“I did not let you win.”
“You paused too long.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
She walked out of the gazebo first. The gravel was wet under her shoes. The air smelled clean and green and new. She heard him follow behind her, his footsteps heavier than hers, steady as always.
CHAPTER 7
The walk back was a disaster.
Not the path. The path was fine. Muddy but fine. Valeria did not care about the gardens or the clean air or any of it. She was trying to keep two feet between herself and the man beside her.
She could still feel his breath on her lips. The almost-kiss sat at the edge of her thoughts like a bruise she kept poking.
“You planned this,” she remarked.
He looked at her sideways. “Planned what?”
“This. All of it. You planned for no one else to find me so that you could be the one to rescue me and ruin my reputation, and then I would have no choice but to accept your hand.” She quickened her pace, her shoes squelching in the mud. Her voice rose. “Did you threaten them? All of the others? Is that why no one came?”
Edward let out a long breath through his nose.
“How is it that no one has found us yet?” she pressed. “Did you tell them not to come? Everyone is so terrified of you that they would obey you without a second thought.”
“Duchess,” he said, and his voice had an edge to it now. “I am asking ye to stop provoking me.”
“Provoking you?”
“Aye. Because I am trying very hard to be a gentleman right now, and ye are not making it easy.”
He stopped walking. She stopped too.
“Are ye not afraid of me?” he asked.
He stepped toward her. She stepped back. Her shoulders hit the garden wall. He put one hand on the stone beside her head. Not touching her. Not trapping her. Just close. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him. His eyes were dark in the grey light. The muscle in his jaw was tight.
She did not look away.
“Did you tell them not to come for me?” she whispered.
“No.” His voice was raw. “They were just not men enough to have ye.”
His hand tightened beside her head. For a moment, he only looked at her mouth. Then he kissed her.
It was not gentle. His mouth crashed onto hers, knocking the breath from her lungs. His free hand slid up the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her wet hair, angling her face.
His teeth caught her lower lip. Something shot down her spine, and she made a sound against his mouth that she would deny till the day she died.
She had never been kissed before.
Gordon put his lips on her forehead on their wedding day. It had been dry. Brief.
This was not a kiss. This was something else. Rain on the garden walls, stone cold against her back, Edward’s mouth hot on hers. She felt tears prick her eyes. For three years, she had not been allowed to feel anything. Now, she was feeling everything.
She had imagined kissing. Of course, she had. But her imaginings paled by comparison.
His hand tightened in her hair. His body was solid against hers. Her hands found his coat and gripped it. Pulled him closer.
