenly lifted to his. His breath caught. A moment ago he had wondered if something was troubling her, she’d looked almost angry when he’d turned toward her. Perhaps Aunt Prudence had left her with a sour taste in her mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had that effect on someone.

But he wasn’t going to focus on Prudence at a moment like this. He was no man’s fool.

He leaned in, breathing in Sin’s scent, then exhaling, her hair waving as the air hit it.

Honey. How could she smell like honey in February?

And vanilla.

Sin smelled like biscuits—he’d always had a fondness for biscuits. And he was hungry now.

Her eyes gazed into his, wide and startled. She hadn’t been expecting this, not now. Earlier in the hallway, perhaps, but not now.

His body stirred at her innocence, her innocence and trust. Whatever had been in her eyes moments before, there was no mistaking her current look.

Her glance dropped to his mouth. He tensed his lips, then with slow deliberation parted them the tiniest bit.

She stopped breathing.

A little closer. It would have been hard to slide a sheet of paper between them and yet he did not touch her. Did not close the space.

She yearned for him. He could feel it wrapping about him, but he did not move.

Her eyes moved up to his, the green in them shining bright and clear. They spoke of desire—and of the need for him to move.

He did not.

Her tongue slipped between her teeth. Would she taste him?

No, she did not yet have that courage.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispered, watching for every flicker of movement.

Sin nodded, the smallest of gestures.

He almost pressed forward, almost gave in to what she wanted, to what they both wanted, but he held himself back. In this moment, he had the power and he was not loath to use it. “How much do you want me to kiss you?”

Confusion flickered in her eyes.

He liked it, liked keeping her slightly off center.

He pressed his hips forward, again not touching her, but letting her feel the heat rising off his body.

He waited for her answer. When it did not come, he pulled back enough to see her whole face, to let her tongue dart out to wet her lips. “I can’t kiss you if I don’t know if you truly want me to.”

“I do.”

“But how much? What will you do to show me what you want?”

“Anythi—” She cut herself off. “What do you want me to do?”

Smart girl. Not quite willing to commit herself to more than she meant.

He considered. He hadn’t thought this out. It was her willingness he wanted, not some particular action.

But what would he like?

He gazed down at those pouting lips and could think of several things he’d like very much. His cock grew against his leg as a thousand pictures formed in his mind. But not one of them was appropriate to the time or season—or the woman. Some things must be nurtured with care.

“I want a promise,” he said.

“A promise?” More confusion.

“I want you to meet me tonight—in the long gallery. After everyone is in bed.”

A swirl of thought behind her eyes. Again he felt some fiery emotion there, something that was not desire.

For a moment he thought she’d refuse, but then her head bowed briefly. “I promise, although you’ll have to tell me how to get there. I believe Aunt Prudence may have pointed it out on her tour, but my only other memory is of slipping down from the nursery, with Jasmine, on a rainy day and even if I remembered clearly I’d have to start at the nursery to be sure of arriving at the correct destination.”

“Now, we don’t want that.” He leaned close again and whispered the directions into her ear. Then he laid a gentle kiss just below the lobe, one at the curve of her jaw, one halfway up her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

Her body softened and swayed toward him.

Again, he cursed the season, but only in his mind; his lips continued their journey, brushing across that lush lower lip that had featured so prominently in his dreams recently.

He parted his lips, his teeth, nibbled ever so softly.

A sigh escaped her.

A single perfect kiss right across the center of her mouth.

Her eyes stayed focused on his, not closing as so many women’s did. It was slightly disconcerting, but even more arousing. He could see every emotion that she felt as his lips passed over hers. Her eyes moved from bottle green to murky gray and back; the late afternoon sun reflecting back at him.

Another nibble. Another sigh.

He pressed tighter, letting his lips flatten against hers, felt hers part. Running his tongue along the opening seam, he watched the surprise fill her and then the delight. Despite everything they had done yesterday, she really was an innocent. It amazed him that he’d ever thought her experienced, ever thought she had worked at Madame Blanche’s.

