‘No, that is, I wasn’t tired, so I told Mr Brown I would see to closing the house.’
A tense, thick silence took over the room as they awkwardly stood there, staring at each other. Liam seemed as awake and yet as tired as she felt, and though it hadn’t even been an hour since she’d last seen him, seeing him now, standing there in his rolled shirtsleeves and waistcoat, lit only by the fire, Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat.
He must have noted her gaze; the next moment he was unrolling his sleeves and slipping his jacket on.
‘I should retire,’ he said, downing the rest of his drink. ‘It is late. Please, don’t let me prevent you from finishing your rounds.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Rebecca said with a nod, moving to do just that.
She checked the latches, closed the curtains and glanced quickly at the fire, before finding herself retreating from the library in unison with him.
‘Goodnight, then, my lord,’ she said, as lightly as she could manage.
‘Goodnight, Miss Merrickson.’
With a smile, Rebecca turned away and made for the drawing room. She heard his footsteps across the tiles, and then on the stairs, and they seemed the saddest sound she’d ever heard.
Shaking her head, she cursed herself yet again for her foolishness.
‘Wait,’ Liam said sharply.
Rebecca turned, shooting him an enquiring look.
He stood halfway up the staircase, with the strangest expression on his face. Rebecca cocked her head, and he nodded to something above her. Glancing up, she spotted the branch of mistletoe above the door.
An ambivalent mix of feelings washed over her as she realised what he meant to do. She could laugh it off, move away, break the moment, and she could do so easily enough, for he was still on the stairs, waiting for her to make the final decision. She could do it—refuse, walk away, force them to continue as they had these past weeks, save them from themselves. She could do all that, if only she could will her body to do so.
Instead, she stood there, rooted to the spot, her feet unwilling to comply with her rational mind. Her eyes found him again, and as soon as they did he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and descended the stairs. Slowly, he made his way to her, and in those precious seconds Rebecca decided that she was not being foolish at all. That she would allow herself this one tiny, brief moment in time, to imagine, and to dream. She would offer her cheek and revel in his closeness, in the lightest of touches, and then they could return to reality. To life as it should be.
Yes. It is Twelfth Night, after all.
Rebecca smiled, concentrating on controlling her shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat. This was nothing. Tradition. It would be a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, not some monumental event. How many other friends across time had met thus and survived, unchanged and unharmed? The world had not come off its axis before for such kisses—why should it today?
She quietly ignored the impact the slightest of touches of his hand had on her not hours ago.
Liam stood before her now, the makings of a smile at the corners of his lips, and his golden eyes twinkling in the fading firelight of the candles around them. Rebecca turned her face slightly, offering her cheek, only to feel not his lips upon it, but the back of his knuckles as he gently brushed against her skin, asking her to turn back to him.
What could she do but obey? How could she resist so sweet an entreaty, so delicate a command?
But she should have, she knew, as soon as their eyes met again. There was resignation and determination behind the warmth and excitement. Rebecca’s heart nearly broke with the realisation that she had just allowed them to jump over a precipice, and with a sigh, she rose to meet him.
All at once their lips had joined, his hand had found its way to the back of her head, and her own clung to his lapels. It could have ended there;shecould have ended it there. His kiss was slow, and sweet, and gentle, not tentative, butkind. Chaste enough that she could have pulled away. But she might sooner have ripped her heart from her chest. She could not part from such sweetness, such delicacy—she could only savour it, enjoy it for as long as it might last.
She should have stopped it. Before, almost in unison, they opened themselves further to each other. Before the kiss deepened with their exploration of each other’s mouths. Before their tongues entwined and raw heat and pleasure coursed through her body. Before her soul was warmed by his touch. Before she was lost again with him in their place beyond time, beyond reality, where only they existed. Before they molded together, their mouths moving in such divine unison it was impossible to say where one ended and the other began. Before his arms were around her, and hers around him, and their chests pressed together, wound up in each other’s heat, their bodies sharing both breath and heartbeat.
Rebecca had experienced many different kisses in her life, but none like this. None so deep, so raw, so full of passion and tenderness it threatened to tear her heart in two should it stop, should she be taken from this other being who had become part of her. None that threatened to sweep her feet from beneath her, threatened to make her forget who she was. None which promised so much more should they forget themselves.
For behind the lingering, slow exploration, behind the savouring, the testing, the teasing, the offering, lay an even hotter passion which, should they unleash it, would consume them both.
It was only dread of that, fear of what might happen should she let go completely, that pulled Rebecca back from the edge. With a breath, and a slight push against his chest, she broke the kiss. Taking a step back, she dared not even look at him, preferring instead the hall tiles.
Still, she could taste him, could feel him around her as though she were still enveloped in his embrace.
‘I think perhaps, my lord,’ she whispered sadly, ‘you should not have done that.’
‘Yes, Miss Merrickson,’ he groaned. ‘I think on this occasion, you are right.’
‘Goodnight, my lord.’
