Page 51 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

There was a moment of deeply charged silence after the landlord’s departure. Noelle felt as if her heart were bouncing about in her chest. Then Carlisle said in a rush, “I’m sorry. Please don’t think—I wasn’t—that is to say, you needn’t worry. I shall sleep in the carriage. This looks as clean and comfortable a place as we are apt to find anywhere along the road. It seemed the better thing to let him assume we were, um, married. Fewer questions.”

“Of course.” Noelle nodded. She thought the man might have a great many more questions about her supposed husband sleeping in their carriage, but she decided not to mention it.

“Well...um... I should go down and check about the horses. I’ll join you in the dining room.”

The room seemed larger and emptier now with Carlisle gone. She glanced toward the bed, thinking of Carlisle’s face when he looked at it, and a low, persistent heat deep in her abdomen began to pulse. Carlisle needn’t have apologized; she wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t be in complete control of his desires. It was Noelle herself she wasn’t sure of. Despite all her best intentions, she couldn’t stop thinking about Carlisle—kissing him, touching him. Sleeping with him.

Shaking free from her thoughts, she went to the bowl and pitcher to wash up. A servant brought up her bag, so she took the time to change out of her road-stained carriage dress into a clean, light sprig muslin and to brush her curls into some semblance of order.

Satisfied that she looked much better—though she reminded herself there was no reason to look her best—she went down the stairs. Carlisle was already in the small dining room when she entered, and the landlord was laying out a repast for them. Carlisle, who was standing by the windows, turned at the sound of her footsteps, and his dark eyes swept over her.

“Noelle.” His voice was husky, and he took a step toward her, then stopped, glancing over at the innkeeper. “I hope you have brought an appetite, as our host has laid a feast for us.”

The landlord beamed. “There you go, sir. Just ring if you need anything.”

Carlisle pulled out a chair for her, and as Noelle sat, his fingers lightly brushed her arm, making her skin tingle. “You look lovely despite the journey.”

His words were commonplace, but they warmed her. To cover her reaction, she said lightly, “I think it’s the candlelight, but thank you.”

“I don’t know of any candlelight that could make a woman look like you.” Then, as if awakening to his flirtatious tone, Carlisle’s face tightened and he took his seat at the table across from her.

He could change his demeanor, but he could not remove the low hum of desire that permeated the air around them. As they ate, Noelle was conscious of his every move. His eyes belied the ordinary words they exchanged, and every glance he sent her way stirred the heat inside her.

When they finished the meal, they lingered at the table, knowing they should leave but unable to do so. Noelle’s gaze went to Carlisle’s fingers, curled around his glass of port. They were long and agile; she knew well the strength in them. But she knew, too, the gentleness of their touch, the smooth glide of them over her body. His fingers slid down the glass, slow and light, then back up, and Noelle glanced up to see him watching her, his eyes dark and heated. A shiver ran through her.

Was it wrong to want him? Would it be so very bad to seek the pleasure of his touch? She had spent the past five years thinking only of her son, her life consisting of nothing but work and running. Surely, it could not be so terrible a sin to take something for herself, to live, at least for a moment, for no one but herself.

Carlisle must have seen something of her thoughts in her eyes, for he pulled in a shaky breath and said tersely, “We should go to bed.” A flush touched the sharp line of his cheekbones. “That is, I mean, we have a long day ahead of us.” His voice, usually so sure, stumbled over the words. “If we hope to reach London. You should sleep.” He stood up abruptly, shoving his chair back.

The last thing Noelle wanted at this moment was to sleep. But she could not be so bold. She reminded herself that her reputation was more important than one night of passion. Really. It was. Think of your son. Think of the countess. Think of the future.

“Yes, of course.” Noelle rose, unable to meet his gaze. “Then I shall bid you good-night.”

“I’ll see you to your room.”

They went upstairs, Carlisle walking beside Noelle, carefully not touching her. But he was close enough she could feel the heat of his body, smell the scent of his cologne, her skin so sensitive it was as if he touched her. Noelle’s pulse pounded in her ears. She focused her eyes on the polished banister, her hand sliding smoothly up the gleaming wood. Her fingertips tingled. What would Carlisle’s flesh feel like beneath her fingers?

And she must stop thinking this way or there was no telling what she would do. She had to maintain her poise, keep her head—no matter how much her mind was telling her that one night would not matter. They were alone and unknown in this rural inn. Who would know? How could her reputation be damaged? She and Carlisle would be the only ones to know, and neither of them would tell anyone.

The countess wasn’t here. Gil wasn’t here. There was no one to be hurt, except perhaps herself, and at the moment she found it hard to care. It had been so long since she had felt desire, so many years that she had spent untouched, unkissed, her existence as a woman put aside, leaving only a mother.

Noelle loved her son beyond anything. She regretted not a moment of her time with him or the role she had had to take. But he was safe now, protected and cherished by a dozen others.

Noelle sneaked a glance at Carlisle out of the corner of her eye. His jaw was set, his gaze determinedly focused on the steps in front of them. He, of course, was in control of his animal instincts. But Noelle had tasted his kiss, felt his heat. Lust bubbled beneath his implacable surface. She was certain she could break that control if she wanted. And there was something incredibly enticing about the thought of doing so.

As she reached the top of the stairs, her foot caught on the hem of her dress and she stumbled. She reached out for the railing, but Carlisle’s hand was already there to grab her arm and keep her from falling. She could feel the imprint of his fingertips burning into her skin. His hand remained wrapped around her arm. She turned to him. Carlisle stood on the step below her, his face only inches away, his dark eyes locked on hers. It seemed as if all the air around them had been sucked away, leaving her nothing to breathe. The walls closed in on them, leaving her no escape.

They stood poised, silent save for the harsh rasp of their breathing. Finally Carlisle broke their tableau, dropping her arm. “I must go.”

“Wait.” Noelle’s hands went to his shoulders. He said nothing, made no move, his eyes intent on her face. She could feel herself trembling—with trepidation and desire, even a thread of hope. “Don’t sleep in the carriage.”

He took a short, sharp breath. “Noelle, you don’t—” He stopped, clearly unable to find the words.

“I do,” she countered simply. “I want you to stay.”

In the next instant, he was up the last step, his arms going hard around her, lifting her up and into his kiss.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN