Surprise shot through him for half a breath before fire seared in its wake. He responded immediately, stepping even closer, hands constricting at the base of her jaw. Her lips were soft and warm as they moved together with his—kissing her was better than he could have dreamed. Her mouth parted, and his claimed hers in a fervor that matched, or exceeded, his confession of love. Her fingers snaked from his coat to his neck and around to the back of his skull, their light touch burning with each brush against his skin.
She had said little, but this… this led him to hope. The way she matched his kisses with her own, their mouths moving in tandem. A dance that felt at once new and comfortable.
No. Anything but comfortable. Vibrant. Thrilling. Intoxicating.
Right.
He tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss, his hands grasping her face as though it were a lifeline. The floorboards beneath them shifted and creaked as they pressed against her door. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of his very muddled brain, he knew he ought to stop. They were not yet married, and he had no right to kiss her in this manner. To push his hands into her hair and brand her lips with his own.
But he loved her. With every fiber of his being, he loved Sophie Renard, and years of that feeling, even when it had sat mostly hidden in the corner of his heart, had risen to the surface and would not be repressed.
His lips left hers, trailing kisses along her cheekbone, into her hair, then returned, greedy for her mouth again. His hands slipped to her waist, pulling her closer.
And then, finally, the quiet voice in his head grew loud enough that he could not ignore it; it shouted at him to stop this instant, and he forced himself to end the kiss and release her. He had to step back, hands lifted to keep himself from grabbing her again the moment she was from his grasp.
She watched him retreat, bewilderment flashing in her eyes. In the dim light of the corridor, her lips were darker than usual, her hair coming down in lustrous curls on one side.
Blast it all. He was a cad.
And he wanted to do it again.
He took another step backward. “I should not have kissed you like that.” His voice was rusted, as if after months of disuse.
She let out a laugh—a shaky, breathy laugh. “Do not pretend you acted alone, Andrew.” She pushed from the door, but did not follow him to the other side of the corridor, thank the heavens. He could not be trusted near her just now.
“After all,” she added, “I kissed you.”
“Yes. You did.” Dare he ask?
Her fingers twisted together in front of her, and she watched them, keeping her face from his for three heartbeats. Four. Five. Then her chin lifted, her eyes piercing him. “I love you, too, Andrew. Perhaps not for as long, but I might argue more.”
His mouth lifted in a grin, though what he wanted to do was shout in triumphant ecstasy. “I will win that argument.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully at him from across the hall. “I do not know, I—”
They both froze, hearing it at the same time. Footsteps in the hall below. Voices muted by distance.
Andrew closed the expanse between them, but kept his hands to himself with sheer force of will. “As much as I would like to continue this discussion, I cannot be trusted to do so in your room. But tomorrow…” His words were low, but she heard every one of them, nodding along.
“Tomorrow.” The left corner of her mouth hitched up, eyes sparkling. “When we are married.”
“Yes.” His chest filled to bursting with light and heat at that pronouncement. He glanced to the side, seeing no one in the corridor yet, nor any shadows on the landing beyond. “Maybe we should take separate carriages to Weybridge.”
“Not a chance.” She smiled up at him. “I look forward to watching you restrain yourself the entire four hours.”
He groaned. “Temptress.”
“Goodnight, Andrew.” Her voice held laughter… and love. For him. Gads, could it be true? It was too incredible to countenance.
His eyes caressed her face, lingering on her lips. “Goodnight, Sophie.”
She slipped into her room, and just as figures came into view at the far end of the corridor, Andrew silently moved into his own, standing, dumbfounded just inside the door. Sophie loved him. Him. And tomorrow he would marry her.
He wasn’t going to sleep a wink.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophie’s elation continued through the night and well into the morning. Andrew loved her. All her concerns over how she would keep her feelings at bay were nothing. He loved her and had kissed her to distraction.
