He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing and forcing the thoughts out.
It was simply that they had spent so much time together, hours every day for weeks now. It had accelerated the rate of their acquaintance.
Once he was away from Frome Abbey, he would see this for the madness that it was, right?
But for the now . . .
Her body pressed against his side from hip to chest.
The scent of jasmine and Lottie enveloped him.
Bloody hell.
Alex was unsure he would survive this.
Swallowing, he took a step forward, leaning away from Lottie.
“Stop protecting me,” she said crossly, tugging on his waist. “You are acting like I can’t support the load of your crippled body.”
Alex knew she could support him. But the more weight he rested on her shoulders, the more her body pressed into his. And the sensation of her soft curves molding against his side was enough to induce madness.
The sooner they arrived back at the carriage the better.
They walked in silence for a few moments, Lottie supporting him, Alex hobbling, faster and faster. His breath came in labored gulps, only some of them tied to his injured body.
With every step, he felt his irritation rise.
He knew it was illogical. That he had no right to be frustrated.
It was just . . . the entire situation chipped and chipped away at his resolve to not become involved.
He didn’t want to want the marquisate.
He didn’t want to want the woman at his side.
But,bloody hell, at the moment, he was fair desperate for both.
It had only been a matter of time, he supposed, until the weakness in his character manifested itself. Until he became so utterly enthralled with something, he could not turn away from it.
He had just never considered that his downfall would be a woman. That instead of laudanum or alcohol or tobacco, he would form a nearly unholy attachment to a lady his logical mind had no intention of ever marrying.
And day after day, he’d had to face the lush temptation of her.
Day after day, he surrendered another wee piece of his soul.
It had to stop.
But the faster he tried to move, the more she flooded his senses.
The silk of her hair brushing against his neck.
The nip of her waist against his hip.
The tensile strength he could sense within her, both literally and figuratively.
The push-and-pull was almost unbearable.
The aching desperation to run fast and far away.
