One kiss away—so close, and yet not close enough, and one couldn’t seduce in half-measures. Either he’d had her, or he hadn’t. Either she was a virgin, or she wasn’t.
The party would return to London the day after tomorrow, and Ellie had no more reason to marry him now than she had when they’d arrived at Lindenhurst.
He was almost out of time.
He had one more night to make her his, but even if the opportunity arose, he wasn’t sure he could take her. He wanted her desperately, but if she asked for his promise again, he’d give it to her, and once he did, he’d keep it.
Cam downed the rest of his port in one swallow, then filled the glass again. Her sister’s indisposition gave her the perfect excuse to remain upstairs. If he hadn’t seen Charlotte’s near-swoon for himself, he might believe it was all a ploy so Ellie could avoid seeing him tonight.
Sweet, sweet Ellie, with her black currant lips and her hot, seeking tongue . . .
“May I come in?”
For a moment he thought he’d conjured her straight out of his fantasies and through the library door. He waited for her to come to him, sink onto his lap, brush his hair back with a cool hand and lower her lips to his.
Instead she stood at the open door, her expression growing puzzled. “Cam?”
Not a fantasy, then. She was really here. He leapt to his feet, amazed by his good fortune. “I—yes, of course.”
He hadn’t lit a lamp, and he didn’t make any move to light one now. In the feeble light from the hallway he thought he saw a faint flush rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t object to the dimness. Just as well. By some divine stroke of luck he had her here alone, and whatever might happen, he didn’t intend to lose this opportunity. “How does your sister do? She looked ill when she left the dining room.”
Eleanor frowned. “I don’t think she is ill after all, merely agitated, though she refuses to say why. She also refused every offer of assistance. In fact, she chased us all out of her room, even me.” She perched on the edge of the leather sofa, her hands folded in her lap. “It’s just as well, as I wish to speak to you.”
And I wish to make love to you, on that sofa, with your arms around me and your fingernails in my back.
“Perhaps we can both get what we wish for this evening, my lady.”
“I wish you would stop calling me that.”
Cam raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What? My lady? But that’s what you are, isn’t it?”
She clenched her hands together until her knuckles turned white. “It’s not the title. It’s the way you say it.”
“Oh? How is that, my lady?”
But he knew. He said it like a caress. Like a secret, whispered in her ear.
“Like you . . . like—I’m notyourlady. I’m not your anything.”
“Ah.” He sat down next to her and reached for her, but slowly, the way one might reach out to stroke a wild animal. “But you will be.”
Eleanor leapt off the sofa, away from him. “No. I won’t.” She paced over to the fireplace. “That’s what I came to tell you. This is over, Cam.”
The devil it was. It hadn’t even begun.
“If it’s over, why do you run away from me every time I try to touch you?”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t need to touch me every time I get near you.”
Yes, I do.
“Run, then,” he murmured, an unmistakable challenge in his voice. “It won’t do you any good. There’s no place in the world so far away I won’t follow you—”
Cam stopped, stunned into silence.
Jesus.It was true. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to. Not because of Amelia, or to satisfy some twisted sense of justice, or because she was Hart Sutherland’s daughter.
Because she was Eleanor.
