The greediness within her told her she could. If it was real, what he felt for her—and it certainly felt real now, as real as that part of his anatomy which was currently prodding her—she could become his wife without losing anything. Indeed, for the first time, it occurred to her all she would gain in marrying Lord Harry.
Him and all his glorious kisses and wicked touches and sinful embraces.
Oh.
He dragged his mouth down her throat, sucking her sensitized flesh, and she tipped her head back, granting him access above the collar of her coat. It may have been a frigid winter’s day, but she was aflame, burning from the inside out, and not even her toes were cold in her boots. He warmed her in a way the sun could not, from deep within, in that secret place she had never before realized existed.
But just as quickly as his kisses had begun, so too did they end. He withdrew his mouth, staring down at her with eyes that blazed with verdant fire. If gazes could consume, he swallowed her whole now, and she was a willing sacrifice.
“I could kiss you all day and never stop,” he said gruffly, passing his gloved thumb over her lower lip once, then twice. “But I fear if I carry on in this fashion, I shall have your skirts up around your waist, and I shall be on my knees before you in the snow, and that is the sort of scandal neither of us can weather.”
She struggled to catch her breath, for her wits to return. The world around her seemed somehow different after that kiss, the greenery even brighter as it peeked from beneath white caps of snow, the sky overhead impossibly blue, more brilliant than she had ever seen it before, not a cloud as far as she could see.
“Not to mention,” she forced herself to say, striving to be flippant, as if he had not just changed everything, “the damage the snow would do to your trousers. And I daresay kneeling in the snow would prove dreadfully cold. Your kneecaps might freeze.”
What a stupid thing to say, and she wished she could recall it the moment it left her tongue. But it was too late. His regard did not change, however. He continued to watch her as if he wanted to devour her. And she liked it.
“I would gladly kneel before you in the snow any day, Danvers, frozen kneecaps or no.” His lips quirked up in a slow smile, and there, once more, was his effortless, abundant charm.
Her stomach quivered. “First your nose and now your knees. It would seem the Danvers family has nefarious designs upon your person.”
She had not meant to reference Julian’s threats, but they were once more foremost in her mind, mingling with the fear the man before her did not truly want her. Alexandra’s pride would not allow her to be the woman any man was forced to wed.
He grimaced. “Pray forgive my brother’s ill attempt at humor. I fear it is not a talent at which he excels.”
She did not doubt Bainbridge’s words had been spoken partially in jest, but she also knew her brother, and Julian was fiercely protective of the women in his life. He had likely delivered some manner of threat, and if there was ever a time to work out once and for all, whether Lord Harry was being pressured to court her, it was now.
“I am certain Julian was a beast,” she said. “He is as protective as a mama bear. But I need you to know that I do not want to be a duty, not to you or any other man. I would far rather be a desire.”
He cupped her face then, with such a ginger, reverent touch she could have sighed again. “You are anything but a duty. I desire you more than I have ever desired another.”
Her breath caught, and she searched his eyes, uncertain if she dared believe him. “You do?”
“I do,” he affirmed without pause. “More than any other.”
More than Boadicea? The unworthy thought leapt to her mind, but she dismissed it. His kisses in the carriage and on every occasion since had dispelled the rumor that he was in love with the Duchess of Bainbridge.
“You have not been courting me because you have no choice?” she persisted.
He was so handsome, the sun making his blond hair glint as if it were made of pure gold, that he stole her breath. His smile deepened, creating small crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she found endlessly riveting.
What would he do, she wondered, if she kissed him there? And why did that small imperfection on his otherwise flawless face affect her so? Why did it make her long for him even more?
“My dear Danvers, I have been courting you because I wish to make you my wife. And because now I have had a trousers wearing weather prognosticator in my arms, I cannot fathom ever settling for anyone else.”
His words should not have settled in her heart like a promise, but they did.
And she should not have reached for him once more, drawing his mouth down to hers for another kiss, but she did.
This kiss felt different. It felt like the beginning.
She stepped back before either of them could deepen the kiss, her lips tingling. “I had better get back to the party before I am missed. We must think of your poor kneecaps, after all.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and the sound echoed through the quiet of the garden, laden with the same promise and joy she felt bursting to life within her.
