“My father blames himself for my mother’s death. He’d lamented more than once that she might have lived if he’d brought her back to England. He blames himself for the fact that his daughter has never been accepted into the society his wife valued so much.”
Watching her intently, he continued making slow circles on her palm with his thumb.
“I blame myself for not loving my mother enough,” she continued. It was difficult to admit something to him that she could hardly admit to herself. “If I had been a better daughter, tried harder to be the person she wanted me to be, she might have lived longer.”
“But she died of consumption, did she not?”
Charley lifted her shoulders, still staring into his eyes. “I know. But I still wonder.”
“I know what you are trying to do, Charlotte Arabella Jackson.” His smile was that lopsided one where he only lifted one corner of his mouth. “And I appreciate it. But it is not the same.”
Charley did something most out of character then. She reached her hand out and cradled his cheek. “I know.” She smiled back at him.
Captured by his gaze now, all the air sucked out of the room and her blood felt like it might be boiling. She was only vaguely aware of the white illumination of lightning that flashed across the room and the thunder that followed. She was only aware of this man. Of Jules.
He rose from his chair and moved to stand before her. Not looking anywhere but in her eyes, he deliberately stepped between her legs amongst the folds of her skirt.
Was she even breathing? She was too light-headed, too dizzy, too sensitive.
“Charley.” He slid his hands into the hair at her nape and then, dear Lord, he lowered his mouth to hers. “Who are you?” he breathed against her lips.
Her neck couldn’t hold her head up a second longer. Her neck fell back as she surrendered. He would hold her. He was warm and solid and dependable.
She slid her hands up his chest and wound them around his neck, pulling him closer, begging him to deepen the kiss, surrendering to the need he’d planted in her when they’d sat alone in the cellar.
The desire racing through her blood was foreign but recognizable. His kiss was earthy, masculine, dangerous, and she couldn’t get enough of him. Her body understood that this connection was the reason for all those giddy feelings she’d experienced with him before. This was the reason she’d been drawn to him. Yielding herself to this man—merging her heart with his, sharing her body and revealing her soul—was the reason she was here.
It was the reason she’d been born.
Thunder rumbled outside at the same time Jules hummed against her lips. Her insides tightened, and she felt his kiss everywhere. Beneath her hand, his heart beat as rapidly as hers.
Time ceased to exist and all she could think as he kissed her was that she never wanted it to stop. She wanted him always. In that moment, shebelongedto him.
And as the kiss softened but with more insistence, she wanted him to touch her everywhere—her breasts, her legs, her belly. The ache between her legs was hot and wanton.
She gasped when he abandoned her mouth to trail his along the curve of her cheek. His tongue felt hot, his teeth dragged along sensitive skin, making her nerve endings stand up, wanting some combination of pleasure and pain.
“What’s happening?” Was this even normal? All her good sense turned upside down, making her want this—want him—more than anything else in the world.
He paused, breathing hard against the side of her neck, one hand resting just below her breast. Another flash of lightning and the thunder came quicker this time, so loud that it seemed to shake the earth beneath them.
She felt Jules’ long exhale, then he drew back, his chest rising and falling as he reined in his emotions. Was that what this was?
Romantic love?
He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, so close that she could almost count his lashes as he stared into her eyes. The sensation was more intimate than a kiss.
“I need to put the horses up until the rain passes.” And as though he’d summoned it with his words, the patter of raindrops falling on the roof and against the windows sounded softly at first, growing quickly in intensity. “I’ll light a fire for us when I return.” He squeezed her hand. “You are all right?”
She was dazed and achy and alive all at the same time. “I’m fine.” She pushed him away. “Go.” The horses would be getting skittish.
The room felt emptier the moment the door closed behind him and a sense of logic began to war with the fog of wonder she’d fallen into. Mrs. Crabtree would be awaiting her at the Abbey. As would Bethany. What was Lady Westerley going to say when they didn’t arrive with all the other guests?
Another flash of lightning lit the room brighter than a hundred candles ever could, immediately followed by cracking thunder.
The horses would be terrified by now. Jules would need her help. She hopped off the table and rushed across the room. When she opened the door, sharp drops of rain pelted her face and a swirl of leaves blew inside.
She lifted her arm to partially cover her face right before she caught sight of Jules. Leaning forward with his head down, his legs churned through the mud as he walked in front of the horses who pulled the conveyance. He was leading them around to a small barn on the other side of the stream.
