Theo nodded, though she made no move to let go. “Yes. We most certainly ought.”
“Or…”
“Or?”
She tilted her chin up with an expression of purest innocence. “Or we might continue. Strictly for appearances, of course. We are to be married in a week, are we not? It would be quite improper, I think, to enter matrimony without the requisite degree of… familiarity.”
His mouth twitched. “A most compelling argument. One would not wish to arrive at the altar entirely unprepared. It might even be negligent.”
“Precisely,” she said, nodding solemnly. “A dereliction of one’s matrimonial duties.”
“And so this would be…” He drew closer again, as though the matter required serious contemplation. “A rehearsal?”
“A civic duty,” she returned at once. “For the good of the household. The parish. Possibly the Empire.”
“I daresay you’re rather good at your civic duty.”
“Oh, I am,” she replied with modest pride, “though I may require additional tutoring.”
He bent down to kiss her deeply, with the enthusiasm of a man wholly committed to his supposed assignment.
“Nothing is meant by it,” she whispered against his mouth.
“God forbid. That would be highly inappropriate.”
“Scandalous,” she agreed, as his lips trailed down her throat.
“This is utterly without sentiment.”
“Entirely.”
Chapter 14
Hetty Tolliver had no notion of what she was doing to him.
Theo moved his mouth over hers, but his mind was a battlefield of desire and restraint, each warring for supremacy. She was warm and breathless in his arms, soft and curious and utterly unaware of the effect she wrought. She had never kissed a man before him – of that he was certain – never been held thus, nor been touched with anything approaching lust. She was innocent, and yet she responded with such instinctive abandon that it very nearly drove him to madness and threatened to undo every last shred of honour he possessed.
Yes, a gentleman, properly schooled and in possession of restraint, would certainly have stepped away – but in that moment, Theo had no desire to be a gentleman.
He wanted to drag her down onto the cold stone of the terrace and strip her out of that prim little gown, modest as it was, and discover what lay beneath. He longed to press his mouth to the tender hollow of her throat, trace the path of her blush and ascertain whether it coloured her elsewhere. He desired, with all the darkhunger of a man too long denied, to sink into her until she knew nothing of decorum, of duty, of her own name, and remembered only his.
But of course, it was not merely desire that stirred within him – no, he had long since ceased to pretend it was only that. At some uncertain and unremarked moment, he had begun to want more of Hetty Tolliver – far more.
As he kissed her, Theo came to admit to himself what he had been denying for weeks, and if he was truly honest with himself, perhaps for years: that he wished to wake up beside Hetty Tolliver each morning with her hair in charming disarray, frowning and altogether unwilling to start the day until properly fortified by three cups of tea. He wished to sit across from her at breakfast and engage in spirited quarrel over toast and the correct application of marmalade. He wanted to watch her roll her eyes at the absurdities of Society, then set about correcting the morning paper with the ruthless precision of a red pencil. He wanted her laughter in his parlour, her cleverness at his side, her irreverent tongue and singular mind in every room he entered, for every day for the rest of his life. He was not sure when he had come to this conclusion, but he did know that the past weeks had been the most absurdly entertaining, exasperating, wholly exhilarating days of his entire existence, and the thought of returning to his former life with its mundane conversation, insipid women and soul-numbing routine, without Hetty Tolliver in it, was far too bleak to contemplate.
She was no longer merely the Hetty of his boyhood memories, but a woman grown – clever, incorrigibly sharp-witted, and altogether fartoo good for the likes of him – and yet he wanted her with a desperation that defied sense or self-preservation. Indeed, marriage to her no longer seemed the worst fate imaginable.
They were, of course, engaged in a kiss that was entirely devoid of sentiment. Such was the understanding – clearly stated, mutually agreed upon. It was a practical undertaking, she assured him, nothing more – a means of becoming properly acquainted before entering into a lifetime of mutual toleration. A kiss between betrothed parties could scarcely be considered scandalous; it was practically educational – and if he found himself possessed by a wholly inappropriate urge to carry her off into the nearest secluded chamber and propose something far less reputable than marriage – well, that was no one’s concern but his own.
It was, naturally, at that precise and ill-fated moment that a witness descended upon them once more. At this juncture, the author must confess a growing impatience with the predictability of such interruptions and resolve to exercise a touch more creativity before the next, inevitable arrival.
“For God’s sake, Winslow!”
A pair of hands seized Theo by both shoulders and wrenched him back, slamming him unceremoniously to the ground. Before he could so much as orient himself, a fist struck his abdomen with enough force to drive the very breath from his lungs. Theo gasped, wheezing, “Good evening, Benedict.”
Another blow landed squarely in his side.
Behind him, Hetty was shouting sharp, furious syllables carried aloft on the night air. He managed to catch phrases such as “absolutemule” and “stop behaving like a barrel-headed buffoon,” though they appeared to have no pacifying effect whatsoever on her brother, who seemed possessed by a singular, crimson-hazed determination to render Theo absolutely senseless.