He pulled his tongue in the other direction, the hardened tip seeking, but not entering.

Her lips parted farther.

He dared to enter, sweeping the soft underside of her lips.

Her eyes widened.

She liked that. Her chest expanded, her breasts pressing into his chest.

He curled his hands at his sides, not reaching up to cup her breasts, not wrapping about her to press her tighter still, to make her his captive. Patience. This was all about patience.

Soft. Soft. Sweet. He pressed his advantage. His tongue ventured between her teeth, beginning its dance.

He felt her palms rise, felt them caress his chest, felt them slip inside his greatcoat, tangle in his shirt.

He swept the inside of her mouth. Her tongue rose to meet his.

And he gave in, let loose.

His hands curved about her ass, pulling her hard against his swollen cock, the softness of her belly a momentary respite from the fire that urged him on. She moaned beneath his lips, wanting more.

Letting his tongue plunder her mouth, he pushed tighter against her belly, longing to lift her skirts and bury himself within her.

There was a bench about the next corner. It would be so easy to bend her over, to spread her cheeks wide, to…And it wouldn’t require much removal of clothing. All it would take was…

Blast, he’d promised not to risk getting her with child, if she was not already, and what he was imagining would very definitely put lie to that promise.

Tonight. He would wait until tonight.

He pulled back slightly, not separating them, but trying to slow the frenzy.

A small moan of protest slipped from her lips.

“Shhh. This isn’t the time or the place,” he murmured, between kisses.

“But…”

“Tonight.”

He pressed his lips to hers sweetly and then held back, lifting his hands to tangle in her gathered hair. He stared down into her eyes, watching heat slowly cool, seeing reason return.

Another strange flash. What was that emotion she kept hidden from him? What was he missing? There was something there, but he did not begin to know how to question it.

Her fingers uncurled from his shirt. She lifted them and brushed her heated cheek. “I didn’t…I don’t…I’ve never had a kiss like that. I didn’t know a kiss could be like that.”

“And you’ve had a lot of kisses?”

“Not a lot, but enough that I thought I knew what a kiss was like. That was…was…Why do I have no words?”

That he could answer. “Some things are simply beyond words.”

“I’ve never thought so before.”

“Never?” he asked watching the flush deepen on her cheeks as her mind flew to their time in the cabin.

“We should head back to the house. I will need time to dress for dinner.”

“You are changing the subject.”

“Perhaps, but still it is true.”

He glanced up at the sky, noting that it was beginning to darken. Dinner was early at this time of year. Country hours.

Pressing one last kiss upon her lips, he stepped back and held out his arm, his mind skipping ahead to the late, late hours of the evening.

“What had she promised?” Cynthia stared down at the deep bodice of the dress—what had happened to Aunt Prudence’s insistence on high necklines?—and tried to pretend that she had not agreed to meet James in the long gallery. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. That was clear enough.

And that wasn’t even considering this dress. Her breasts were pushed high enough that she could have served tea on them. She’d never worn a corset like this one, but the dress did demand that her body be reshaped—reshaped in such a way that her breasts were pushed up to her chin. She’d always known that her breasts were not small, but she’d never thought that they’d draw every eye in a room. Now there was no way to look away.

Perhaps a shawl?

Aunt Prudence would only take it from her. Clearly, the woman was convinced that a marriage needed to occur and that this dress was the way to make it happen. And it probably would have worked if James had been the problem. Unfortunately, being wrapped in sapphire silk with enough petticoats to contain an army and having her breasts pushed to the heavens in no way persuaded Cynthia that marriage to James was to her advantage.

The man was a cad. He abducted her and then seduced her. Well, it hadn’t exactly been seduction. What did one call a morning…? She didn’t even know how to describe the situation to herself.

And this afternoon? It was hard to even think about her actions—although she didn’t know what else she could have done.

