“We’ve reached an understanding,” he said with a shrug.
“So I’ve seen.” The words bubbled out in a quiet laugh. “I do believe that rescuing my father from certain death may mean that I’ll forgive you anything.”
His eyes widened, studying her before narrowing once more. “You forgive me, but your feelings have changed?”
“I thought they had. I thought I had given you up. I thought I didn’t know the real you.”
“But?”
“Was it part of your scheme to share your whiskey with me?”
“No,” he laughed.
“To punch a man on my behalf? Or to listen to me prattle about plants and bees? Did you intend to throw rocks at my window or to tell me about bringing weeds to your mother? Was it a scheme when you ripped open your wounds in your rush to reach me—twice? Did your plan require that you walk through fire to save me?”
“No, I never could have planned for you, Eliza.” He tucked a curl behind her ear as he brushed a thumb along her cheekbone. There was nothing but honesty in his expression, no hint of a bluff.
“And the next time you kiss me, will that be a lie?”
“Kissing you is the most fundamental truth of my life.”
“I do know you. And I know I cannot let you go. Even when I wanted to hate you, I could not.”
Benedict’s forehead fell to hers, his eyes slipping shut.
“So it would seem that I am in love with you. I am choosing to forgive you. Like your home, we can rebuild into something more, better, forever.”
No sooner had the last syllable left her lips than Benedict claimed them. Eliza’s heart soared. Just as he had for their first kiss, he pulled back too soon for Eliza’s liking. His dark lashes fluttered up as he searched her face.
Eliza was not content to wait and see if he would stop with such a polite caress. She leaned back in, knowing without a doubt that he would catch her—come to her—always.
Each time they had danced together, it had felt as though they had been partners for years, she and Benedict, and this kiss was no different. The give and take, the back and forth, was instinctive between them. Her hand trailed down his cheek to rest against his neck.
Benedict pulled away again, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He swallowed, throat bobbing beneath the tips of her fingers. After a breath, he pulled back, trapping her gaze.
“Are you certain?”
Her heart cracked. She could see the little boy beneath the question, so desperate for affection. And then there was the man, so certain he’d lost her forever that his head refused to believe any evidence that he hadn’t.
“Yes,” she whispered, her head bobbing.
It seemed the second assurance was all he needed.
His lips crashed onto hers as a powerful hand clutched at her nape, trapping her there—though there was nowhere she would rather be.
Benedict’s heart thrummed beneath her palm, matching her own beat for beat. The hand that had lingered around her waist chose that moment to trail up the loose silk of her robe and tighten around her rib cage.
He ripped his lips from hers with a gasp. “We should stop.”
She held his cheeks. “Don’t stop. You almost died yesterday—Ialmost died—without ever knowing what it would be like between us.”
“You want to?—”
“Feel you inside me, yes,” she supplied, pleased with the steadiness of her voice despite the thrilling combination of nerves and lust.
“Eliza, if we do this, you’ll never be rid of me. I cannot give you up.”
“Good.”
