She smiled. “My pleasure, Mr. West.”
Lady Carlisle and Lily Sutherland smiled and offered cordial goodbyes, but Lady Charlotte, who’d ended her recital in a discordant crash of notes, only glanced from him to her sister, her brow furrowed, then turned away.
Eleanor followed him out of the drawing-room, but she came to a stop fewer than five paces from the door. “Good night.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t intend to see me out?”
Did she think he’d taste her again, as he had this afternoon? Did she think he’d take her ripe red mouth with his, her lips sweet and tart at once, a fruit so succulent one taste made the juice run down his chin?
She sidled back toward the drawing-room. “I thought I had. Rylands is waiting in the entryway. He’ll see to you.”
She thought to foist him off on Rylands, did she? He caught her hand and drew her toward him, away from the door. “Must I define the word truce for you, Eleanor?” He eased her back against the wall.
DearGod, her scent.
“I know what a truce is, and it doesn’t include . . . this.”
He held her between the wall and his body and leaned closer, until his mouth nearly touched hers. “What do you mean bythis, Eleanor? Do you think I intend to kiss you? Shall I take your lips with mine, to seal our truce?”
She shook her head, but she didn’t speak.
God, he wanted to kiss her, burned for the feel of her lips soft and open against his, her every gasp and sigh caught in his mouth.
Cam stilled her with gentle fingers on her chin and stared down at her. Her eyes had dropped closed and her long lashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks. She drew a deep breath and her lips parted on a long, unsteady sigh.
All he needed was a single moment, and here it was.Now. He tilted her head up to his and leaned down.
She trembled against him, her fingers shook in his hand, and her breath caught in her throat in a sigh, or a sob, or something partway between the two.
Cam’s fingers tightened on her chin for a moment, then his hand fell away.
He couldn’t do it.Even as he cursed himself as every kind of fool, he couldn’t do it.
He wanted to take her lips with his more than he wanted to draw his next breath, but not like this—not with her family on the other side of the door. Not while she trembled in his arms. To take her this way felt wrong, as if he were cheating mere minutes after he’d agreed to a truce.
Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to release her, so he leaned forward and brushed his lips, soft as a breath, against her forehead.
“Good night, Eleanor.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re quiet this afternoon, Eleanor. One would think you’d have quite a lot to say today, but you’ve been quiet since we left London this morning.”
Eleanor opened one eye and contemplated her sister’s grim expression. Charlotte sat across from her in the carriage, watching her with narrowed eyes, the corners of her mouth turned down.
She knew why Charlotte was upset, of course, but they couldn’t discuss Camden West now, since Delia and Lily had joined them in the carriage for the ride to Lindenhurst.
She closed the eye to avoid her sister’s stare. “Are you asking why I’m quiet, Charlotte? Or accusing me of something? It sounds like the latter.”
“You may call it an observation.”
“You can hardly blame her, Charlotte,” Delia said.
Delia had graciously offered to take a rear-facing seat, but now she twisted around and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the gentlemen, who rode just ahead of the carriage. The day was fine and they’d left the hood down, so they had an unimpeded view of the three mounted riders.
An unimpeded view of Camden West, graceful and commanding in the saddle, his dark blue coat pulled tight across his wide shoulders, his gray breeches straining to contain his muscular thighs.
Not that she cared about his thighs, of course. She was a lady, after all, and ladies didn’t ogle a gentleman’s thighs.
