He truly was becoming more comfortable speaking with her. Preston wasn’t certain if it was because of what Alec had said, or the brandy, or a combination of both, but he hoped the remainder of the afternoon progressed in this fashion.
“As if we don’t already know the sacrifice. There are widows and orphans aplenty, as well as wounded men throughout London. We realize the devastation war can bring.”
He stared into her green eyes. She understood more than most, or perhaps she was one of the few who were willing to admit that no matter how boastful a soldier may be, there was pain and death behind every conflict, and Miss Claywell wasn’t willing to hide from the truth.
“It was hell, Miss Claywell. Yet, it was where I belonged.”
Her smile was gentle, though a bit sad. “But now you are here and safe.”
She was someone with whom he might one day be able to discuss the horrors he’d witnessed. She’d not judge him for being haunted by the devastation and loss of friends on the battlefield. Nor think less of him when he woke from nightmares that visited him upon occasion. He’d not need to shield her from the truth.
Preston wanted her to be the person he woke to after the battle had raged in his dreams.
The need to have her for himself was so great that Preston didn’t want to fight his attraction to her any longer. A simple kiss would suffice for now, and if she didn’t slap him, perhaps he’d know if he could press for more, or at least truly court her.
Leaning forward he lifted a hand to cup her chin. She tilted her head back, a question in her green eyes. He didn’t want to fight for the words to convey his thoughts, which would likely ruin this moment. Instead, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Gentle at first and he willed himself not to pull her close for fear that if he did not proceed with caution, and deliberate slowness, passion would rule.
Her lips softened and she did return his kiss, but she did not reach out to him, as he cradled her face. She simply stood there, and Preston feared that perhaps he’d made a grave error in judgment.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled back and looked down at her.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked.
He could confess all now, but as she didn’t seem to be battling the same need he suffered, Preston chose a more simplistic answer. “I desire you.”
“Simple desire?”
“I’ve desired you since London.”
She frowned as if she were not certain what to make of his words. Certainly, his intent was clear. A gentleman doesn’t kiss a respectable woman and admit to desire without it being understood that he might be considering a courtship or more. At least he assumed, but he was unfamiliar with how those in Society went about.
Had he erred?
She hadn’t embraced him, nor responded when he admitted to desire.
“It’s not right.” She stepped away from him. “We should return inside before it grows dark.”
“Yes, …um…” he cleared his throat and cursed himself. “Of course,” he said as she moved past him toward the entry to the garden.
Preston followed as she exited the walled garden, feeling foolish for even kissing her. She clearly wished he hadn’t, even though she’d participated.
The curse of the Ambrose men. Each gentleman had known almost instantly the bride for them, and none of the ladies had made the act of courtship easy. Miss Claywell might be the most difficult of them all. Worse, he may never win her.
However, Preston was not to be deterred. He now accepted what he thought was balderdash in his youth. He’d known that Miss Claywell was to be his that first time they had waltzed, and he was not going to fight it any longer. He just needed to figure out how to win her for good.
He’d kissed her! It had taken everything within Althea’s being to keep her arms from going about his shoulders or for rising onto her toes so that it could deepen. She’d been surprised and uncertain, which is why she held back. Frankly, she was still shocked as she’d not anticipated such a turn of events.
What was he about and what did he want from her?
His response ofdesirecould mean anything. That he simply desired to kiss her for no reason, or he desired more of their relationship. If so, what kind of relationship?
Oh, she wished he would have said more, but if she’d learned anything of Lord Melcombe, he was not one for long explanations. In this case, his response had been too short and left her wondering.
Did he want a dalliance or more?
She should have asked so she knew his intentions.
Althea was just about to ask the very thing she was wondering about when she stepped from the walled garden, except a maid was out sweeping dead leaves from the terrace. When she looked up and saw Althea, there was no reaction, until Lord Melcombe drew to her side. Then the maid frowned and went back to her sweeping.
