A tear slipped down her cheek and collided with his hand. He stroked it away and reached out with his other hand to frame her face. Her eyes, shining with a sheen of moisture, reached out to him and squeezed his insides.
Before giving ample time to contemplate his actions, he leaned in and brushed his lips softly across hers. He slipped one hand behind her neck and pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips as she opened her mouth to his advance.
She breathed a small sigh, breathless, surprised, approving. Her fingers fluttered to his face, tentative, seeking, swirling over his cheekbones. Then her tongue reached out to meet his, dancing lightly along his lips.
She tasted of all the dreams he had ever dreamed, of all the places he ever wanted to visit. She tasted spicy and exotic, and if he didn’t stop now, he was going to be beyond the ability to do so.
With great reluctance, he pulled away, but his hand remained underneath her jawline. She felt so damn good. Better than he’d imagined a woman could feel. She felt right.
He watched a dull flush creep over her face, painting her cheeks a dusky red. He dropped his hand immediately and looked away, unable to offer the apology he should. Truth was, he couldn’t very well apologize for something he held no remorse over.
“I’ll collect Udaya for you,” he mumbled as he stood awkwardly.
She caught his hand. “Don’t go.”
He turned in surprise at her request.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, her face bright with embarrassment. “You must think me a silly sort of female.”
He arched an eyebrow. He thought her anything but.
“The journal. Is it gone?”
He nodded, disappointment swelling in his throat.
She hung her head. “It’s my fault.”
He moved back to the bed and sat down once more. “India, I don’t blame you. I should have taken more precautions. Particularly in light of the break ins at both our residences.”
“I remember the translation,” she said. “If you bring me a quill and ink, I can recopy it.”
His heart began to race. Dare he hope that his plans weren’t in ruins after all? Then he frowned. “You should rest. You’ve received a terrible shock.”
She shook her head. “I must do it now or I chance forgetting. I can rest once I am finished.”
He paused for a long second, battling with his conscience. “If you’re sure...”
“I’m sure,” she said in a determined voice.
“Very well. I’ll return in a moment with the supplies.”
Chapter Six
India rested against the mound of pillows at her back as she hastily scribbled the fabricated translation once more. Her mind was a tumultuous jumble of conflicting emotions. Never once had she felt such strong guilt over her plan to dupe the viscount. Until now.
She sighed and laid aside the quill then rubbed her aching temples. He had kissed her. And not just any kiss. She had been kissed before but not like this. Not like this achingly, perfect kiss.
She had done far more with Henry, but she had not felt so incredibly captivated, so powerless to do anything but feel, like she had with Ridge. Now she wondered just what other wonders she had missed out on in her experience with Henry.
She closed her eyes and relived Ridge’s lips on hers. Feather soft, then firmer. Warm, comforting, gentle. She had never felt anything like it. It made her feel of home, security, warm fires in the winter, summer breezes. All the things she most wanted. Yet here she was poised to jaunt off again on some wild goose chase.
Only this time it mattered. Really mattered if she were to get her father back. She’d have to put aside her dreams of home and family. Perhaps she would never have them, but the idea remained firmly ensconced in her heart.
She stared down at the translation and felt guilty all over again. The viscount had done nothing to indicate she couldn’t trust him, and her initial assumption of him being a glory seeking sensationalist just didn’t ring true now. But was she willing to take the chance?
It no longer mattered what she thought of the viscount. Her father’s well being took precedence over everything else. Even if the viscount never forgave her deception, at least her father would be alive and well. And he was all she had left.
Feeling only marginally better about her perfidy, she blew over the ink to make sure it was dry then set it on the small table by her bed. She rose from the bed and walked to the window to look out.
