She mirrored the action, clearly intending to use her arms as a shield. Something to hide from him behind. But he saw the pain flash across her face, she wasn’t a practiced enough liar to hide it.
Not like him.
“No,” she admitted. “He didn’t want me.”
The shield she had wished to crate slipped further, because in that moment Theo saw everything. Her marriage had been arranged. It was a topic they had discussed years ago, in a few stolen moments on the worst birthday of his life. But when her engagement had been announced, Theo had been certain that Tunbridge would come to care for her. Certainly the duke would want her. Theo hadn’t wasted a lot of time picturing their marriage, but he’d had a fleeting moment where he considered the other man lucky to have Etta.
And now he could see that hadn’t been true. He did see through her, as she claimed he could, and what he saw was loneliness, sorrow, loss. It called to his own and he let out a shuddering breath. It called to his guilt in the circumstances she’d found herself in all those years and he almost couldn’t take another.
“Oh,” he whispered, and ran a hand through his hair. She turned away as he did, her shoulders rolled forward, her breath a little shallow. He couldn’t leave her like this, imprudent as what he was going to say next was. “Please look at me.”
“Why?” she asked, and her tone was a touch forlorn.
“Because I want you to know I mean what I’m about to say,” he said.
She turned slowly and looked up at him. “Go ahead.”
“It isn’t about not wanting you, Etta. Not for me and not for anyone else.” Her gaze fluttered over him and he forced himself to continue. “I’ve seen men watch you many times. I-I’ve watched you. Youarewanted. But the greater question is, what doyouwant?”
She was trembling now, those dark eyes so wide that they were all he could see. “I-I—” she struggled.
He moved closer once more. Now he was almost touching her again. God, how he wanted to touch her. “If you can’t even say what you want—” he began.
She pushed her shoulders back. “I want to feel desired, Theo. I want to feel alive.”
His breath caught. Oh, how he knew that feeling. And he knew that chasing pleasure wouldn’t quite get one there, no matter how hard one tried. At least not permanently. But then again, she wasn’t talking about permanently. And he could no longer resist her temptation.
He reached out and drew her fingertips along her jawline. He had touched her before, but never like this.
“Theo,” she whispered, almost imperceptibly despite the fact they were practically in each other’s arms.
He tilted her chin up, watched her lips part on a shaky sigh. And then he did he thing he realized he’d been waiting a lifetime to do: he kissed her.
* * *
Bernadette had pictured kissing Theo before. She’d done so as a lonely young woman who couldn’t stop looking at him whenever she was near. She’d even done so as a married lady, when she watched him dance by with someone else in his arms. She’d pictured it all.
And it was nothing compared to the reality when his lips met hers, soft at first, just a featherlight touch, and then with more firmness. His tongue darted out, traced the crease of her lips, and she opened to him on a sigh she couldn’t control. He took then, delving deep as his arms came around her waist and he drew her against him. She lifted against his chest, feeling the warmth of him, reveling in the taste of him, sinking into the sensation of their tongues and breath mingling.
Everything Flora and Valaria giggled about together, everything in naughty books,everythingmade sense now as she wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered at the pleasure of this touch. It woke such a longing in her, a desire that made what she’d felt before seem like nothing more than a trickle. This was a waterfall. An ocean. She wanted to drown in it.
He angled his head, pressing the fingers of one hand up into her hair to hold her steady as he kissed her even more deeply. It was as if he claimed her with this seemingly simple act. As if he marked her in some way she wouldn’t forget, even if no one else saw it. She would know a part of her was his and would be his forever.
But as quickly as it had begun, as surely as he had swept her away, he broke from her. He stepped back as he released her, holding up his hands as if to show her he wasn’t touching her anymore. His expression was wild and untethered, uncertain and possessive all at once.
“Forgive me,” he ground out, his voice raw and rough as he pivoted on his heel and staggered from the room.
She heard him leave, heard the door slam behind him, and she sank into the closest chair, her hands shaking, her heart throbbing and her entire being bombarded by feelings and sensations.
The greatest of which was giddy excitement. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d dreamed of having when she thought of taking a lover. And until that moment, she hadn’t been certain she would like it so much. But she had. And she wanted more. She wanted all of it.
She wanted it with Theo, if she was honest with herself. But the fact that he had run from her didn’t bode well. After all, he could have any woman in the world, whatever he said about watching her or wanting her, there were far greater options for him.
But that didn’t mean she had no options, herself.
She opened a small drawer on the side table next to the settee and drew out the letter she had been reading when her butler, Waterstone, had announced Theo. It was one of the things she’d found in her late husband’s things as she cleaned out her attic. She’d expected messages from friends and business associates, and had intended to return the messages to those they had come from or hand over anything that could have meaning to Tunbridge’s remaining family.
But this letter…it had drawn her up short. It was from a man named Paul Abbot, who seemed to manage an underground club called the Donville Masquerade. The message, dated just a few weeks before Tunbridge’s death, was a reprimand to her husband, who had apparently broken a rule of the club.
