He, however, had no such inhibitions and she found herself feeling pleased and grateful that he did not. As though reading her silent invitation, he dipped his head and captured her mouth with lips that were cool at first but warmed gradually against hers, which she’d parted invitingly.
He groaned and set her away from him but not so far that he could not touch his forehead to hers again. “I won’t take long.”
She nodded, stepping back. Rainwater dripped off both of them, and her boots were covered in mud. Knowing that the sooner she went inside, the sooner he would get the horses settled and come dry off as well, she urged herself out through a small side door that had been left partially open.
Cold rain landed on her hair and even in her eyes, but nervous energy had her running back to the warmth of the stone building.
It’s only a few kisses,she reasoned with herself as she removed her coat and lifted it to a hook.We will simply wait out the storm. We will talk. Just talk.None of this meant that she would give up on returning to America. None of this meant that she would marry him.
Right?
Lost in the back and forth of what she wanted and what she did not, she crouched at the hearth, built up the small logs someone had stacked off to the side, and struck a flint to the kindling.
She slid her gaze toward the bed and when her heart jumped, she brought it quickly back to the hearth. What if she wanted him? She stared unseeing, mesmerized as the spark crawled along the dry and wispy tinder. Careful not to rush the flame, she blew just enough for the glowing ember to flicker and grow so that it could ignite the small twigs.
What would it be like? Would making love with Jules, with the Earl of Westerley, an Englishman of all things, live up to the promise that his kiss had?
She’d not felt anything like that in the few times she’d been kissed before. Nash’s kiss had been pleasant. She’d even been mildly aroused on a few occasions.
If she returned to America no longer a virgin, would it even matter?
Ifshe returned to America.
Of course, she was going to return. She would step onto that ship with her father and stand on the deck as it drifted away, happy to leave her mother’s homeland forever.
She would bid Jules goodbye forever.
A stabbing pain pierced her heart as she imagined putting an entire ocean between them. It would be like leaving a part of herself behind.
The fire licked at the larger log, beginning to send off some functional warmth.
Just one week ago, everything had seemed so simple. Black and white, good and bad. But the world didn’t work that way. And now, having some distance from Philadelphia, from her father, from her mother’s parents, even, was changing her perspective on not only the world but herself—what she needed—what she wanted.
Her grandparents had, indeed, been somewhat horrible to stay with, but they weren’t monsters. There had been those few occasions when her grandmother’s eyes had teared up while telling her how happy she was to finally meet her. And when Charley had climbed into the carriage with Daisy to travel to Westerley Crossings, her father on horseback ahead of them, she’d turned back and caught her grandfather frowning, almost as though he did not want to see her go.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the fire flickered. He was back. They were trapped here, just the two of them, until the storm passed. The thought of his kiss made her feel much hotter than the fire ever could.
She rose and turned just as he finished hanging his long coat beside hers and lowering the basket near his feet, the basket she’d all but forgotten. He smoothed his hair back, causing even more water to drip onto the floor. She, again, had to wonder if he wasn’t even more handsome in this primitive state. The water lent a glossy look to his hair, making it appear almost black.
He shifted his gaze to the blazing fire. “I would have done that.”
“You mistake me for a pitiful and helpless creature. I may not excel at painting, or playing music or arranging flowers, but there are other tasks I am sufficiently capable of performing.”
He dropped onto a bench across the room and after flicking her a sardonic look, began tugging at one of his boots.
“What?”
She wasn’t sure what that look had meant.
“You.” He sent her a rueful smile before going back to work on his boots.
Charley wasn’t sure if his frustration was toward her or the stubborn footwear. She crossed the room and dropped onto the floor in front of him. Already the hem of her gown was covered in mud, so she didn’t mind getting a little more on it.
“I like you.” His statement had her looking up from what she was doing. “I like things about you that I never imagined I would like.” It was an odd sort of confession to make, and it had her biting back a smile.
“I like you, too.” She slid the boot off his stockinged foot and set it to the side. “I didn’t think it possible that I would find myself liking an English earl, but your character and…” She studied his broad shoulders and chest. “Other things, have proven to be… tolerable.”
He tugged at one of the many curls that had escaped her coiffure. “Tolerable, eh?” His smile was more of a satisfied smirk.
