Page 32 of Their Wildest Dreams

She turned back to him, her embarrassment plainly warring with irritation at being made to repeat herself. “I said I wanted you to kiss me. When Mrs. Mercer entered, I was not relieved at the interruption. In truth, I was quite perturbed by it.”

Benedict had imagined her making such a confession in at least a dozen sleepless variations. None had prepared him to hear it while standing only a few feet away.

“Harriet, do you understand what you are asking?”

“I am not asking for anything. Not yet.” She made an impatient gesture, then appeared to hear her own contradiction. “That is, I am asking you to kiss me. But only to kiss me. I have not decided upon anything beyond that.”

Only a kiss. It would be an act of exquisite stupidity. He had already spent every night since they’d wed drinking brandy in the hope of deadening his awareness of her, and yesterday’s embrace had rendered the effort useless. Kissing her would make every hour in this house more difficult.

He crossed the room anyway.

Harriet did not retreat. She stood very still as he reached her, watching him with an uncertainty she made no attempt to conceal.

“You may change your mind,” he said.

“I know.”

“At any point.”

“Benedict, if you continue speaking, I am very likely to do so.”

The familiar sharpness of her reply almost made him smile. Instead, he lifted one hand to her face, cupping her cheek while his thumb rested just beneath her lower lip. Harriet’s breath caught. The sound traveled through him with alarming force.

He kissed her gently.

For one terrible moment, she did not respond, and Benedict thought he had mistaken courage for desire. Then her hand settled against his chest, her fingers tightening in the cloth of his shirt. Her mouth softened beneath his. Like everything else about Harriet, it was not truly a surrender but merely an allowance.

He moved his mouth over hers experimentally, finding the exact pressure that made her sigh. The angle which provided the most satisfying contact. And then he tasted her, licking gently at the seam of her lips and tasting the wine she’d had with dinner. Her gasp of surprise was an opportunity not to be squandered. He swept inside, his tongue gliding against hers in a delicate dance that mimicked other activities he’d very much like to introduce her to. And then she leaned in, sinking against him in a way that sharpened his already piercing desire for her.

The kiss never ceased to be gentle, but the edge of hunger crept in, quickening his movements, sharpening her indrawn breaths and leaving them clinging to one another in a way that neither could deny. Every restraint he possessed strained against that single movement.

He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed. It stood only a few steps behind them, the curtains open and the counterpane already turned down. He could show her what lay beyond the kiss, and some part of him believed she would let him.

But she had asked for only this.

Benedict broke the kiss before wanting more became taking more. Harriet remained against him, her eyes still closed and her lips parted. He could feel her breath through his shirt where her hand rested upon his chest.

When she opened her eyes, there was a dazed accusation in them. “Why did you stop?”

“Because you told me to.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You said only a kiss.” His voice was rougher than he intended. “I have kissed you. If I remain here, I am likely to become very persuasive about everything you have not yet decided. And I do not wish to wonder if I am in your bed because you want me there or because I’ve blinded you to reasons you might not.”

Harriet’s gaze dropped to his mouth. “I see.”

He doubted that she did. Benedict scarcely understood it himself. He had always considered self-command one of his more reliable qualities. A few moments with Harriet in his arms had reduced it to something perilously thin.

“Good night,” he said.

She looked as though she might object, but in the end she stepped back. “Good night, Benedict.”

He paused to look back at her, noting her kiss-swollen lips and tousled hair. It was something he wanted to remember forever. Then he simply walked away.

His chamber was dark when he entered it. The fire had been banked, and the bed awaited him with a neatness that made the idea of lying in it intolerable. Harriet was on the other side of the passage. He could return with three steps and one turn of the latch. The knowledge would keep him awake until dawn.

The study was farther away. It contained ledgers, a decanter and none of Harriet’s belongings. Benedict decided it would have to suffice.