“It’s late,” she said, brushing her check roughly with her palm. “I will be missed.”
He held out his arm.
She brushed past him—as if he’d needed more proof of her disdain.
Earlier, when he stepped forward, she’d stepped away. And, when he came into the light, she’d stared at his shoulder in discomfiting silence, as if she couldn’t bear to look at his injury.
She held Cheverley in contempt. She wanted nothing at all to do with Captain Smith. He could not argue with either choice.
She strode toward the circle’s edge. “You needn’t escort me,” she called over her shoulder.
He ran to catch up. “Nonetheless,” he said, breathless, “I intend to see you safely home. Would you slow down, please? I know you cannot bear to look at me, but—”
She stopped abruptly. He did not. They collided and she, quite literally, fell into his arms. The jolt weakened his knees as he lifted her body to his. Years broke away like spinning discuses, landing with jarring thuds.
Where was he? Who was he?Whenwas he? Past and present collided, but all that remained was her heat.
“Oh,” she said in distress. Then, “oh,” and “oh” again, both in entirely different tones.
She inhaled. Then shuddered.
“I have the worst impulses,” she said. “I refuse, do you understand?”
He did not.
“I refuse to—oh, it’s no use.” She worked her hands beneath his coat and balled his shirt in her fists. “The seams are all wrong. But it’s not like I can just tell you, can I? That would be entirely improper and completely inappropriate.”
She set her brow against his breastbone.
“You evensmelllike him, not that I can remember what he smelled like because that would make me sound mad, but your scent makes me confused, and hot, and longing, and I’m fairly certain his did as well, but that could have been the fact we were sixteen and sixteen is entirely too young to know better and, oh, blast, I can’t, I tell you! I just cannot do this—”
“Shh,” he soothed. Tentatively, he rested his hand against the small of her back.
“No! Notshh!It’s terrible. A complete muddle.” She splayed her hands against his chest. “I’m still bold and you’re still impossibly hard but you aren’t a toff—and I’m me and you’renotyou and I’m—well—Iamgoing mad, aren’t I? That’s the only explanation.”
“Shh,” he repeated, crumbling inside.
“Stop shushing and just—” she grabbed his wounded arm and wrapped it around her waist. Then, she placed her hand on his nape, curled her cheek into his neck and sighed. “There. Now. I will shush.Thisis right.”
This was anything but right.
He hadn’t intending on asking her questions. They’d been a betrayal of trust, considering. And a gross impertinence.
But he’d wanted to know, needed to know, had she loved him? Did she love him?
Could she love him once again?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“That helps,” she replied.
“Helps make you feel better?”
“No. It helps to make youyou,not him.” She sighed. “Chevneverapologized, you see.”
Fuck.He hadn’t. Had he?
He hadn’t apologized. Not for bringing her into a world that despised her. Not for underestimating his father’s rage. Not for leaving her to fend both for herself and their child alone.
