She refused to look away. “Because Mrs. Lassiter had it in mind that her bastard of a governess was trying to seduce her son.”
Flint went perfectly, coldly still. “Did he touch you?”
Her smile was dry. “Only once.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
Suddenly he was right in front of her, his hands wrapped around her arms. “Stop that!”
She froze. “What?”
He shook her. He actually shook her. “It does bloody matter. Everything matters. Don't you understand?” he demanded, his eyes suddenly dark and hot. “I'm responsible for you. I brought you here. If something happened to you...”
“If you want to be specific about it,” she said, trying so hard to ease the tightness in her chest, the frantic beating of her heart. “Your father brought me here.”
“But you're my responsibility! And you could have been killed today!” He kept shaking his head, as if he couldn’t understand himself. “I couldn’t have borne that.”
And as if she hadn't been disoriented enough, suddenly Felicity found herself crushed to him, his mouth on hers, his arm around her back, his body taut as a bow.
She never had the chance to protest. She never remembered that she should. His mouth felt like fire, his arms safe harbor, his body heaven. She lost her wits, her resolve, her hesitation. Before she knew it, she found herself bowed back, her mouth open beneath his sweet assault, her tongue sparring with his. Heat flooded her, light and soul-deep satisfaction, as if her own body had to tell her that this was the place she was supposed to be, caught in this man's embrace, savoring his strength, his solid comfort, his wicked sensuality.
She was melting like warming wax, glowing, she swore, like starlight. Drinking in a life she thought had been forfeit. She was about to abandon every shred of good sense, and she didn't care. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Flint's neck to hold on.
He flinched and cursed.
Felicity jumped back, appalled that she had forgotten his injury. “I'm so sorry...”
He stared at her as if she had slapped him. “Don't be absurd. I kissedyou. I shouldn't have. It wasn't fair.” He stepped back, his good hand raking through his hair as if it could reorder him.
“Fair?” Her hands shook as she smoothed down her own skirt. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“No.” He scowled. “I'm trying to marry you.”
She didn't want her heart to skip around just because he sounded sincere. She didn't want to be confused by the warring emotions those words ignited in her chest. Life had been so simple for so long. She knew who she was, and more importantly, who she wasn't. She knew her path, and made it a point to never expect more.
If only any of this made sense. She was trying so hard to maintain her composure. And he was taking hold of her shoulders and pulling her close.
“I realized today,” he said softly, “that I don't want to lose you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I think it might kill me.”
Chapter 12
Felicity sworeshe had frozen on the spot. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Oh, sweet Lord, he couldn’t mean it. He couldn’t want her so much.No onewanted her so much.
For the longest moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the fact that he had hold of her, that their foreheads met and she could feel the agitated wash of his breath against her cheek. She couldn’t bear to think that he was as serious as he seemed. It would mean too much. It was too great a distance to fall.
“You plan on locking me in the larder if I refuse to stay?” she asked, trying again to be light-hearted and only sounding breathy with shock.
His smile was heartbreaking. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
He looked so serious. His expression was intense, his eyes gleaming green in the shadowy room, his hands firm around her arms. She felt his words sink deep where old dreams lingered.
The mood in the room shifted, sweetened. She couldn't breathe, suddenly, as if he were sapping her strength with just his eyes.
“We’ve only known each other for three days,” she protested, her breath unforgivably weak and uncertain. “How could you possibly know?”
“Not really three days,” he said, his voice very quiet. “Pip wrote me, too, you know.” Could that smile get any sweeter? “She was always talking about her roommates.”
