He was looking at her strangely. Again, Hannah had the impression that he was assessing her as if they’d never met before.
She was still clinging to his hand. She should have released him ages ago, but having failed to do so, she didn’t know how to go about it now. Her hands kept gravitating toward him, it seemed. Like a magnet. It was extraordinarily disconcerting.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. Talking about himself didn’t seem to be Mr. Corbyn’s strong suit; she was grateful he hadn’t brushed her questions aside. “I know it must not have been easy.”
To Hannah’s surprise, he laughed at this. A staccato bark that didn’t seem to carry much humor.
“Why are you laughing?” She didn’t understand. Had she done something wrong?
“Because it’s absurd to hear you thank me. It should be the other way ’round.” He squeezed her hand. So hehadnoticed that she’d been holding onto him this whole time. And now she’d missed her chance to slip free without giving the gesture more importance than she’d meant to. AndnowMr. Corbyn was leaning forward as if he was about to whisper some secret in her ear, except that he didn’t reach her ear at all, he imparted it directly on her mouth.
Oh.
Hannah couldn’t move. Her whole body began trembling, though whether from shock or from force of emotion, she couldn’t say. Regardless, Mr. Corbyn’s response to this confusion was simply to keep on kissing her. He brought his other hand up to cup the back of her neck, drawing her firmly in.
She couldn’t help but surrender.
This was nothing like the clumsy mashing of lips she’d inflicted on him at Bishop’s. He wasdoing thingswith his tongue. Stroking her lower lip until she parted for him instinctively, and then he was inside her mouth, exploring her. It made Hannah fear her knees might give out, except that she couldn’t afford to faint now because that would end the kiss. She didn’t want it to end. A whimper escaped her, swallowed up by Mr. Corbyn. He seemed to swallow her better judgment in much the same manner. Any sense of where they were or why they shouldn’t be doing this tumbled from her mind, leaving nothing behind but the most elemental urges.
Yes.
More.
Then it was over, leaving her gasping at the sudden sense of loss. She looked up at Mr. Corbyn, searching for words that wouldn’t come. He looked nearly as surprised as she was, his face flushed, his breath coming in quick bursts. He dropped his gaze to her lips.
Do it again, she urged him silently.Please.
But before they could find out whether he’d understood her plea, a snapping twig alerted them someone else was approaching their alcove.
Hannah’s reason came flooding back to her.
What am I doing?Mr. Corbyn had no business kissing her! She had no business letting him either. She should be ashamed of herself, behaving in such a manner when anyone might stumble upon them.She’d acted out of necessity the first time, seizing her only chance to escape Mama’s matchmaking. But that was done with. There was no reason for them to kiss again.
Hannah stepped back quickly, putting some distance between them. She was far too shaken to speak, but she tore her gaze away from his face. As long as she didn’t look at him or touch him or stand too close to him, Mr. Corbyn couldn’t muddle her thinking.
“There you are.” It was her mother, looking a bit cross, though blissfully unaware of Hannah’s turmoil. “I told you not to dillydally. There are at least a dozen more people you must meet and precious little time to do it.”
It was probably the only time in her life that Hannah readily agreed.
Twelve
Silas didn’t even remember how the rest of the afternoon passed, except that he was fairly certain he hadn’t managed to say anything witty enough to satisfy Mrs. Williams. No matter. There was no pleasing that woman.
It was her daughter who had him tied in knots.
What was he thinking? Why had he kissed her?
He had the entire carriage ride back to his lodgings to ponder these questions, staring at his “fiancée” for most of the way. His silent observation was probably making her uncomfortable, but Silas couldn’t seem to turn away for more than a minute before he found himself drawn back to her face. What was it about her?
She wasn’t a classic beauty. He hadn’t been particularly struck by her looks upon their first meeting, but she’d seemed to grow prettier every time he saw her. Now her plain brown eyes had become warm and encouraging. Her nose was no longer too pointed; it was resolute. Her lips were… Well, the only thing her lips made him think of was the way they’d tasted when he’d kissed her. The tart hint of the lemonade mixed with the sweetness of her reaction.
He hadn’t planned that. Miss Williams had drawn it out of him the same way she’d drawn out his story, listening with a patience his own father hadn’t managed. She’d asked him what happened and she’d believed him.
Why?
That was what Silas couldn’t understand. Why should she care about what happened, when he’d already been judged and condemned? It was too late to change anything. His fate shouldn’t have mattered to her.
He was staring again.
