Christopher dropped his hand and leaned forward to open the lid of the box opposite them, her hand sliding from his arm and back to her lap as he did so. To keep clinging to his arm would have been odd, but that didn’t stop the pang of disappointment. Reaching to touch his arm had been involuntary, but once her hand was on him, she hadn’t wanted to let go; every sweep of his thumb had made her whole body want to lean towards him until there was no space between them.
Obviously, she was good and honest. She wasn’t a fallen woman. She was not really going to have her wicked way with Christopher in the carriage, even if a small part of her mind urged her to. Her toes curled as she imagined trying to find his lips with hers only to have him turn away from her, politely but firmly. She’d have to throw herself from the moving carriage just to deal with the humiliation.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling up a dark shape. ‘I knew there would be one.’
She expected him to hand it to her or drape it over her knees. Instead, he leaned across and tucked one corner behind her right shoulder. As he drew the material over her, the backs of his fingers brushed the underside of her chin. He shifted closer and tucked the other corner around his left side, leaving them cocooned in the softmaterial; the entirety of his body pressed against the length of her left side.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Mm,’ was all she could manage. All thoughts had left her mind; all that was left was a visceral awareness of him, how close he was, how warm and solid. Her whole body started trembling.
‘You are still cold,’ he said, totally misreading her reaction to his proximity. ‘It will not be long now and you will be home.’
That was not true. It would be at least half an hour, but she did not mind.
‘Christopher,’ she whispered.
He turned to her. He was so close that even in the dim light, she could make out the curve of his lips. ‘Why are we back to whispering?’
In years to come, she would never know how she came to move. All thoughts of being rejected went; even the awareness of who she was and what this meant fell away. One moment she was sitting still, looking at his mouth through the darkness, the next, her lips were lightly touching his. It was barely a kiss, a mere brush of skin against skin, but she fancied she could taste his smile.
He did not move, not towards her or away. She pressed again. A little more firmly this time. She did not think he was breathing. Her lips brushed over his once more and then she made to pull away. He gave no sense he was rejecting her as she had feared, but neither was he responding and it was unfair of her to stay where she was.
Before there was more than a whisper of air between them, his hand shot up to the back of her head, holding her in place, his mouth hovering close to hers. His heavy breathing filled the carriage, or perhaps it was hers. The air between them intermingled and she swore she could taste him. For long, agonising seconds, he held her in place, not moving save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, before hismouth crushed hers. It was not featherlight, not a soft question. It was his soul demanding that she follow him. She whimpered and he groaned. The stroke of his tongue against her lips made her gasp. The first sweep of him inside her mouth was shockingly decadent. It was messy and clumsy and desperate all at once.
She wanted to slow down, to remember every detail, but also to keep doing this forever. Her fingers slipped into his hair until the dark strands fell over them. Her fingernails scraped the back of his neck and he made a noise she would remember until the day she died. Her hands continued their exploration, sweeping over his shoulders, along his jaw, his arms, back up to his chest, her artist’s hands tracing every line of him, to remember when he was no longer with her.
The rug dropped away from them as he pulled her onto his lap, his thighs firm beneath her. The back of her mind protested, reminding her that this was not how she should behave, but being this close to him was more intoxicating than drinking brandy. His lips skimmed along the length of her jaw, his stubble scraping against the skin of her neck; she squirmed against him as the touch made her ache. His mouth claimed hers again and there was nothing but the feel of him against her.
One hand cradled her head, holding her at an angle while he kissed her as if she were his heart’s greatest desire. The other traced a path along her arm, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of her neckline, along her collarbone and down. His thumb brushed the side of her breast and he froze, his mouth still on hers but no longer moving. Beneath her, his whole body stilled as though turned to ice. She did not move either, even as everything in her urged her to carry on, to kiss him once more and to forget everything else in the world.
Slowly, he lifted his head and gazed down at her. Because of the darkness, she could not read his expression, but in the firm set of hisshoulders, she sensed it did not look good. He didn’t even need to tell her why. He was an experienced man who had lost control. She could have been anyone, but perhaps the fact that she was his pretend betrothed made it worse in his mind; perhaps he thought she might change her mind about ending their arrangement and that she might just want to marry him after all. All that raced through her mind while he continued to sit in complete stillness.
Unbearably slowly, he lifted her from her seat on his lap and set her back down beside him. Reaching down, he picked up the blanket and tucked it only around her. She was shivering in earnest now, but she still did not think it was because she was cold. Perhaps she was shocked by her actions or maybe she was afraid of whatever he was about to say.
‘I should not have done that.’ His words were like a death knell in her heart. Dramatic, maybe, but she did not want him to regret anything that happened between them, especially when she had enjoyed it so immensely.
‘Why not?’
He snorted. ‘There are about a million reasons why not.’
‘Name one.’
‘Fine. Here’s the first in the incredibly long list: a gentleman does not go around kissing gently bred, unmarried women. It is not done.’
‘I happen to know that is not true.’
‘Why? Have you done it before?’ His voice sounded darkly murderous, which was spectacularly unfair, given that there was no way that was his first kiss. After her clumsy start, he had led all the way. It would not have occurred to her to touch his tongue with hers; no one had ever told her about that. But it had been strange and delicious all at once and he must have known how to go about it.
‘Of course I have not, but young women are not as dangerously naive as you men seem to think we are. There are ways around all the rules, as you well know. The reason gentlemen do not kiss women like me is that the men assume the woman will want a proposal. Well, as you and I have already agreed toendour engagement very soon, you need not think that will have turned my head. I am no more likely to fall in love with you now than I was four weeks ago.’
Perhaps her words were harsh, but he was being insulting by suggesting that she had been a passive participant during their kiss. Had he not felt her hands as they moved over him, tracing every part she could reach so she could submit it to memory? Did he really think that was all him and that he was solely responsible?
‘I am not suggesting anything of the sort.’ His tone was clipped and formal and different from how he had ever sounded in the past. ‘I know where your heart lies; you have been honest with me about that from the start. But let me ask you this, how do you think Robert Harber would feel about what passed between us?’
‘A few weeks ago, I should imagine he would have been upset. Now, if he found out about it, which he will not because neither of us will ever say a word, I expect he would accept that it is what betrothed couples get up to when left alone.’
‘But we arenottruly betrothed.’ Christopher wasn’t shouting, but she could feel the heat in his words nonetheless, could feel them scald her heart. ‘Not in our own minds, and when you marry him, I shall know that I have done wrong by him.’
