For Delilah.
He caught the curve of her waist and tugged, and she released a sigh into his mouth as she swayed forward. A rational thought pushed through the haze of desire fogging his brain. If he went further with this kiss—crushed her body against his…felt her cherry-hard nipples through the muslin of his shirt—there would be no turning back.
No turning back for him.
No turning back from Delilah.
But perhaps he’d already passed that point.
Perhaps he’d passed it years ago.
Of a sudden, her eyes flew open, as if she’d followed the flow of his thoughts and had come to the same realization. But had arrived at a different conclusion, if the panic in those blue depths was a fair indicator. The next instant, she broke away and pushed off his chest, scrambling back a good five feet. He seemed ever to have that effect on her. Her fingers touched lips swollen from the kiss.
“Was the price too high?” he asked.
What was this need ever to provoke her?
On a strangled cry, she shot to her feet.
“I’ll take that as ayes.”
With another strangled cry, she whirled around and began clambering up the dune.
As he watched her manage to somehow slip and slideupthe dune—no mean feat, that—a realization landed on Sebastian. He was having quite a few of those lately. This realization was one he hadn’t allowed to occur to him in all these weeks of traipsing around England in Lady Delilah Windermere’s wake.
No longer was he waiting for her to come to him.
He was actively pursuing her.
And she seemed to be meeting him somewhere near halfway.
Surprising, that.
He pushed to his feet and began following her, keeping her in his sights as they returned to camp. Whatever it was happening between them would go no farther than halfway if they didn’t have it out about Eton.
He realized that, too.
Simply, he didn’t want her to despise him anymore. Perhaps she would still despise him after he told her how and why events had transpired the way they had. But then, at least, she would despise him with all the correct information.
And, perhaps, she would stop despising him altogether.
He didn’t expect her to rush into his arms, proclaiming him her savior. But it would be nice if she desisted stabbing him with random murderous glares. Like the one she’d just thrown over her shoulder as they entered camp.
His instinct was to follow her to her caravan and have it out between them now. But two reasons stopped him.
First, the other two actresses sharing the caravan with her. Last time he’d happened upon Flora and Dorie they’d suggested each taking a turn having their way with him. Actually, it had sounded more like a promise than a suggestion.
And then there was Soppitt pointing a finger at him. The Duke of Ravensworth would’ve flicked away such a summons like a gnat off his sleeve. But Seb couldn’t. Not if he wanted to continue on in the company.
Not if he wanted to pursue matters with Delilah.
Right.
His feet switched direction. The time had arrived for him to start building a bonfire. Besides, a good stretch of honest toil was exactly what he needed.
Something—anything—to take his mind off Delilah.
Tonight.
