‘Wine can do that too.’
This was very bad. Very, very bad. A reckless Amelia was the last thing he felt able to cope with out here, as warm, scented darkness fell and they were all alone in it.
‘It makes me want to say and do things. No, that’s not true at all. I would normally want to do them. And say them. But I wouldn’t actually do them. Or say them. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes… No!’
‘It makes sense, but you don’t want it to,’ she puzzled out. ‘Oh, I see. You know I want to kiss you again, but you don’t want me to.’ Her voice was small and sad.
‘Of course I want you to – of course I want to!’ He hadn’t meant to say that at all. But it seemed he couldn’t endure that she thought he didn’t want to kiss her, because he did. Very, very, very badly.
‘Well, then?’
They’d both been looking ahead – staring blindly at the darkening garden and the rising moon, in his case. Trying not to gaze at her, see how lovely she was, because he’d known it would only make things worse. But now she turned to look up at him, her cheeks flushed and her soft lips slightly parted. She was breathing fast, and he could just see the swell of her breasts above the modest neckline of her gown. Her shoulder brushed his arm. Such a slight, accidental contact, to have so powerful an effect. An electric jolt shot through him, from his shoulder to his toes. And other places.
Desperation edged his voice. ‘I can’t kiss you, because you’re not in full command of yourself. You said you wouldn’t normally do it. You said that yourself, Amelia. So you must see why I can’t.’
‘I think I said I would want to, but I wouldn’t do it. Normally.’
‘Exactly.’Exactly.
‘So we both want to, and we’ve both admitted we want to, but we still can’t. Even though we did once. And both liked it. Presumably.’
‘You were sober then.’ How many men, he wondered, would be sitting here in a summer garden in the moonlight trying to persuade this lovely girl – his fiancée – that they mustn’t kiss? It wasn’t even as though it was a stolen, clandestine moment – they’d been all but forced into each other’s arms. It seemed she wanted it as much as he did, or thought she did, which made it so much harder. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state.
But she was triumphant. He had made an error, he realised, and she pounced on it, moving even closer. ‘So you’d kiss me now, if you didn’t think I was drunk? Which I’m not, by the way.’
‘No!’
‘So youdon’twant to, after all. Though you said you did a moment ago. It’s very confusing. See how I remember what you said before, because I’m not horridly drunk. I’m sure a drunk person wouldn’t remember.’
‘If I were to kiss you…’ This was highly dangerous territory. ‘If I were to kiss you… Amelia, it’s not at all a question of wanting to or not wanting to.’ This was a bare-faced lie. ‘I can’t take advantage of you. It would be dishonourable – not the action of a gentleman. You must see that.’
‘Well, I’m no gentleman, thank goodness. What ifItook advantage ofyou? What if I stood up and moved to stand in front of you so I could kiss you? Again?’
And then she did.
28
Marcus had accused her of being drunk, and perhaps she was, but she knew it wasn’t the wine. It was him. They were alone here in the warm night at last, and his big, strong body was so close, but not close enough. Occasionally, the soft cloth of his evening coat brushed her skin. She had goosebumps, but not from the cold – from the wanting.
On that memorable occasion, they’d kissed, and it had been wonderful, but since then, she’d been violently assaulted. The last physical contact she’d had with him had been that terrible fall, when he’d saved her, and the brief, precious moments when he’d carried her in his arms afterwards. They’d not been alone since the painfully intense occasion when he’d shared his secrets with her – they had barely seen each other except on those frustrating visits of ceremony he’d paid, when they had not spoken apart from commonplaces about her health, the weather… It had seemed to her that he was avoiding her, and certainly there had been no chance for further closeness between them, or any exchange of confidences. He said he wanted to kiss her, so perhaps he did desire her, lonely and frustrated as he must be, but it seemed he didn’t want any more than that. If that was true, she must accept it. Soon, they would part forever.
She was tired of it all. Damn tired of it. Everyone seemed determined to force them together – apart from the people who most emphatically wanted to keep them apart and possibly also wanted her dead. It was more than fatiguing, being so subject to other people’s wishes and expectations, whether they meant her well or ill. Marry him immediately – don’t marry him at all! Go here, go there, do this, don’t do that! It wasn’t her immediate family, Rafe and Sophie, Grand-mère and poor Charlie, but it seemed to be almost everyone else.
All she knew, and she knew it with certainty, was that she wanted to kiss Marcus again. Lots of men had wanted to kiss her in the past, had wanted to put their hands on her body. They’d been concerned about their own pleasure, never hers, and perhaps they’d also wanted to compromise her, trap her, steal away her fortune and her freedom. She had not asked for their desire, nor done anything to encourage it. She had fought them off; they’d been repulsive to her. But she wanted to kiss Marcus, and he had said he wanted to kiss her, except that honour prevented him, or some such nonsense. If that was all she could have from him…
‘I want to kiss you,’ she said now, rising to her feet. ‘I don’t care what anybody else in the world wants, apart from you. And I know I don’t like it when people try to touch me against my will, so in fairness, Major Marcus Thornfalcon, I should ask you, do you object if I kiss you?’
‘In fairness? And you won’t do it if I say yes, I object?’ His voice wasn’t steady. But then neither was hers.
‘I won’t. I am not like those awful people. I will not take advantage of you.’
‘God, I wish you would!’ he groaned in a sudden moment of piercing honesty.
She was standing between his legs now; it was the only way she could get close enough. Though she was beginning to wonder whatclose enoughcould possibly be. Closer than this, it seemed. His muscular thighs were parted, and enclosed her. It seemed as though she could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabrics that separated them, though that might not be true. Perhaps the heat was all hers. Silk slid over hot skin, and thin muslin, and over heavier fabric.
‘You want me to take advantage of you?’
