She licked her lips as Aaron raised the veil that separated them and laid it gently back. She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.
His face was angular and cruel. He was inhuman in his perfect maleness and his utter lack of emotion! She wanted to see those stony lines break into something softer, and knew him to becapable of it because she had seen it in his youth. She noticed the scar beneath his lip, a horizontal line just above his chin. He had acquired that particular markaftertheir little acquaintanceship.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek chastely.
She felt disappointed as he moved to dismiss her.
With a rush of confidence and daring, she went onto her tiptoes and turned his face back to her. Pressing her lips carefully against his, she kissed him.
For a moment, he froze, mouth rigid, and she very nearly panicked. Then he relaxed. His arms glided about her waist, drawing her nearer.
Those arms were bands of steel from which she would not be able to escape unless he chose to release her. The utter helplessness in that moment thrilled her. It triggered a desire that she had never consciously felt before.
Her lips parted against his, and his tongue touched her half-open mouth. It was a shock that made her close her mouth again, but then she felt his arousal, hard and insistent against her…
Her lips parted on instinct, then panic—then something sweeter than both as his tongue swept in. She responded. Their kiss deepened. It felt like they had been tangled for hours, but she knew it was a matter of seconds. Slow seconds with each one taking years to unfold—
The priest cleared his throat, and Aaron broke away, breathless and tousled, looking at the man in surprise and then at Catherine.
She felt as stunned as he looked.
“Congratulations…” the priest said in a slow voice.
“It is done,” Aaron rasped, stepping back hastily from her.
He turned away and marched down the aisle. There was no triumphal wedding march or hymns, only the stabbing of his boots against the ancient flagstones of the chapel floor as he rushed to escape.
“I was talking to Mr. McKay about what a maze the house is,” Catherine said suddenly.
She sat in a carriage next to Aaron. He was engrossed in a large ledger, into which he was making careful notes.
“It is McKay. NotMr. McKay. NotMr. Harold. Not to us,” he corrected absently, “and he will not thank you for engaging him in conversation. He prefers to remain strictly separate from his employers,” he tacked on without looking up.
“I understand. Thank you for explaining. He says he has a map,” she giggled, forcing the laugh to try and expel the silence that filled the carriage.
“Yes, it has proved very useful for all of us,” Aaron said curtly.
Catherine had been watching London flow by the carriage as they entered its arteries, exchanging views of farmland and villages for canyons of brick and stone. Then she frowned, thinking of how unbeatable Aaron had always been at hide and seek, in the house, because of his intimate knowledge of its layout.
“I assumed you had helped him create it,” she frowned.
“No, I was as lost as he,” Aaron replied, distractedly.
Catherine did not answer but found herself wondering how a boy who had grown up in Caerleon Manor could forget that knowledge so completely that he needed a map to find his way around.
“What is it that you are working on so assiduously?” she asked after a beat.
His head lifted sharply. His eyes were sharper upon her.
“Why do you ask?” he snapped.
“Simply making conversation,” she answered. “We go to a wedding breakfast which will be attended by people I do not know, and I am to act the part of the happy bride. I am trying to put myself at ease.”
“Conversation does not put me at ease.”
“That was not the case before. You talked to fill every silence.”
“We all change from our childhoods,” he replied with a tight-lipped simper.
