“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” His mouth hovered over hers, but he didn’t claim a kiss. Instead he nuzzled across her cheek and brushed his lips against her ear. “It’s you, Bookish. One glance and I was done for. Now the condition is endless because every time I look at you I find I fall in love all over again.”
She stiffened in his arms, her spine poker straight. Yet more rigid than her reaction, her reply declared him a liar.
“No. You can’t possibly love me.”
She wriggled in an attempt to free herself from his hold, but he held firm, determined to explain further. Still she continued to protest.
“You don’t even know me.”
“It doesn’t work that way.” He almost smiled. “Love, I mean.”
“Yes, it does.” She pushed against his arms and he released her. “I wouldn’t wish to believe you insincere, and yet we hardly know each other.”
“I want to know you. I want to know everything about you.”
She looked confused. As if she had no idea how to reply to his heartfelt confession.
“What about the natural order of things?” She took a deep breath. “After being introduced, we would have a courtship.”
“Indeed. A compatibility test.” The path to the lady’s heart lay in scientific analysis. “I agree.” He grinned, though whether or not she could see it in the shadowy interior he wasn’t aware. “And one more thing.” With a gentle tug, he returned her to his arms, and this time she didn’t object. “We’ll need several repeated trials to confirm the chemical reaction.”
* * *
Surely this couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She couldn’t be inside a dimly lit office in the middle of the day in the arms of a man who somehow, piece by piece, claimed her heart. He was intelligent, frightfully so, and strong, honorable, and empathetic. Good lord, if she took the time to compose a list of his attributes, that list would be endless and all the more intimidating. It could only be that her good sense was compromised with worry over Grandfather.
Still, whether reality or fantasy, she wouldn’t waste the moment, and when his lips melted over hers, hot and insistent, she didn’t give a fig where she stood or how early the hour. Pleasure twisted tight within her, a spontaneous, insistent coil, and she trembled from its intensity.
How had this happened?
How had she allowed this man into her heart when she’d guarded every emotion against his irresistible charms, full knowing heartbreak and disappointment lay ahead?
“Relax,” he whispered into her mouth before he brushed his fingertips featherlight across her jaw. “You’re permitted to enjoy this.”
His raspy command reminded her she was an equal participant, and so she welcomed the onslaught of invigorating sensation as his tongue stroked against hers. She couldn’t fight the desire any longer. It was the natural way of things, wasn’t it? The physical attraction of female to male?
His touch moved down her neck, drawing a line of fire that seemed to begin and end at the center of her body. He rested his hands gently on her shoulders and deepened their kiss. She curled her fingers into his coat and gripped the fabric as if she needed to steady herself, all the while his mouth worked magic over hers, nipping and licking, stoking her heat. When he moved as if to pull away, she rose on tiptoe to prevent it.
He murmured something indecipherable, low and husky, the sensual sound all the more erotic for its unintelligibility. The air itself seemed intensified and the scent of his shaving soap teased her senses, spicy and male, a reminder of his strength and virility. Lost in acute awareness, she allowed him to trail hot kisses across her cheek to her ear, downward along the arch of her neck where sensation pricked her skin to attention. Again, the throb of desire strummed insistent and strong in her lower belly. He made her want things she didn’t understand but wanted nonetheless.
He shifted, and before she knew what he intended, he’d reversed their position, his back to the door as he perched her on the corner of the desk. Without hesitation, he cradled her face with his hands and returned to their kiss. Unsteady, she braced her palms behind her on the desktop, her mind awhirl in kind to her stomach. Every exhilarating tremor of sensation demanded attention.
He slid one fingertip across her clavicle, first left, then right, until he touched the space in the center where her pulse raced. She trembled as he moved his mouth to the same spot and pressed a heated kiss mouth to skin. His hair, silky soft, brushed against her chin and she inhaled, needing to know his masculine scent.
He leaned into her and she moved back to accommodate the change, though it allowed him the advantage, her skirts caught between them and bodice bowed to expose the swell of her breasts.
Fascinated and intrigued, she watched as he left kisses there, tender touches and hot caresses, each more thrilling than the one before, her body all at once impatient and restless. Her breasts grew heavy, the tips painfully sensitive against her chemise so even the softest cotton seemed unbearable now. She ached from the inside out, full of want and need, lost in carnal curiosity. Would he relieve her confusion and ease her pain? She lifted one hand to thread her fingers through his hair, no more than a fleeting stroke before she needed to support herself again.
Everywhere he touched, tiny pulses of heat responded beneath her skin. He traced a line along her bodice and his thumb smoothed away the prickles of her reaction.
“You’re so very lovely.”
His words were no more than a murmur as he nuzzled her neck with heated kisses. Breathing became a struggle, each exhale strong enough to whisper through the lock of hair at his forehead. She closed her eyes to his exquisite attention, unwilling to stop what was so incredibly good despite logic told her how wrong the choice.
When his mouth passed over the swells of her breasts she nearly lost balance. Unexpected, yet immensely pleasurable, she gripped the edge of the desk and bit into her lower lip, her eyes held tight. He shifted the slightest and his thigh pressed between her legs. Heat singed through countless layers of silk and cotton, and whatever the force that built within her, the insistent desire that caused her to grow wet and anxious, doubled with urgency.
