Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the archway, glistening with frost. “You are getting worked up over nothing,” she informed him, taking a step away from him. “You rejected my proposition, and my virtue is none of your concern. You are not my brother.”
He reared back as though he had been stung. “I am aware ofthat, Evie.”
“Then what is your objection?”
“Myobjection,” he said hotly, “is that they would not treat you as you deserve to be treated.”
Evelyn stared at the ancient arch, Roman in appearance, as they approached. A slight step preceded it, and beyond lay a small garden, snow-covered and beautiful. She felt as though the world had forgotten about this place, frozen in time and all the more lovely for it. As though history could live and breathe in this place, despite all the odds.
“Where are we, anyway?” he demanded as he came up behind her. “I have never been here before.”
“Nor I. But is it not beautiful?”
He barely cast it a glance before taking her arm. “I suppose so. But Evie, listen to me—”
She tugged free from his grasp and approached the archway. For a moment, she felt as though she was advancing through history, through time itself, as though once she emerged through the arch, she would enter a different realm. Perhaps one of the faeries, trapped to dance and drink their sweet wine forevermore. Some part of her mind knew she was being ridiculous, her over-active imagination telling tales of a world that did not exist, but she could not suppress her feeling of wonder. She placed one hand against the frost-slicked stone and stepped forward.
Too late, she saw the ice glistening below.
Her foot shot out from underneath her, and she toppled, her hand scraping helplessly across the icy rock. The sky tilted as she fell, and she might have landed hard if strong arms hadn’t grabbed her arm, hauling her around and into his chest. Evelyn collided with Charles, her world utterly topsy-turvy, a shriek caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into his lapels to steady herself, but instead of releasing her as she’d expected, his arm curled around her waist, holding her in place.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the wind against bare branches. Evelyn tipped her head back to find Charles looking down at her, his face tight and hard with shock. His gaze met hers in a blaze of heat that looked like anger—or perhaps something else
“What were you thinking?” he demanded, his temper like the rush of a pepper against her tongue. Yes, the heat in his eyes had certainly been anger. “You should have been more careful in this weather.” Yet still didn’t he let her go, holding her against the warmth of his body.
She smiled up at him, feeling as though she’d been trapped in honey, sticky and sweet. “I’m all right,” she said.
The wind picked up, and it began to snow. Large, thick flakes that dusted his hair and danced along his lips, melting instantly against the warmth of his skin.
“Charles?” she whispered, and he blinked, as though seeing her for the first time. His lips parted on an intake of breath, and she had the sudden,heady thought that she could kiss him now. That, perhaps, he might want her to. Or at the very least, he might not push her away. And if they kissed, then surely then he would agree to ravish her in all the ways she wanted.
Surely.
“Evie,” he said, throaty suddenly, and she felt already as though she was drowning, the air rushing from her body. “You have snow on your nose.” Slowly, he reached up to brush it off.
“Kiss me,” she said.
His entire body went rigid. “Excuse me?”
Oh no. Her fingers tingled, and she curled them into fists, willing away the shaking. She had already decided what she wanted, and this would be her last adventure before she settled into the second half of her life. This ought to be easy to say.
He skated his fingers along the curve of her cheekbones. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he murmured.
“I think I do. I’m asking you to teach me how to kiss. Properly, not like Julian did when I was fifteen.” She wrinkled her nose. “For instance, I have heard that the use of tongues while kissing is pleasing, but my recollection of the act is very different.”
His expression darkened. “That boy has been your only kiss?”
“No one else has expressed any wish to kiss me,” she said, serene at the prospect. In all her years, she had never wanted to kiss them, either. “I’m odd, you see.”
“I do not see,” he said, tone unusually harsh, and then he brought his mouth down on hers.
Chapter Six
Evelyn’s expectation, based on very little experience, was that kissing involved tongue and teeth and forceful lips. When Julian had kissed her, he had done so with very little consideration for whether she wanted to be kissed. Everything had felt distinctly wet. An unpleasant sensation she had been in no way eager to repeat.
Yet Charles’s mouth felt pleasantly dry against her own. It pressed against her with such gentle insistence that she forgot about her expectations. Or, indeed, anything but Charles’s exhalation, as though he had been waiting for a long time, and finally had the luxury of coming home.
He waskissing her.
