She didn’t know what she meant to say, and it didn’t matter. His mouth swooped to hers like a hawk striking, as if he had been posed for just this, waiting hungrily to kiss her.
She fell against him, or he tugged, or she threw herself, perhaps all of it together. But there she was, pressed tightly into the wall of his body, falling headlong into a drugging, maddening, molten kiss.
Any rational part of her that was left sank without a murmur under the tide of obliterating sensation. Her entire being was heat and hardness and a high, wild humming. She felt him completely, and his need urged her to abandon. He kissed her as though she were the breath keeping him alive. He kissed her as though he would never stop.
And even as the whimper rose in her throat, the glad surrender to the drenching tide, she felt that restless surge in herbelly shift and settle, like an anchor dropping into the deep. Like a prison door being thrown open, or the drawbridge to a fortified castle slamming down.
She wasn’t just awash in a thrill of physical sensation. She was connected to Jem, this man that against her will she had come to love. She saw the deep goodness of his nature, his driving ambition, his fears for his family, the grief and frustration at his new responsibility. She felt his strength, his solidness, his need to seek her despite his reservations.
She felt the swirling depths of his soul laid open to her, as nakedly as she opened herself to him, and she knew with utter clarity that she wanted nothing in her life but to hold Jem, be with Jem, care for and live beside and laugh with and tease Jem to the end of their days, living one long kiss that went on and on and?—
“Ahem.”
The level of irritation in the throat clearing suggested the possessor of the throat had been trying to get their attention for quite some time. Lucasta swam to awareness through a fog of bliss, unwilling to open her eyes to the real world and leave the perfect dream she’d been building inside that kiss.
Cold air rushed in as Jem lifted his head and looked beyond her shoulder. He blinked, his pupils adjusting, and she thrilled to realize he’d been as lost as she was.
“Aunt Payne,” he managed.
“Rudyard,” his aunt said icily. “Though I suppose you will be Payne, as your father is now the Marquess.”
Lucasta turned to face Lady Payne, who gave her a furious, scornful glance. The older woman’s face was engraved with lines of despair and weariness.
“You are wanted,” she said with great emphasis to Jem, “elsewhere.”
“Of course.” Jem tightened his arm around Lucasta’s shoulder. He drew her toward him and she leaned against his warmth, not yet ready for the contact to end. “Lucasta—that is, Miss Lithwick and I…”
He trailed off. What they were doing required a great deal of explanation, but was also obvious.
Lady Payne turned her back on them, her dismissal a slap in the face. “You may be forgiven an aberration, given the circumstances,” she said. “Though I hope Miss Lithwick will not harbor hopes. I cannot think this behavior makes her a good influence for my daughter, especially in this difficult time.”
Lucasta, stung, opened her mouth to protest, but Jem rushed in before her. “We were discussing the terms of our marriage.”
His aunt recoiled as if taking a blow. “This is neither the time nor place,” she gasped. “The very idea is beyond belief.” She threw a withering glare at Lucasta.
Lucasta stepped forward, away from the sheltering circle of Jem’s arm. She missed his warmth as if she’d been expelled from paradise, but she had to face the consequences her mad, wanton choice had brought her to. “Lady Payne. I am sorry for your loss. Believe me, if there is anything I might do for Bertie?—”
Lady Payne cut her off in a freezing voice. “Miss Lithwick, I think it is time your visit ended. You’ve done enough.”
That was the last humiliation she could bear. Lucasta’s eyes smarted with tears. “Of course,” she said numbly. “I’ll go.”
“Lucasta!” Jem called.
But she couldn’t face him either, couldn’t bear for him to proceed with the foolish straw he had grasped at. He told her he meant to make no declaration. She wouldn’t use this unfortunate discovery to force him to one.
Now was the time to clutch at those last tattered shreds of pride. Ignoring his call, she hurried away, brushing past Lady Payne and nearly sprinting down the hallway.
Her throat ached from tears and the hours of singing, her head ached from the tangle of intense emotions, and her heart ached from the knowledge that her gift to herself, one last kiss with the man she loved, had made her a spectacle of shame and folly. Jem’s power before to ruin her had nothing on the devastation to her reputation if Lady Payne made this known.
“Lucasta!” Jem’s voice was a warning, a plea.
“Goodbye!” she sobbed, and flung herself toward the stairs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Iwonder what he’ll do now,” Minnie said aloud. “Rudyard, that is.” She pushed aside the frond of the potted palm brushing against the embroidered brocade of her skirts. They stood again in Clara Bellwether’s drawing room, gathered for an evening soiree.Above them loomed a lovingly painted oil portrait of the departed Sir Egbert’s favorite horse.
“Lord Payne now, isn’t he,” Annis remarked. “His father will be the Marquess of Arendale. Do they expect he’ll return to England to be invested in the House of Lords?”