She said something, unsure she formed words, as his mouth returned to hers. Clothing confined her, each breath restricted by her position and suffocating corset, and when his hand skimmed over her breasts, his thumb dragged across her nipple to scorch her from the inside out.
Clothing restricted true discovery. What if he touched her there? Caressed each breast? Teased the tips, now achingly hard with pleasure and pain? Or stroked over each with the burning sweep of his tongue? She wanted to scream with frustration.
Perhaps she’d gone mad. Lost all logic for the price of physical pleasure. She drew a shuddered breath as he placed his hands at her waist, slowly grazing her ribs as if he counted each one and memorized their placement. Meanwhile, she squirmed on the desktop, acutely aware of his thigh pressed against her, the strength of his muscles near her sensitive core.
A lick of cold air met her ankles and calves. With sluggish coherence she realized he’d collected her skirts and pushed them aside. The heat of his palm atop her silk stocking was a lightning strike and she stiffened, drenched in sensation and at the same time left wanting.
“Are you all right, love?” His gravelly questions skittered through her to add to her restlessness.
“Yes.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. All she knew was she was falling into an abyss of hopeless emotion as fast as a meteorite quitting the midnight sky, unable to recover, bound to incinerate into nothing but ash.
Perhaps he considered the same.
With a deep exhale, he removed his hand and stepped back. She wanted to cry out for his abandonment. How foolish. How utterly mad.
“I hope I . . .” He stopped speaking as his eyes adjusted to their separation.
“What is it?” She sat up straighter and touched her hair in an absent gesture, all at once concerned he might regret what he’d only just ini
tiated.
She waited, painfully long it seemed, and watched as he swallowed thoughtfully. He tugged on the hem of his coat and then his sleeves, his eyes averted. At last he straightened his cravat and looked at her. When he didn’t begin speaking, she thought to ease his discomfort.
“We should return to the gallery. I wouldn’t want to miss a thing.” It was an odd comment, one that implied she preferred the cold, lifeless Marbles to what had just transpired between them, but she had no experience with romantic conversation and couldn’t imagine anything else to say.
Chapter Twenty-One
An interminable span of silence consumed them as they exited the curator’s office. With a quick word, Theodosia excused herself to seek the retiring room. Matthew was pleased to see they were of no notice, the gallery near empty aside from an elderly artist who stood with his back turned. As expected, their privacy was short-lived.
Across the way, a gentleman he knew well preceded a small group into the hall. It was a typical afternoon outing. Unfortunately, Amy and her brother, Lord Knolls, were the least likely people he’d enjoy conversing with, never mind the gaggle of friends who accompanied them.
“Whittingham.”
“Knolls.” He nodded in hope the greeting would suffice, but it appeared the gentleman had other intentions. He stepped away from the group, who cast a passing glance in his direction before moving beyond to the Marbles on display.
“It was good of you to escort my sister about town last evening. You have my appreciation.”
They shook hands and Matthew noted that Amy had glanced back toward where he stood, not once, but twice already.
“I was happy to assist.” Was Knolls aware how the evening ended? Matthew would be shocked if Amy hadn’t shared her disappointment. The lady wasn’t good at holding her tongue, not that there was a call for slander. Her discerning level of character should have assured she not repeat what happened at the restaurant and thereafter, but in retrospect Matthew realized she was absent of that quality. How had he missed that before?
“Amy is a bit put out. She refuses to speak of last evening. I suppose it’s one of her feminine ploys to cause me great guilt and plan another outing to Mivart’s.” Knolls leaned in as if imparting confidential news shared between friends.
“One can never be sure with Lady Chester.” Matthew thought better than to correct his misconception. Across the gallery he noticed Theodosia as she entered the hall. Even from afar, he experienced a strong pull to be near her. He hadn’t planned on revealing deep emotion when he’d tugged her into the curator’s alcove, but one taste of her lips and he was the one jabbering the musings of his heart like a besotted fool.
“If you’ll excuse me, Knolls.” He strode away without looking back, his walking stick counting a steady beat of patience against the tiles.
“There you are.”
Had Theodosia noticed the guests who’d entered the room earlier?
“Here I am.”
He offered his arm and led her from the gallery. There stood no reason for Amy to gain more fodder for any exaggerations being spread. While she hadn’t told her brother the whole of it, Matthew doubted she would refrain from engaging in speculation with her closest friends.
“I have a better idea.” He hurried his step. “One which will keep you smiling for all the remaining days of winter.”
“Truly, that’s a challenge, I assure you.” She murmured this softly, though he heard the sadness in her words.
“I see Coggs and your maid.” He gestured with his chin, reluctant to stop talking. “Let’s get the third afternoon adventure under way.” He continued toward the doors, intersecting his valet’s path as they collectively moved through the exit. Once the carriage pulled around, he gave George their direction and then they all climbed inside.
“Where are we off to now?”
“I promised you a London adventure, and I always keep my word.”
“But do you always mean what you say?”
“Of course.” He winked in her direction. “Especially while standing in curators’ alcoves.”
