Heathcliff’s gaze darted between the two sisters, both so alike yet unique in so many ways. Liliah was all energy, with light hair and sparkling green eyes. But Samantha ’s eyes were soulful, aware and provoking. They disconcerted him with how much they saw, as if she were able to see past pretense and emotional barriers. Where her sister was light featured, Samantha had darker coloring, yet their smiles—they were almost identical.
“I suggest we start the gossip today, allowing the word to have time to spread. The masquerade is in two days?” Lucas paused, then nodded to himself, as if confirming something internally. “Ideally, I’d like more time to get a buzz going, but it will have to do, I suppose.”
“Which means your wedding should happen tomorrow, as we discussed.” Liliah turned to her sister, as if confirming that she agreed with the assessment.
Heathcliff watched as she gave a slow nod. Was she questioning her decision? His heart froze inside him, reminding him of just how much he wanted this forbidden fruit.
He needed to have a moment with her, to simply—hell, he wanted assurance that she wouldn’t leave him at the altar. It would be poetic justice of a sort. He’d been avoiding her so unforgivably, yet now that what he wanted was just within reach, he had an irrational fear that it would be somehow snatched away, or truer still, that she’d run in the opposite direction from him once she realized just what she had agreed to.
He needed to steal her away; that was all there was to it. Certainly betrothed couples were allowed a measure of privacy? It had been long since his disastrous marriage, and he’d blocked so much of it from his memory that he didn’t trust his recollections on protocol. He’d never thought he’d need to revisit that aspect of social convention. Samantha arched her back slightly, giving a delicate stretch as she continued speaking with her sister and Mrs. Keyes. The movement gave Heathcliff a delightful view of her form, and, not for the first time, his mind wandered to the way her body would appear without the dress, in the candlelight of his room—her hair splayed on his pillow, her lips wet from his kiss.
He took a long breath and glanced way. This wasn’t the time or place to allow his fevered fantasies to spin out of control. Thank the Good Lord he’d have time to play each one out . . . and soon.
But soon was most certainly not right now in the parlor.
Pity that.
But he could at least taste her lips should they have a moment alone, and that, he decided, was the most important goal of the day.
Not planning the wedding.
Not spreading gossip.
But kissing Samantha.
It wasn’t the most noble of endeavors, but it was most assuredly paramount.
And his patience was wearing thin.
Even though he reminded himself that they would have the rest of their lives together, there was something hot and needy in him. Something impatient and urgent. Maybe it was that irrational fear that she would realize the full magnitude of her decision to marry him and run in the opposite direction, but regardless, it made him damned impulsive.
So, without preamble, he stood from his place on the sofa and tugged his coat into place. His movements caused the conversation to grind to a halt, and he felt the gaze of every person upon him.
“Lady Samantha, a word?” He arched a brow and stepped toward her. Her chin tilted ever so slightly, her eyes flashing with curiosity, and then a twinge of amusement as she rose, her hands instinctively smoothing down the front of her blue skirts.
“Have I a choice?” she asked with a bit of an impish tone. He glanced to her, noting the heightened color of her cheeks, the almost bashful smile teasing her full lips.
“Do you wish for one?” he asked, the words having two meanings, at least for him. He watched her, considering the way she angled her head just slightly to give her a better look at his expression. She paused but a moment, and in that moment, his heart stuttered with that same fear that was becoming so familiar now.
“No,” she answered. It was such a simple word. But it carried far and wide to soothing his shameful insecurities. Perhaps it was because his first wife had fooled him so perfectly, he didn’t trust his instincts. Hell, that was an understatement.Hehadn’t trusted his instincts concerning women for a long while. It was difficult to put any confidence in his ability to understand Samantha, but he wanted to.
How desperately he wanted to, and to be able to trust those instincts.
To be able to trusther.
It was almost too much to ask, too lofty to imagine.
But when had love ever been rational?
And if he were honest with himself, this was, at least, the beginning of love.
Which terrified him.
Because when you loved someone, they could hurt you far more than any other.
He wasn’t sure he’d survive such a blow from Samantha’s hand.
Rather, he wasn’t sure he’d want to survive.
As she placed her hand in his, he led them to the door. Silence followed them, as he was quite certain every eye followed their departure from the room.
After all, they were just discussing their upcoming wedding, and the bride and groom had quit the conversation and the room.
But he wasn’t sorry for such an interruption. There were far more important things to accomplish today.
And the most important accomplishment would start with a kiss.