She rose from the dressing table, her spine held far straighter than she could ever remember. How did one eat dinner in such a dress? She couldn’t lean toward the table and was likely to leave half her dinner sitting on her bosom—and that was assuming there was room for even a single bite in her squeezed stomach. The maid had definitely pulled the laces rather tight.

She was diverting herself.

What was she going to do?

She had promised James she would meet him. She always kept her promises. But he’d already betrayed her, lied to her. Did she owe him honesty?

And what was the alternative? She was as trapped here as she had been in the cabin. If she explained the situation to Aunt Prudence, Prudence would express great sympathy and then arrange for the banns to be read. She would see no alternative but marriage.

And was there an alternative?

While the fact that her father had not shown up with a dozen armed men indicated her story had probably been believed, how long would it hold? Her father was not a stupid man—and for that matter Gillian was not a stupid woman. Cynthia might not be fond of her stepmother, might find her simpering, but she’d never thought her low on intellect.

At some point someone would ask a question she could not answer—and then…

Did she need to marry James?

The question played over and over in her mind. She was not Jasmine. She had no desire to live in scandal—and scandal there would be if her…her…her dalliance was ever discovered.

And what if she was with child? Her hand dropped to her belly.

No. She would not be bullied, not even by her own thoughts.

She would not marry any man she did not wish. She pushed aside for the moment the thought of what she wished.

With some determination, she turned and walked to the door. Before anything else, there was dinner. Aunt Prudence had indicated that several neighbors had been invited and it was important to put on a good face. After dinner was another matter.

Should she keep her promise?

James almost swallowed his tongue as Sin entered the room. He’d never been a fan of older fashions, much preferring the newer more natural silhouettes that allowed the body to show through, but as he saw Sin float into the room in one of his great-aunt’s gowns he developed a whole new appreciation. He’d known Sin had curves, but he hadn’t realized quite to what heights they could rise. A man might get lost in there—and never wish to be found.

Unfortunately, the local squire’s son was also noticing. His gaze had not left Sin’s chest in the minutes since she’d come into the room. The boy hurried over to Aunt Prudence, eager for an introduction. James felt his chest puff out. Sin was his and he didn’t intend to compete for her attention with some pallid young boy. Well, he’d probably be much happier with a pallid young boy; Squire Thompson’s son was remarkably muscular.

Sin smiled at the lad as he approached, although James was pleased to see her eyes rise to meet his own before she turned to the boy. Was the flush on her cheeks the result of their silent exchange or of her introduction to the pimply-faced youth? She was certainly smiling at him now, smiling and nodding.

James did not like it at all.

He picked up his wineglass and strode to stare out the window at the darkness. Maybe if it began to rain again the boy would have to leave, have to hurry home.

A gentleman was allowed to hope.

What was wrong with the man? Cynthia peeked across the table at James. He was frowning again. Every time she’d peeked at him he’d been glowering. He hadn’t even tried to talk to her before dinner.

Had he found out that she knew about the abduction?

No, that was impossible.

And she was the one who should be looking miserable. She was stuck at this house after having been abducted by her host, never mind that she hadn’t been able to resist kissing him. And now she was supposed to meet him for a late rendezvous.

She peeked at him again as she turned to George Thompson. The boy was planning on taking a European tour in the fall and they’d had a fascinating conversation discussing all the places they’d like to go. Not that she was likely to ever get a chance. Girls did not get to take tours—although perhaps a wedding trip? She’d heard of several couples who’d traveled to France and Italy now that the peace had held for several years. It would be wonderful to see Venice, to see the magical golden light, to watch the gondolas easing up and down the canals, and the art, she must not forget the art. She smiled to herself, indulging in her daydream and then looked up to see James shooting her a most mincing gaze.

What was wrong with the man? She repeated the question. And what was wrong with her? His kisses might have overcome her for a few minutes in the maze, but she’d rushed away as soon as she could afterward, unsure what to say and how to respond. Still, despite her excuses James had looked happy when she left him at the edge of the maze, but now he looked like the villain in an opera, all sharp corners and frowns.

