The kiss was soft at first, questioning, then deepened as she yielded to it — or perhaps he did. The world around them seemed to fall away, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the faint crackle of the fire in some distant room.
And then, as her hand rose hesitantly to his chest, he knew.
He had kissed her before.
Not here, not now, but in that strange half-world between waking and sleep. The taste of her was the same — wild honey and something earthbound, like the air after rain. The dream had not lied.
He drew back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. “You,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “It was you.”
Her breath trembled against his lips. “What do you mean?”
He searched her face, the confusion there mingling with something that looked very much like wonder.
“Nothing,” he said finally, though his voice was rough with it. “Nothing at all.”
But in the silence that followed, neither of them believed it.
Chapter
Thirteen
Eliza awoke far later than was typical for her. And far less decisively than was her norm. The light slanting through the tall windows was soft and golden, filtered between the parted curtains. The air carried a faint chill.
For a long moment she lay still, her mind caught in the foggy space between sleep and waking. Then, as memory crept back, she sat bolt upright, her pulse quickening.
The kiss.
It was as vivid now as when it had happened — the warmth of his hand against her cheek, the weight of his gaze, the breathless, unthinking moment before the world had tilted and everything she had believed about herself, abouthim, had shifted.
And yet, it was not the kiss itself that haunted her most, but the uncanny familiarity of it. The way it had felt not like something new, but somethingremembered. Because it had felt exactly as it had in her dream.
She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, as though to chase away the phantom of his touch. She had dreamt of him before, standing in the forest with mist curling around them, their bodies close, their voices soft. She had felt that same warmth, that same unearthly sense of connection. But dreams were onlythat — illusions born of imagination, of fatigue, of the strange workings of the mind.
Except he had known it too.
The realization made her stomach tighten. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he had looked at her just before he’d drawn back. That same dawning awareness. That same confusion. It had been real to him as well.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, heedless of her bare feet on the cold floor. For a long while she simply sat there, her head bowed, trying to make sense of what she felt. It was madness — or worse, her grandmother’s interference.
Helena had never denied dabbling in the old ways when the mood took her. Small charms for luck or protection, whispered words to coax love where love was wanted. Never harmful things — at least, not intentionally — but still, not without consequence.
And if she had decided, in her infinite wisdom, that a union between her and the Earl of Blackburn was somehow predestined, it would not at all be unlike her to give them a less then gentle nudge in that direction. In truth, that would be the ideal answer in many ways. Because a spell that had been done could always be undone.
Eliza groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. It was entirely possible that it wasn’t a spell. That it wasn’t her grandmother’s meddling. And if it wasn’t, then… oh, she couldn’t even think of it. Of course it was was her grandmother’s! meddlesome, managing ways
The thought filled her with an odd mixture of anger and embarrassment. The idea that her own heart — or whatever it was that now seemed to twist and flutter whenever Gabriel Hawthorne’s name crossed her mind — might not be her own doing was intolerable. And worse still, it made the memory ofthe kiss feel like something stolen. Like something that had never been intended to be hers.
She rose then, crossing to the washstand. Her reflection in the mirror did her no favors. Dark circles smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her hair — a riot of brown, gold, and copper — hung in disarray. She splashed cold water on her face and set about restoring some semblance of order, though she doubted it would make much difference.
Breakfast loomed ahead like a trial.
The very thought of descending to the dining room, of meeting his gaze across the table — or worse, her grandmother’s knowing one — made her stomach twist. But avoidance was impossible. She was not a child to hide in her room because a man had kissed her.
When a knock came at the door, she startled, nearly upsetting the basin.
“Yes?”
The door opened to reveal one of the housemaids — a young woman with fair hair and an open, pleasant face. She dropped a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, miss. His lordship said we were to see to your comfort. Would you care for assistance with your hair this morning?”
