He took a deep breath, determined to dampen the hot desire that her touch had evoked. God, she drove him to distraction with her delicate fingers clasping his, her face so close that if he but turned to look at her, their lips would likely touch. A tremor shook him at the thought of such pleasure—the instant reminder of how it had been between them before when they’d given in to abandon. “I don’t know what I feel for you,” he said, telling her the truth. “I know that I care for you, and I know that I want—I want . . .” Christ, he could not say it. Not to a woman of her breeding—of her perfection. She’d think him a beast if she ever discovered the visions he’d had of her as he lay in bed at night, his mind tormented with the possibility of her there with him, of what it would be like for them to touch each other in the most intimate ways possible.
Shifting, he moved to pull away, determined to add some measure of distance, lest he act out his fantasies within the confines of this very carriage. She was a lady, after all. She did not deserve to be treated so coarsely.
“So do I,” she whispered.
Blinking, he tried to recall the last thing he’d said to her, and then blinked again the moment he did. “What are you talking about?” His voice was gruff with restraint.
Raising his hand, she pressed it to her chest, allowing him to feel her heart. It was beating a frantic tattoo. “I want it all,” she whispered. “But only with you.” Her eyes shimmered, sparkling like stars in the night sky. “I—I . . .”
He wanted to press his mouth to hers, to silence whatever thought that was stopping her from acting on the words she’d just spoken. But the caution with which she spoke made him hesitant. Whatever it was, it seemed to be very important. “You?”
“I love you, Raphe.” She blurted the words with complete lack of finesse, as though they’d been building up inside her just waiting to burst free. “My life changed the moment I met you. You taught me how to live again—you made me rediscover my true self—and you showed me that I can be so much more than I ever expected to be as long as I have the courage to try. I love how you make me feel and I love that you find me interesting rather than strange. I love your smile and the way in which you make me smile. You’re an impressive man; considerate, kind, honorable and . . . You are everything to me, Raphe. When we’re apart, I can think of nothing but you—of being with you again—and I . . . I’m sorry if I ever doubted our chance of being together. I was stupid, and afraid, but I refuse to be so anymore. I refuse to marry a man I don’t love when I can marry the one that I do. As long as you’ll have me, that is.”
She barely managed to speak the last words before he was kissing her, pulling her closer, his arms tight about her waist and shoulders, too impatient to wait a moment longer to embrace her softness and taste her sweetness.
She reciprocated with an eagerness that wrought a groan from his throat, her desperation for closeness equal to his. Fingers splayed across his back, she matched his movements, following his lead as he deepened the kiss, exploring and sharing an unspoken wave of emotion. He hadn’t reciprocated her declaration, and would not do so until he was certain he felt the same way. She deserved the honesty—not the deception that came from hastily casting words about. And while he knew that he liked her and cared for her, he had to know that this burning need to be with her was more than just a passing fancy or a haunting obsession.
He’d learned that from his parents. “I thought I loved her,” his father had told Raphe shortly before taking his own life. “I realize now that the passion I felt was anything but. The constant craving she instilled within me wasn’t love. It was a sickness—a compulsive need to possess her.” He’d looked so tired and worn out as he’d spoken, his only confidant, an eight-year-old boy who should never have witnessed such emotional outpouring from his father. “I should have known that I’d never make her happy. She didn’t love me either, you see.”
It was a tragedy that Raphe had sworn to avoid, yet here he was, kissing Gabriella as though his life depended on it—reveling in her love for him. He pulled back, adoring the hazy look in her eyes, her puffy lips and her rosy cheeks. Swiping away a stray strand of hair from her cheek with his fingers, he quietly asked, “How do you know?”
She stared up at him, cheeks darkening with the burn of his question. “I just do.”
“You just do?” It was the most unsatisfactory answer he’d ever received. It didn’t help him at all.
She nodded with conviction and he found himself envying her certainty. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before,” she whispered shyly.
Neither had he, but that didn’t mean that he loved her. Did it? He watched as she lowered her lashes, and he realized then that too much time had passed between them—time in which she’d probably hoped for him to match her courage. So he did the only thing he could think to do and kissed her again, long and deep and with an openness that would hopefully ease her mind a little.
When the carriage rolled into the courtyard between their two houses, he took her hands between his own and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask Richardson to investigate your sister’s marriage immediately. I’ll send you a note as soon as I know if there’s a chance for an annulment.”
She nodded demurely. “Thank you.” When he moved to alight, she caught him by the elbow, holding him back. “Just so you know, I plan to end my engagement with Fielding.”
Her directness shook him for a second, due to the implication. She’d said she loved him, and now she planned to prove it by casting aside the man her parents had chosen for her to marry—the safe choice that would ensure a respectable place of admiration amid the ton.
“If you need help, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Thank you, but I would prefer to do this on my own.”
“You want to do what?” Richardson asked with unfeigned dismay.
Taking a moment to convey the details surrounding Lady Victoria’s marriage and her current situation, Raphe faced his friend and secretary. “Do you think it’s possible?” he asked.
Richardson ran both hands through his hair as though the mere suggestion was too disturbing to contemplate. “What about Warwick?”
“What about him?”
Richardson gave him a look of exasperation. “Does he know?”
“Of course not.” The comment did little to appease Richardson, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “His daughter determined her own future when she got herself married to a man that Warwick had not approved of.”
“It looks as though his other daughter might be heading down that same path,” Richardson grumbled.
“I thought you were in favor of a match between Lady Gabriella and I,” Raphe said, crossing his arms.
“Of course I am.” Richardson blew out a breath. “I just wish there wasn’t so much scandal attached.” He eyed Raphe for a second before saying, “She really means to end things with Fielding?”
“That’s what she told me.”
