“No.” A frown touched her brow. “Although I would have done if you’d seduced my sister.”
“I suspect it would be more that she would have seduced me,” he said dryly. “But fear not—her virtue is safe.”
Emily nodded slowly, looking down at her fingers, splayed on her lap. “Marlbury didn’t get me with child, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said. “We weren’t careful—back then, I didn’t understand the need to be, and I hardly thought it mattered, seeing as I believed we would be married. After he left, I worried I might be, but . . .”
But her bleeds had come.
“When I knew I wasn’t, I cried for three days,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. Oliver ached for her. “But in time, especially after Mother’s death, I was relieved. I didn’t have the time for ruination.”
“God, Em,” he murmured.
“I don’t need your pity.” She met his gaze, her expression unyielding. “I made a mistake and I believed him, but those days are over.”
In other words, she had no intention of giving herself to anyone else.
Not marrying, he could understand, in a way—if she feared falling in love, she wouldn’t want to expose herself to something that could so risk that aim. And although he had seen some excellent examples of happy marriages with his siblings, his parents stood as proof that not all unions were felicitous.
But he did think it sad that she would never open herself to physical affection. The way she had kissed him—she had hungered for it. That had not been the kiss of someone who disliked such things.
“All right,” he said, and came to sit beside her on the bed. “I don’t pity you. But you are limiting yourself, darling.”
She raised a brow, and he wanted to laugh at the sudden chill in her expression. “Are you suggesting you think marriage the only course of action open to me?”
“You misunderstand me entirely.” He possessed himself of her hand and kissed the back of it. “You may remain a maid for the rest of your days if you so choose. WhatIam saying is that you should not let Marlbury deny you future joy.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, waiting to see if she would push him away. “Futurepleasure.”
Her fingers clenched, but she didn’t pull away. “What are you saying?”
“Well, we have already established your sister doesn’t love me and I don’t love her, and we will not be marrying.” He turned his attention to her other hand, and she allowed him. “I enjoyed kissing you, and I rather suspect you enjoyed kissing me. So, I have a proposition for you.”
“You would like to ruin me?” she asked, the wry note in her voice not quite disguising its breathiness.
“Fie, how ungenerous.” He laughed against the tips of her fingers, then drew them gently into his mouth, sucking them deeper. “I’m asking for another kiss, Emily. Just one.” He looked up at her. “What do you say?”
The problem was, Emily wanted very much to say yes.
The sensible part of her brain warned her that such things were dangerous—she knew better than to give herself to a man, even one such as Oliver. But she had spent seven years being nothing but sensible, denying herself everything she could ever want. For seven years, she had been drowning, everything good sinking to the depths of the ocean. When Lord Marlbury had left her, she’d thought he’d taken her desire with him. All that had been left was dust and her broken heart.
This man had reassembled those broken pieces. Finally, for the first time in years, she felt like flesh and blood again.
What was the harm in giving in? Allowing herself one bright moment before she returned to the drudgery of her life? If she refused him, he wouldn’t go home and marry Isabella; all she would be doing was denying herself.
She had been so tired, so cold, for so long.
“A kiss?” she asked.
“Nothing more.”
“A kiss always leads to something more.”
His eyes sparked, and she knew he wanted to. But all he said was, “Only if you choose it to.”
This didn’t have to change anything. There could be intimacy without affection. After all, Mercy Briggins had been known to take the blacksmith’s son here and there to mutual satisfaction until she’d married, and neither had seemed to pine after the other.
If Mercy could do it, why could she not?
“I would never hurt you the way Marlbury did,” Oliver said. “And I mean that whether you allow me to kiss you or cast me from your sight.” At the twitch of her lips, his own smile broke free. “Which would look odd, but I assure you, it’s not unheard of between married couples.”
“I could hardly send you away here.”
