Page 58

“I’ve wanted to do this for some time,” he confessed with a boyish grin.

Dawning understanding lit her eyes, and his heart took on an irregular beat at the joy shining there. “You have?”

“I have, and it has taken a great deal of restraint on my part not to yield to my desire.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“I didn’t know.” She shyly touched his face. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me.”

Dropping to both knees, Theran wrapped his arms around Purity and pulled her to his chest. This time when his mouth met hers, the hunger, the passion, and the love he’d kept tamped down surged to the surface. He kissed her like a drowning man, and only Purity could save his life. His soul.

She wriggled until she was on her knees upon the chair and wound her arms around his back.

The kiss went on and on and on.

Each sigh, each caress, each sliding of lips against the other’s, was an intoxicating dance.

Purity kissed him back, her inexperience endearing and electrifying. Her little moans and sighs drove Theran to the brink of self-control.

He must stop. He’d been too long without a woman, and he would not take Purity outside the bonds of matrimony.

With a great deal of reluctance, he lifted his head.

“We should return to the house,” he said. “I’m sure Mother and Jordan are worried about you.”

Nodding, Purity stood and shook out her skirts. “Yes. I don’t wish them to fret. Especially the children.”

She was always so considerate of others.

Theran would not propose to Purity here in this dingy cottage. When he asked this marvelous woman to marry him, he’d do it properly. Romantically with a ring, pretty words, and in a setting where spiders weren’t witnesses.

Please, God. Let her say yes.

As promised, I have forwarded your trunk and the correspondence Lady Ceddes had delivered to Mottford Hall. I regret we never had the opportunity to have that private chat. Perhaps another opportunity will arise to do so. I am confident you are managing exceptionally well in your position as Bernadine’s governess.

~Melvelia Hawtrey, Countess of Mumford,

in a brief missive to Miss Purity Mayfield

Trenthurst House Gardens

Mid-morning

8 September 1818

As had become the pattern these past two weeks, Purity had incorporated a lesson in the children’s exploration of the gardens. Today, they were on the hunt for insects. As the brothers and their cousin scoured the flowers and bushes for crawlies, she reflected on her return to the house early yesterday evening.

Mrs. Rutland had declared Purity should take the evening off from her duties. Theran had readily agreed. His brother, dutiful as always, had already returned to his wife’s bedside.

Such love and commitment warmed Purity’s heart. It also made her long for such a relationship—something she’d not done before meeting Theran. Pragmatism had always guided her decisions and actions. Until a moppet with fiery hair had entered her life, introducing her to the only man to make her lose her temper and long for a life other than the one her heritage destined for her.

A lovely scented bath had been prepared for her, and a dinner tray with a scrumptious, flaky chicken pie, fruit, cheese, and utterly decadent lemon cream for dessert had been delivered a short while later. Purity had meant to read for a while and then bid the children goodnight, but sleep had overtaken her, and she’d not awoken until six this morning.

She’d leaped from the bed and dashed about to complete her morning ablutions.

Purity’s mouth yet tingled from Theran’s kisses.

Naturally, at eight and twenty, she’d imagined what it would be like to be kissed. However, the experience had proved more exquisite, more enthralling, than she ever could’ve dreamed.

She’d fallen in love with Theran.