Rhys could not get Kenna close enough to him. Her riding jacket and his great coat were unwanted barriers. He ached to feel her swelling breasts against his chest. He carefully retreated a few steps until the back of his knees made contact with the divan. He sat down, never breaking the kiss, and pulled Kenna with him. She fell on his lap with an awkward little “ooof” and tried to scramble off, looking everywhere but at him. Rhys smiled serenely, shaking his head, and pushed her gently backward until she lay cornered against the divan’s single armrest. He shrugged out of his coat as he shifted, trapping Kenna with one of his legs.
“You’ll be cold,” she said in a throaty whisper. Her eyes widened as one of his eyebrows lifted in tender mockery.
“Innocent,” he said as his head bent closer.
He didn’t kiss her on the mouth this time. His lips touched her eyes first, closing them, then traced the smooth arch of her cheekbones, the downy soft line of her jaw. She turned toward him, trying to capture his mouth, but he teased her and moved to her ear. Pushing away the tendrils of red-gold hair that had escaped her braid, Rhys nibbled at Kenna’s lobe and was rewarded for his efforts by a tiny gasp that seemed to brand his cheek.
Knowing what he risked, Rhys brought his mouth back to Kenna’s in a relentlessly searching kiss while one of his hands insinuated itself between their bodies and unbuttoned her jacket. His fingers brushed her ripening breast through her thin linen blouse and she tried to move away in protest. Rhys let his hand fall immediately to her waist and rested it there until he felt her relax against him.
Kenna opened her eyes when he broke the kiss, frowning ever so slightly when she saw a hint of amusement about Rhys’s beautiful mouth.
Rhys saw the question in her eyes and put a finger to her lips, quieting her. “Shh. I’m not laughing at you. Only myself.”
She was not surprised that he had read her mind. In that respect he was not so different from the young man she had admired and loved who was up to her every trick. For a while, when his mouth held hers and his hands and body kept her captive, it was easy to forget her nightmares and instead, remember her dreams. “Why?” she asked on a thread of sound.
“I doubt you would find it amusing.” When Kenna gave no reply but continued to look at him expectantly, Rhys gave in. “Very well. I was thinking that seducing you requires more strategy than this soldier ever learned in Wellington’s camp.”
Kenna realized she probably shouldn’t have found it the least bit amusing but after a moment’s reflection her lips twitched. At Rhys’s look of amazement she could not hold back the bubble of laughter that hovered about her mouth. “Is that what you’re doing? Seducing me?” It was a novel idea that she was the object of a seduction. She wondered if she should be flattered that Rhys found her more difficult than his usual conquests.
Rhys nodded, smiling with roguish charm. “At least I thought I was. Mayhap you’re seducing me.”
“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“I could show you. I wouldn’t prove at all difficult.”
Kenna shifted a trifle uncomfortably as Rhys’s smoky eyes searched her face. “I don’t think so…this isn’t…isn’t a good idea. I don’t know why I let—” Her voice drifted off as Rhys’s hand drifted across her ribcage until he touched the underside of her breast.
“Don’t you?” he asked. “Touch me, Kenna. Touch me.” He drew her hand to his face.
Her fingers were uncertain as they slid along Rhys’s cheek and strong jawline. They became more sure as she investigated the tiny dimple at the base of his chin. She drew her fingers upward then, tracing his lips with a whisper-light touch. His mouth parted and she could feel the edge of his tongue sweep across the soft pads of her fingers. His eyes held hers, making the contact intimate and knowing. Kenna tried not to show her fear because she wasn’t sure what it was she feared, but it was there, in her eyes, and she withdrew her hand.
Rhys caught Kenna’s hand in his and held it to his chest, over the uneven pounding of his heart. “Has there been no one, Kenna?”
“No. No one.”
Rhys had known she was innocent, but surely there had been some suitor over the years who had held her hand or taken the liberty of kissing her cheek. “Why didn’t you have a London Season?”
Kenna’s fingers curled into a fist against Rhys’s chest. “What would it have served? In the unlikely event someone offered for me I would have been bound to refuse. I can never marry,” she finished simply.
Rhys was confused by Kenna’s sincerity. She obviously meant every word she said. “I don’t think I understand, Kenna. What is there to keep you from marrying? Surely Nick and Victorine would—”
She shook her head quickly. “No. It has nothing to do with them. Don’t you see? It’s because of the nightmares.” She smiled, trying to make light of the matter. “I would make a poor sort of companion in the marriage bed.”
“Oh, Kenna,” Rhys sighed, hurting for her. Someday, when she trusted him more, he would pursue the content of her nightmares, but not now. He leaned back on the divan and pulled Kenna into his arms so that she lay softly against him. She came without protest and when he reached for his coat to cover them she laughed a little sadly.
“I said you’d be cold.”
“So you did,” Rhys said easily. “Are you always right?”
“About most things.”
Rhys was thoughtfully silent. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “Not about the marriage offers. You would have been deluged with proposals.” He did not add that it had been his greatest fear while he was on the Peninsula.
“You still like to tease me.”
“I do. But I’m not teasing now, Kenna. There would have been many offers for your hand. Do you doubt me?”
Kenna spoke into the curve of Rhys’s shoulder. “I have a looking glass, Rhys,” she said as if it explained everything.
