As if he needed something real and tangible to ground him to now, he again clutched my hand and massaged it. “You remember nothing of Cecil St. Maur, none of his habits or dealings?”
With a slight shake of my head, I opened myself up to Ashbrook’s condemnation. My husband died on that boat, the boat that killed the barrister’s wife.
He felt everything, and I nothing.
Shamed, waves of guilt dragged me down. The tears I’d locked away began to slip out.
A swipe at each eye did nothing but smear salty tears along my face.
Oh, Lord, I was falling to pieces in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. St. Maur. This is not what I wanted. I never wanted to make you cry. That’s why I hadn’t said a word. I take full responsibility. I did this. Please. Please accept my apology.”
“You’ve seen me at my worst, in chains, my hair matted. My chemise ripped and dirty. What’s a sobbing fool to her barrister?”
“No fool. Just human.”
His arms wrapped about me, drawing me from the waves. I held him tight. I couldn’t drown in these emotions if I kept my head up, if I threw my arms around him as I’d done the ship’s mast.
A ship’s mast? A new memory.
Ashbrook drew me closer, fitting me to his chest. “This isn’t working, woman. I can’t bring you more pain, not when we are both tied to theMinerva. Mrs. St. Maur, it’s best we both forget.”
His strong embrace fell away. A chill coursed over me with the heat of him gone.
Yet, he stayed near and patted my arm as if that was the sensible way to end this moment in which loss had united us.
“Sir, you could’ve quoted poetry again.”
His half smile became full and I saw the little gap.
The door to the parlor flung open.
It was Willingham. “I forgot my handkerchief. Mrs. St. Maur, you’ve been crying. Lord Ashbrook, what’s going on in here? I demand to know.”
I held Ashbrook’s gaze and did the one thing I could do to send the bothersome Willingham fleeing forever.
“Help me, friend?”
Tugging on Ashbrook’s perfect cravat, I drew his head to mine.
Then I became the girl who kissed the earl.
CHAPTER 15
DANIEL—THEDANGER OF AKISS
Withdraw, Daniel.
Turn away.
Stop kissing this woman in the duke’s parlor. The mad Duke of Repington who let his troops exhibit with cannons in his grand hall.
Daniel and Mrs. St. Maur weren’t courting or promised to each other. Until this moment, had they even liked each other?
Yet his hands pulling her off-balance said he had. That war of where her freckled nose would go versus his larger flared one ended. He went left, she right, harmony in a delicious kiss.
This was better than arguing or teasing her. She filled his arms and he enjoyed all of it, all her curves, all the beats of her passionate heart pressed against him.
