“What lies behind all this?” He kept his distance, watching her, arms folded. “Are you reluctant to return to London because of Bella and Jeremy? They will be in London for a week.”
Carrie shook her head. She would not tell him she loved him. Let him declare it first. “I don’t want to leave Elm Park. Can’t we all just stay here?”
He thrust his hands into his hair. “We have become fond of each other. It’s not surprising, being thrown together as we have.”
“Fond seems such a paltry word, doesn’t it? I am fond of kittens. I am fond of strawberry jam on my toast.” She eyed him owlishly. “How do you know I would think that in the morning if we were…?” She frowned at him. “Are you not a wonderful lover?”
Nicholas’s gaze swept over her, then slid away. “It is not my place to introduce you to the delights of lovemaking. That is for your husband.”
It was true. Such an act would alter her life. She would not be the same girl anymore. She would be a woman. But she wouldn’t regret it. Even if he didn’t love her enough, even if there was another lady in his life, and they never married, she would have this memory. No one could take it from her. During the evening, she’d gone too far. Now there was no turning back.
Carrie almost tripped as she stumbled off the bed and walked toward him, tangled in yards of silk, the banyan fell down her arms, pooling at her feet. “Wouldn’t you like to kiss me?”
Nicholas breathed sharply as if he struggled with himself. “Carrie!” The low, husky tone altered his voice and changed him into someone else.
He reached out to her and drew her hard against him, his cheek resting on her hair, his arms tight around her, making her feel safe, wanted. “I can’t, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be right.”
His dressing gown hung loose. She breathed him in, his fresh male smell, starched linens, and woody soap. His arousal pressed with intriguing insistence against her stomach. So strange and thrilling. A need to know more of him drove her to slip her hands inside his dressing gown. He gasped but didn’t move away. Pulling his shirt free of his trousers, she stroked his skin, smooth and firm, the muscles of his chest strongly defined.
She leaned against him, a little dizzy.
He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length, his eyes betraying his ardor. “You are the worst for wine tonight. If I made love to you, took away your innocence,” he said, his voice still roughened by desire, “we’d have to marry, or you would begin your marriage to another man with a lie.”
“If that is a proposal, it’s not a very romantic one.”
His mouth curved with tenderness as he shook his head. She stared up at him. “You want me, though, don’t you, Nicholas?”
Nicholas’s eyes were dark with emotion. “I am perfectly aware of what an amazing young woman you are. Mature beyond your years in many ways.”
She frowned. “In what ways am I not?”
“You’re an innocent, sweetheart.” His voice gruff, he turned away from her while his hands returned to his disordered hair. “Do you know what you do to me?” He swung back to her. “It’s all I can do to keep from touching you.”
“Well then?”
“I was mad to bring you here. No more of this. You are going to bed. If we leave it much longer, the servants will be up and about.”
Was it merely desire he felt for her? She yearned to tell him how much she loved him, how she would want no one else. But it would only dismay him. Had she shocked him? But Carrie doubted she had. Something had changed between them. Ice had been broken.Melted.“Why don’t you want to marry, Nicholas?”
“Marriage doesn’t suit every man.” His heavy-lidded gaze roamed over her, sending a frisson of desire through her and weakening her knees. Suddenly, she knew if she continued with this, she would win. He would take her to bed. And he would marry her. But what sort of victory would that be? She must hold on to the hope Nicholas would change his mind and come to his senses. If they married, it would be for the right reasons. Built on a solid foundation that would endure. The idea of a marriage where both parties sought romance in others appalled her.
Carrie yawned. “I am tired. Thank you, for…for the agreeable things you said.”
“Carrie…”
“It’s my birthday today,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am twenty-one.”
His eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have…”
She shook her head. “It didn’t seem the right time for a celebration.”
“It might have been the perfect time, sweetheart.”
Carrie pushed her hair away from her face and plaited the locks in a loose braid with shaky fingers. “I must go.” She smoothed down the folds of his banyan flowing around her ankles as if they’d just met at a ball. “It’s best I go alone.”
She ran to the door, opened it, and rushed out. Not glancing back to see if he watched her or came after her, she darted along the corridor. She turned a corner and was relieved when she reached her bedchamber in the east wing. It had grown so late that the candles burned low in the sconces. No one was about. She hurried inside.
Light from the corridor shone into her room. Anna had left a candle in a silver candlestick, but it had drowned in a spill of wax. Carrie ran to grasp the tinderbox and light another, then she shut the door, and leaned against it, her breath more of a sob. Oh, why had she pushed him into this denial tonight? Had it ended any chance for them? She’d been wanton and should be ashamed. But strangely, she wasn’t. She didn’t believe for a minute he didn’t want her. But, for whatever reason, he didn’t intend to marry her or anyone. He desired her, though, she noted with a surge of triumph. And was almost sure he loved her. That gave her hope. When she discovered what held him back, everything would change between them.
