Arabella swallowed hard. “We—” She glanced at her mother for guidance, but found none. “We meant no harm.”
“You meant plenty,” Miles replied. “Unfortunately for you, harm requires opportunity. And I am now here.”
Jillian exhaled shakily.
Arabella took a small step back. Then another. Her mother followed, stiffly, neither daring to speak again as they retreated toward the hall.
Miles waited until the conservatory door closed behind them before he allowed his shoulders to ease. He turned then to Jillian, and the fury in his expression softened instantly, replaced by something far warmer and far more dangerous.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “No. Only… shaken.”
He moved closer, careful but earnest, closing the distance until he stood just inches from her. “I will not allow them—or anyone—to harm you. Not with lies. Not with whispers. Not with anything.”
Her breath caught. “But you do not know what they were going to say.”
“I heard enough,” he said, his voice gentling though his resolve did not. “And I know you. That is more than enough.”
Jillian’s eyes glistened, uncertain and hopeful all at once. “Miles,” she whispered, “you cannot protect me from everything.”
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, stepping just slightly closer, “but I can try. And I will.”
“Why? Because it is your duty?”
He shook his head. “No, Jillian. Because it is my privilege.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but whatever she meant to say dissolved on her tongue as she saw the truth in his face—clear now, unguarded, terrifying in its depth.
He was not acting out of duty.
He was not acting out of honor.
He was acting because he cared.
Because somewhere between their arguments and their misunderstanding and their maddening proximity, something had shifted in him.
Something he could no longer pretend away.
Miles drew a steady breath, searching her face with careful, aching honesty. “Jillian,” he said softly, “I need you to understand something before anything else happens. Last night did not force my hand. It clarified it.”
She stared at him, trembling. “You wish to… that is… I can’t think.”
“We have both been thinking for far too long, already,” Miles replied. And then he did something he’d been dreaming of for far too long. He dipped his head, pressed his lips against hers, and felt the sweet stir of her breath against him as she accepted the kiss, as she melted into him with what appeared to be not simply willingness, but relief—perhaps because she’d been aching for the absence of his touch as well.
Chapter
Thirteen
The Hartingtons were not finished with their scheming; she could see that clearly enough. Even if Miles had challenged them openly in the conservatory, there were other paths they might try, subtler rumors they might send out into the world. A single whisper, repeated often enough, could sour a reputation beyond repair. She had seen it before. She had watched other women become the object of sly jokes and narrowed eyes. She would not become one of them, and she would certainly not stand by while Miles’s name was dragged through the mire because of his connection to her.
The thought of him, standing there between her and Arabella like a shield, stirred something warm and tremulous inside her chest. She had never expected to see him so angry on her behalf. She had never expected him to look at her as he had—steady and sure, as though defending her were the most natural thing he had ever done. Even after the strange revelation of feeling following the events of the parlor games, the kiss had been a shock in and of itself. Unexpected, wholly welcomed and transformative—it had shaken her to her very core. The sensations of his mouth moving over hers, of the firm press of his lips and the gentle pressure of his arms closing aroundher, drawing her in to him still hummed along her nerve endings. When at long last, he’d lifted his mouth from hers and their gazes had locked, she’d seen her own confusion perfectly reflected back at her. Neither of them could name what was transpiring between them, but neither of them was willing to forfeit the experience or the pleasure it promised.
Lying awake in her bed, staring at the canopied ceiling, Jillian did her utmost to quiet the barrage of internal questions. Was it enough? Could they sustain it? Like so many other couples, would they have a few months or years of happiness before drifting away
There was a knock at the door, soft but unmistakable.
Her heart tripped.
