“You have an almost obsessive inability to sit still.” Lottie waved her free hand. “And it arises at the oddest moments, like this one, where you are all but racing back to the carriage. From there, you will rush to Frome Abbey where you will write letters for several hours. You will tell your friends in London what happened at the Bartlets. You will write McNeal with another list of questions about Mrs. Hammond or Mr. White or whoever. After that, you will go down to the stables to check on Galahad—who most certainly is well-cared for and does not require your hovering. Then you will take a turn in the garden, back to your bedchamber to dress for dinner—oof!” She all but stomped her foot. “It never ends. You go and go and go without resting. And if I ask you why, the mighty dragon appears and snaps at my head and singes me with fire—”
“Enough!” he all but roared.
Rather proving her point, Lottie thought. She at least had sufficient wits at the moment to refrain from saying as much.
“Why do you run from frustration? Why can you not . . . just . . . stop.”
“I cannae stop,” he continued to stare at her, his jaw clenched, “because if I do . . .”
His chest rose and fell.
“Because if you do?” she prompted.
He shook his head. “Because . . . if I do . . . I will do this.”
With his weight balanced on the single crutch, Alex wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her to him, snugging her body flush against his.
Lottie caught the flame of light in his eyes before his head descended and his mouth claimed hers.
Their first kiss had been accidental, a haphazard encounter between two bodies.
Thiskiss, however, was incendiary. A collision of two forces that had been hurtling through Space and Time at destructive speeds.
There was nothing tentative about him.
No mercy. No clemency.
Only a hungry taking.
Her wits scattered.
Oh, heavens.
Gracious.
More.
She wrapped her free hand around his neck. The other clutched tighter at his waist.
His arm was a steel band around her.
She couldn’t get close enough. She was a burst dam of emotion and longing . . .
She wanted to crawl inside him, tobecomehim somehow.
Words tumbled from him, a broken psalm. “Lottie. Lass. Beautiful.”
If he pulled his lips away, she chased them.
If she adjusted her hold on him, he shifted with her.
Kiss after glorious kiss.
Eventually, his kisses slowed. Her own became less frenetic.
He lifted his head, chest heaving, eyes slate gray and searching.
She touched his cheek, marveling that shecouldtouch him. That it abruptly felt permitted.