Her eyes darted away and back again. It would appear she needed further convincing.
The carriage slowed within a throng of traffic, though George maneuvered through fairly quickly, and less than ten minutes later the driver pulled the team to a stop in front of Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre of the Arts.
“Very good. We’ve arrived.”
“So quickly?” Theodosia moved aside the velvet curtain and peeked out the glass window.
“London is a city of illusion and mystery.” He grinned. “We viewed the most valuable art and sculpture at the British Museum, while just down the road Westminster Bridge hides an enthralling secret equally rich in culture.” He tossed a pouch of coins at his valet. “Coggs, obtain our tickets and be so kind as to purchase Miss Dora a glass of lemonade, or two. We’ll follow promptly.”
“Of course, milord.” Coggs exited and assisted Dora down the steps, though she fairly scurried.
“I think my maid is smitten with your valet,” Theodosia mused as soon as the carriage door closed.
“He does have a way.” Matthew eased back against the bench and stretched his legs. He wanted a few minutes of privacy, and he could think of no other way to obtain them than by sending his valet on a fool’s mission. He hadn’t formed a sentence before Theodosia read his mind.
“Why did you say those things to me at the gallery?” She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. “Why begin something that we know cannot continue? I’m here in London for my grandfather’s health only. I despise this city, a place you call home. I appreciate the extravagant day we’re having and the time you’re taking to escort me about, but you needn’t whisper promises and lies in order to keep me entertained.”
“I didn’t lie. Nor do I make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
“You can’t possibly possess strong feelings.”
“Fair enough.” He huffed a breath at being called out so directly. “We haven’t known each other very long, but the fact that you intrigue me and I’m drawn to you remains an undeniable truth.”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway.” She looked out the square window and her voice dropped lower. “Everyone leaves.”
“I say we make no rules or decisions. What could they possibly accomplish?” He took up his walking stick and unlatched the carriage door. “Your grandfather is in capable hands at the moment. You’ve made your trip to the city to seek out an expert’s opinion. In the meantime, we may as well enjoy what’s left of day. Let’s get inside.”
“Distraction, you mean.” She exited the carriage, her words trailing behind her. “My life is a long monotony of emotional distraction.”
They climbed the steps to the amphitheater in silence, though from the corner of his eye he observed Theodosia’s widening interest.
“Astley was a man with a vision far ahead of his time,” Matthew shared as he gently steered her toward the bilevel stairs. “Upon his death, his son took over the family’s enterprise and what you’re about to see is unlike any other performance in London.”
“I’m already fascinated. The building alone looks ordinary, but I’ve read in the London Times and other papers how outlandish and popular the performers are.” She smiled. “I never anticipated seeing it for myself.”
“The show has been labeled many things. Theater, equestrian drama, and circus extravaganza, but I attend for the unexpected enjoyment. The betters of London might look down their noses at Astley’s precarious enterprise, but I’d rather peer up at the tightrope walker.” He matched her grin. “Are you ready to enter? We’re here in time for an afternoon show.”
They’d reached the top of the stairs, where Coggs and Dora waited. Other people milled about, though none were dressed as finely. The venue was a wide wooden building with an unassuming front of limestone and plank. A railed wood fence encircled the area that met the street, and once one stepped through the gate, it app
eared a world unto itself.
Theodosia’s eyes rose steadily from the base of the building to the top of the roof, where a weathervane moved in the wind, featuring a man in fancy bright costume atop a white horse with a braided mane trimmed in wide ribbons. The outside of the building was covered with posters and portraits of every color and variety, all which depicted scenes of outrageous daring. There were women and men standing atop stallions, dancing dogs and ponies, as well as acrobats who appeared to be floating in the clouds.
“What will we see?” Her voice held a hint of awe. Matthew was a master at distraction, indeed.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
They ventured inside, with Coggs and Dora trailing behind them, and settled on a wooden bench near the top of the arena.
“The best view in the house I’ve discovered, although it nearly kills me to climb up here.” Matthew pointed to a rigging of ropes and swings high above the amphitheater floor. “The swells, on the occasion they venture out to Astley’s, are quick to fill the boxes below, and while it might be said one can note the color of the horses’ eyes, the boxes sit so close, you can’t appreciate the daring acts on the trapeze. And that is truly uncommon, isn’t it?” He turned to see if she was listening and her avid expression showed her enthusiasm matched his own. “We can see horses anytime.”
“Yes.”
They settled at the sound of a whip cracking the air, and for a moment he appreciated the lack of conversation. He knew he’d supplied plentiful memories and distraction from anxiety today. Dr. Fletcher would likely have grim news upon the morrow. What purpose would it serve for Theodosia to be caged up in her hotel room thinking sullen thoughts and envisioning a bleak future? And while he didn’t consider himself a hero or savior, whatever his role in her life, he wished to do his very best to bring her happiness if nothing else.
* * *
Theodosia folded her hands and unfolded them again in an attempt to settle her nerves. The day had proved as hectic and unpredictable as a runaway carriage wheel. What was she doing? Where was her usual composure and resolve? And how had she allowed that intimacy in the curator’s alcove at the British Museum?
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