“You could have ended this,” she accused, turning sharply. “A single word this morning, and society would have abandoned the tale for the next scandal.”
He watched her, unblinking. “And what would you have preferred? That I declare you beneath my notice? That I insult you for the gossips?”
“Yes!” she said, too loudly. “No. I…” The thought slipped away.
He stepped forward, carefully, almost reverently. “I won’t do it, Louisa. I won’t let them believe you are unworthy of desire or that I’m indifferent to you. Not when…” He halted, the words catching on his tongue.
She glared at him, desperate for something to anchor her. “You’re drunk,” she accused.
He laughed, but the sound was dry. “Not nearly enough.”
They stood close now, the air between them taut. Louisa could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the faint scar at the corner of his mouth. The scent of him enveloped her, orange peel and clove, sweat and brandy, underlined by a restlessness that mirrored her own.
He reached for her slowly, giving her a chance to step away. When she didn’t, his fingers trailed down her arm, just above the cuff of her sleeve. His touch was light, barely there, yet it sent a shock straight to her heart.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
He paused, letting his thumb rest on the inside of her wrist, feeling the flutter of her pulse. “Because you are the only person who has ever dared to challenge me. The only one who ever wanted more than the ruse.”
She closed her eyes, the words sinking in and tangling with every wall she’d built. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “You shouldn’t want me.”
He smiled, and it was the saddest smile she’d ever seen. “I dare you, Primrose. I dare you to stop pretending you don’t want more.”
For a heartbeat, she resisted. For a heartbeat, she was still the girl who could outwit any man alive.
Then she was not.
She surged forward, her mouth crashing against his with a violence that surprised them both. The taste of brandy was sharp, but beneath it lay something else—something like forgiveness or hunger. Niall caught her by the waist, drawing her in with a certainty that belied his earlier restraint. Louisa clutched at the lapels of his jacket, her fingers digging into the soft wool, desperate for something solid to anchor her.
They broke apart only when the need for air became absolute. For a moment, they hovered there, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.
“Oh,” she said, dazed.
He traced her cheekbone with the back of his hand. “Oh, indeed.”
The ache in her chest transformed—no longer pain, but an unbearable fullness. She realized, in a burst of clarity, that she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this moment to last forever.
Niall broke the silence, his voice raw. “If you regret it?—”
She cut him off with another kiss, softer this time, but no less desperate. When they parted, her hands had found their wayinto his hair, mussing it further. She rested her forehead against his and exhaled, slow and shaky.
“You’re still an idiot,” she whispered.
He smiled, eyes closed. “You’re not the first to say so.”
She laughed, genuine, unrestrained. It vibrated through them both.
For a minute, neither spoke. Then Louisa stepped back, putting careful distance between them. She straightened her skirt, patted her hair, and tried to recapture the chill that had defined her for so long.
“You’re impossible,” she said, but her voice held no heat.
He looked at her—really looked, as if memorizing every line of her. “And yet, here you are.”
She could not deny it. She did not want to.
For the first time in her life, Louisa found herself without a plan. The prospect was terrifying and thrilling.
She decided, for once, to see where the lack of a plan might lead as their lips came back together.
