Not a kiss, only the suggestion of one, the touch so light, so fleeting, over before he could be sure it had begun, but enough, just enough of a taste . . .
“Yes,” he whispered. “Sweet.”
She gasped when he lowered his head again and the tip of his tongue grazed her palm. He opened his lips to nip at her there, and her gasp turned to a sigh, a moan.
Cam’s knees went weak at the sound. Need pounded through him, making his head swim. Madness, to kiss and touch her with her mother and sister just steps away, but he couldn’t make it matter. Nothing mattered now but her taste, the sighs and moans he’d wrung from her.
“Ah, Ellie . . .” He dragged the sleeve of her gown away from her wrist and pressed his open mouth to that white, tender flesh. He sealed his lips over her pulse point, felt it surge and flutter against his darting tongue.
He jerked the sleeve higher so he could kiss her arm, devour the delicious skin at the inside of her elbow. In some foggy part of his brain he knew he’d lost control, but he couldn’t stop . . .
She gave a soft cry and trembled in his arms.
God, what was he doing? He’d gone mad.
He tore his mouth away from her. He waited for his ragged breathing to calm, then slowly, gently, he eased the sleeve of her gown back down her arm and smoothed it over her wrist.
He met her gaze. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth soft, open.
“I believe I’ve shocked you speechless,” he murmured. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
It wasn’t what he meant to say, but he didn’t know how to tell her it was he who was shocked, he who was speechless.
She didn’t answer, but stared at him with wide eyes.
Cam bowed. “Until tonight, my lady.”
He left her alone in the hallway, staring after him.
Chapter Twelve
“What’s the matter, my lady?” Camden West studied her over the edge of his wineglass. “Don’t you care for trifle?”
Eleanor lowered her spoon and placed it next to her untasted dish of trifle. The pudding wasn’t the problem. No, the problem sat across the table from her, eating strawberries and cream with every appearance of enjoyment, as if the incident this afternoon had never happened.
The afternoon hadn’t gone at all how she’d planned, and she’d begun to despair of the evening, as well. For one, Mr. West should be buried at the other end of the table, far away from her, but her family didn’t bother with proper dining etiquette among friends, and this evening they’d paired off and wandered into dinner with their usual disregard for rank.
And she’d ended up across the table from him.
She couldn’t imagine what had possessed her mother to invite him, but short of tackling Lady Catherine to the drawing room floor, there’d been no way for Eleanor to stop it.
“You hardly ate any dinner.”
Eleanor brought her attention back to her dinner companion, who nodded at her overflowing dish. “I fear for your health, my lady. Even the sweets can’t tempt you?”
Hadn’t she been tempted enough for one day?
She scowled at him as he scooped up another bite of trifle with his spoon. “I find my appetite has quite deserted me this evening, and I don’t care for trifle, in any case.”
“Too sweet?” He gave her a diabolical smile. “But that’s what makes it so irresistible—the sweet, thick cream with the ripe, red fruit. You should have some. It’ll sweeten your temper.” He brought a spoonful of strawberries awash in cream to his mouth.
Under cover of the table, Eleanor crushed her napkin between her fingers. He kept using the wordsweet, and she was certain it wasn’t a coincidence.
Do you tastesweet, my lady?
“You’ll need all the strength you can muster over the next week or so,” he added.
Eleanor frowned. For the battle ahead, she supposed he meant. The battle withhim. The battle she was, by every measure in which a battle could be judged, losing.