She had to leave.

She had to flee.

But how? The question played again and again in her mind as she smiled and flirted with Mr. Thompson. James would never let her leave if he knew her plans. He was so convinced that he knew best, knew what they needed to do. Somehow she had to get away. But how?

Cynthia stood just outside the door to the long gallery. The hall was dark and menacing. Only the thin sliver of light under the door gave any appearance of cheerfulness. But she would not be deceived; far more danger lay in that chamber than in this dark and empty hall.

Here the only danger was from her own foolishness—there…Well, there the biggest danger was her own foolishness as well.

She wrapped the thin shawl more tightly about her nightdress. She hated wandering the hall in so little clothing, but it would have been impossible for her to refasten either tonight’s gown or the afternoon’s day dress. The fastenings had been far more complicated than any she’d ever encountered. It wasn’t surprising that it had taken three maids to get tied and pinned into either piece of clothing.

A slight breeze blew down the hall and she shivered, turning about to see if anyone was coming.

It was only a draft.

Still she shivered.

Her mind was a convoluted mess.

She knew what she wanted. She wanted James—or at least her body did. She refused to think that her mind did as well, to consider that perhaps she’d enjoyed talking to him more than she should. If she missed him, it was only her body. It could not be more than that. She refused to let it be more than that, refused to wish that it was possible for her to sit down and talk to him, to understand his motivations.

It was all because of that damned kiss in the maze.

It was the kiss that had left her blood hot and her body crying for more.

She wanted to know and understand all that her body could feel—wanted to know all that he could make her feel.

That did not, however, mean that she wanted to marry him.

No, her body might crave his, but her mind did not—could not. Her mind understood too well the decision she must make, what she must do, the price she must pay.

James had caused this whole situation and she was the one left paying the bill. She might almost understand why he’d done what he did—he did love his sister—but that didn’t mean she thought he’d been right.

If only she could confront him about it, but she didn’t dare. Once he knew her feelings, he would be on his guard and she could not afford that. If he was wary she would have no chance to get away—and get away she must. The more she deliberated about it the clearer it became that the longer she waited the more likely she was to become forced into marriage, forced into marriage with a man who’d made it very clear just how far he would go to get his own way.

If he knew she was angry, that she wanted to leave, she would never get the chance. Her only hope was to lull him into thinking he had persuaded her—and there was one clear way for her to do that.

Yes, if he knew she planned to flee she would be stopped before she made it to the bedroom door.

A man who would abduct his own sister would have few qualms about using force to get what he wanted.

No. She could not marry him.

She glanced down at the flicker of light beneath the door.

He was there, ready to be persuaded that he could trust her. And once she had him lulled, she would make her break for freedom. Although, she glanced down at her nightdress, she would need to find something to wear. It would be impossible to ride in one of Aunt Prudence’s dresses and her own ruined gown had disappeared.

Taking a quiet step forward, she let her mind play over possibilities. Could she steal something of James’s? It seemed unlikely. If she took his clothing, he’d be sure to notice that quickly.

No, there must be another way. Perhaps something from the stables? Maybe, but it would be a risk hoping she could find something appropriate that would fit.

And what about shoes? It wasn’t like she wanted to ride to London in her ruined slippers, although she would if necessary.

The door was just before her now. She placed a hand on the handle, debated one last time. No matter how many times she told herself that it was a way to keep James off guard, that he would never think she would flee after coming to him willingly, she knew deep in her heart that it was not the only answer. Even if he was angry that she had not appeared, he probably would not go rushing to her bedchamber to check on her. It would still be morning before anyone would miss her, and by morning she intended to be in London.

So why was she really here? Her hand hesitated on the handle.

And she let herself be honest.

She was here because it was her only chance, her last chance to experiment, her last chance to break the rules, her last great adventure—her last chance to be with James.

It might be hard to like him right now, she might even wonder if she hated him, but she could not resist him, was not sure she’d ever been able to.

She pushed the handle down and entered.