“You must keep it for someone else.” Someone who could give him all the things she couldn’t.
“I’ll keep it until you’re ready to wear it yourself.” The ring gleamed against the darkness, and his hand palmed her spine as he held it up. With the silver, he traced a path over her lips, drawing it downward. The gesture heightened the sensitivity of her skin, with the cool metal against her throat. Unbidden came the image of him drawing the ring over her bare skin, circling her breasts.
Gooseflesh prickled over her, and she closed her eyes, startled by the unexpected feelings. This man kindled a response she’d never imagined… a breathless need for human touch. Never had she expected it—not after what had been done to her. The stark yearning caught her by surprise, and when Paul put the ring away, she felt a sense of loss.
He rested both hands on the wall, on either side of her. “I’m no’ wanting to think about the past,” he whispered, his breath warm upon her skin. “I want you to remember what there was between us. When we used to walk together in the woods.”
She couldn’t speak, her heart pounding while his hands moved down to her waist. He waited infinite moments, giving her the choice of pushing him away. But she didn’t move, wanting to rebuild the broken pieces of herself, overcoming her fears. Inside, she pushed away the darkness, letting herself fall into the good memories.
“I remember.”
“The first time you saw me, you were in my arms,” he said.
That drew an unbidden smile. “Only because I tripped over my own feet and you happened to catch me.”
“It was fate,” he said.
His tone had grown heated, and Juliette covered his mouth with her fingers. “Don’t speak.” She didn’t want to hear words about how he wanted to wed her, not now.
He fell silent, leaning his head against hers. She stood in his embrace, feeling the sudden desire to flee. In his presence, her body grew warmer, heightened with an anticipation she didn’t understand.
“I’m going to kiss you, Juliette,” he warned.
She froze, knowing she should pull away. But before she could move, he covered her mouth with his, as if trying to awaken her from a long sleep. There was no force in it, only a reclaiming of the years lost. Her hands moved to rest upon his heart, and she found that it was beating as fast as hers.
She’d believed that this would be a kiss of healing, but instead, the heat of his mouth unraveled her senses. Her body reacted strongly, straining against the silk that imprisoned her skin. She was finding it difficult to breathe, fighting the sensations that flowed through her. The need to press close to him, to open herself, was rising higher. He was rekindling desires she’d thought were long gone. She’d believed herself incapable of feeling any physical pleasure, but when the kiss deepened, Juliette leaned in to the onslaught.
More. She wanted more from him.
Her breathing was staggered, but instinctively, she put her arms around his neck. She went numb when his mouth nipped down her jaw to the softness of her throat. When his kiss moved to the skin above her bodice, her imagination roared with thoughts of his mouth upon her bare breasts. The shocking image made her grow wet between her legs, and it was too much to bear. “Paul, no,” she whispered. “We have to stop.”
It was too soon for this. Despite the arousal he’d conjured within her, she was afraid to let him get closer. In his arms, it was too easy to fall beneath his spell, letting him believe that they could be together.
Or that she wanted him.
Juliette took off his coat, handing it to him. “I n-need to go back.” Her teeth chattered in the cold, and she rubbed at her arms, trying to escape him. “Amelia will be waiting.”
“You’re afraid of me,” he guessed. “There’s no need.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I shouldn’t have let you kiss me in that way. But you—”
You made me forget.
His embrace had awakened her to sensations she’d never dreamed of. But she couldn’t say that.
Juliette stepped away from the yew tree, clenching her arms. He believed she was a virgin, a young woman he hoped to wed. Nothing would hurt him more than to discover that her innocence had been taken by another man. It wasn’t fair to let him dream of a life with her. Not when she could never be a true wife to him.
She closed back the fear and pain, lifting her eyes to him. “I was wrong, Paul. I thought I could… let you court me. But I can’t. I’m so sorry.”
She picked up her skirts and ran from him, her eyes blurred with tears.
The winter air was frigid, the snow drifted in piles across their land. Beatrice Andrews was careful with her footing as she stepped outside the charred remains of their home. In her arms she carried the pieces of what had once been a mahogany desk belonging to her father. She moved without thinking, letting her thoughts drift as she cleared out the mess of wood.
The soft sound of footsteps crunching through the snow made her look up. The wood fell from her hands as she saw her husband, Henry Andrews, Colonel Lord Lanfordshire. Her hands covered her mouth as she realized no, it wasn’t her imagination. But he was thinner than she’d last seen him, with a rough beard tinged gray.
His uniform was caked with mud from the road, his boots wet with snow. One arm was bandaged in a sling, and she could not tell if it was broken or wounded more deeply. His face was stoic, and he didn’t move toward her—he only stared.
Her heart trembled, and her face reddened, for she didn’t know what to say or do. If she ran into his arms, she might accidentally hurt him. Then, too, it had been so long since she’d seen him last. Although they had been married for over twenty years, the distance between them had gradually increased until she was hesitant to embrace him.
