He seized her arm and forced them to a stop, gently tugging her until she faced him. That damned wombat had curled upin his throat, now. He had to swallow several times before his words made it past the lump. “Do you likeme?”
She refused to look at him. Her focus was fixed over his shoulder and she pressed her fingertips to her lips so hard that the skin beneath her nails turned white. It took a long moment before she was willing to meet his gaze. When she did, she quickly exhaled. The resulting puff of air sent an errant hair flying. “Fine. Yes, I like you.”
It wasn’t enough. It never would be. He stepped closer. Flames ignited and crackled between them. Volcanoes. Vesuvius. Tambora. Lava had nothing on the heat that flowed between him and her. She could devastate him in a heartbeat.Thatmight be the most devastating eruption of all time.
His heart clamored. He’d told himself that he would wait, that he wouldn’t pressure her now for anything more than friendship. It was unfair to do so while her entire future was uncertain. He should wait until she was employed and had settled somewhere. Any feelings she might have for him must be because they were real and not because she was grasping at straws.
Yet he could not help himself. He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Are we friendly, friends, or more than friends, Eleanor?”
She pressed her lips together and twisted the ribbon on her list. Habit? Or was she thinking of the man who’d given it to her? “I do not know,” she admitted.
He should step away, but he couldn’t. He prided himself on his honor but he was about to toss it away. He had to take advantage of every moment there was to convince her they were perfect for each other.
He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to pull away. Shedidn’t. Her tongue flicked across her lips and he watched her take a deep and ragged breath. His hand flexed, and his fingers grazed the soft hairs at her temple. He grazed his other hand down her Eton jacket until it rested on her lower back, then drew her closer. In the moment before their lips touched, she whimpered. The sound wrapped around his heart and pulled.
Their kiss was supposed to be light. It was supposed to be a gentle reminder of what could be if she chose him. It was supposed to steady her and help her realize that he was steadfast and reliable. Instead, she sank onto his chest and he got lost in the scent of her, the delicate orange blossom that filled his lungs and stirred his groin and that belonged on his pillow every night for the rest of their lives. His control vanished.
He captured her lips swiftly, hand grasping her as if he was the one who needed steadying. He probed her lips with his tongue, and groaned as she opened to him. She tasted as sweet as he’d imagined she would. When she explored him with the same urgency that he explored her with, conviction settled in his chest.
Her purse knocked against the backs of his legs as she returned his embrace. Her fingers curled in his hair. When they came up for breath, when their foreheads rested on each other’s for support, he murmured the thought he’d wanted to express for weeks. “You are beautiful. You are perfect.”
She gave a deep sigh, and his hand on her rib cage rose and fell with her. From this angle, he couldn’t see the entirety of her smile, just the corners hitching, and he got lost in that too.
Hehemm. The discreet cough roused him, and the rest of the world invaded his awareness. The street was full of passersby. If he had done such a thing in Mayfair, the scandal would beplastered across tomorrow’s newspapers. Here, on a side of town he rarely had cause to visit, he copped raised eyebrows, disapproving stares, andtut-tuts, but then their audience went about its business.
Eleanor froze as she, too, was dragged back to reality. Sucking in a deep breath to slow his racing heart, he retreated. She was doing likewise, regaining her composure by closing her eyes and shaking her head. The significance of the moment was not lost on her, and he felt jubilant.
“Then we are friends,” he said, trying not to bounce on his toes. “Until you know otherwise.”
Eleanor blushed. “Friends,” she repeated, though her tone was shaky and she might simply be echoing the last sound she heard. She stumbled as she backed away from him and then righted herself. “Goodbye.”
She spun and her walk was almost a run. Her building’s porter narrowed his eyes, giving Peter look of deep suspicion before he closed the door. He had seen everything. Peter would not have an easy time gaining entrance to Eleanor’s building again.
The carriage that had been following at a distance all afternoon pulled alongside him. The footman riding on the back jumped down and held the door open.
“James,” Peter said, “that task we discussed this morning, how did it go?”
The lad nodded. “All six trunks have been sent to the house, Your Grace. The bookseller did as asked and paid twice the amount he usually would for her collection.”
“Good.” Eleanor would never accept a handout from him, but he could not let her give up her library. Her books would sit alongside his until she had the room for them, or until his housebecame hers and his library became theirs, in which case, her books would not move at all.
Damn, he hoped that was the case. She was determined, and she worked hard. She would make a good partner as they served his estates together. She was forthright, independent, and wise. She would make an excellent role model for his sisters. She was kind, intelligent, and vivacious, and he was falling in love with her. Hell, there was nofalling. He wasinlove with her. It had taken everything in him not to declare so just then, on his knees as Peter and the Captain.
But it wasn’t the right time. Once her life was back on track, once she had a purpose that she could strive for, once she knew her future was secure without having to rely on anyone else, only then would he tell her how he felt.
And he could wait. He could be patient. If that’s what it took.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Ugh.” Eleanor dropped her purse on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm her racing heart. What hadthatbeen? There were accidental drunken kisses that could be excused by gin, and then there were fully sober kisses that felt like anything but impulsive decisions. There had been intent in the way he touched her. He wanted her and, dash it, her body wanted him. It had always wanted him, even when he was her nemesis.
Baskerville meowed and rubbed against her skirts. He was the only constant in her life. She knew exactly how she felt about him. She picked him up and held him to her chest, scratching his head.
“I’m in a pickle, kitten.”
Peter. The Captain. Peter.
When Peter had walked into the bookstore, she’d felt the same fluttering feeling that she did every time she opened one of the Captain’s letters. Those letters were joy. They engaged her heart and her brain. Life felt wide open when she thought of him. It stretched forward in time and back, and to worlds that didn’t exist but yet could still be explored. The Captainwas pure energy and imagination. Conversation across the breakfast table would always be interesting.
