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Fiennes snorted. “He didn’t share that detail. My father had a low opinion of the female sex. But he suggested I marry you.”
Her eyes softened.
The pressure of his betrothal was sitting on his chest. Tonight was stolen time. Tomorrow …
“I haven’t yet signed the betrothal papers,” he said, his voice rasping. Behind her shoulders more stars streaked down, as if the very heavens were exploding.
“You have no choice,” Ella said, her smile a ghost in her eyes, not touching her mouth. “I’m sorry, Fiennes, but you are a true gentleman to save Fulvia from the consequences of her imprudence. I appreciate that.”
“I don’t want to be a gentleman,” he growled.
“You scarcely know me,” she pointed out. “I can be frightfully irritating, and you’d probably end up loathing me. I’m terribly stubborn too.”
“As stubborn as my mother? Would you leave me, never speak to me again, abide only in your room so as to avoid me?”
Ella gulped, her eyes caught on his.
He could read her expression. He saw desire, and tenderness, and something that would be love one day.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid that I would always be waiting for you to come home.”
The words rang in his very bones. “Oh God, Ella, I would do anything if I knew you were waiting for me.”
“I don’t mean that I won’t marry another man, like some sort of pitiful spinster,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I’m no Juliet. I intend to marry this Season. If not you, someone else.”
He nodded, though everything in him protested. “That’s fair.” He reached out and caught her shoulders. “One kiss, Ella. I’m not married. I’m still a free man.”
Her mouth opened to say something, but no sound escaped.
“Please?” his eyes asked.
She didn’t say no, aloud or silently, so he reached out and slowly drew her closer, giving her time to protest. Her lips were plush and sweet under his. He kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything, and she did as well. Their mouths opened at the same moment, and then the kiss wasn’t sweet but hungry.
His arms closed around her, and she shifted closer, settling in his arms. A low and urgent sound came from Fiennes’s throat.
Young ladies screamed on the lawn as more stars fell, which meant that no one heard her moan. Except for him. He was fever hot, heart thudding, tongue caressing her mouth, then her jaw, her throat, back to her mouth …
“We must stop,” she said in a husky whisper, sometime later.
Fiennes pretended not to hear her.
“Fiennes! Your hand …”
He looked down. His hand was cupping her right breast. He hadn’t even realized. “Damn,” he muttered.
Behind her head, five stars fell all at once, as if they burned themselves to nothing in a flare of light. From the other side of the laurel hedge, a collective shriek went up from the guests.
“I must go,” Ella whispered. “I cannot dally with you, Fiennes. You will be …”
“I will be your cousin-in-law,” Fiennes said, his voice a growl.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A FAMILY GATHERING
At two in the morning, clouds closed in over London, chasing the guests back into the house. The orchestra took up their instruments again, and dancing recommenced.
As exquisite and fresh as the moment she first descended from the stairs, Fulvia smiled up at the Prince of Wales as they circled the floor. That dance was an extraordinary compliment for a young miss, but as everyone noticed, she showed no signs of unbecoming vanity.
