“What are we doing?” she whispered breathlessly.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t know.”
Good heavens but she wanted him to kiss her again. Wanted him to kiss her all night long. The intensity of this newfound desire terrified her. “You need to stay away from me.”
“I know.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “You’re right.”
The warmth of his breath sent shivers of delight through her entire body. Lisette swayed and closed her eyes, unable to bear the look of longing in his eyes for she was sure it mirrored her own. Quinton held her closer, supporting her weakened state, and for that she was most grateful. She didn’t trust her own legs to hold her. She leaned her head against his broad chest. He was so warm and strong and solid and smelled of bayberry. She could stay in his arms this way forever and not mind in the least. He sheltered her from the worst of the cold wind and the snow that sprinkled down on them but did nothing to cool their passion for each other.
His mouth came down over hers yet again. She did not resist in the least. No. Lisette leaned into him, eager for the feel of his mouth upon hers, longing to meet his tongue with her own. Giddy with the hot, swirling emotions that swept through her entire body, she was helpless to do anything else in the face of his desire for her. His kiss destroyed her resolve, her will to say no. His kiss gave her everything she ever wanted.
They clung to each other, embracing tightly, seeking the heat that burned between them. The passion only increased with each passing minute. They might have been there for hours, for time had lost all meaning. She forgot that she was on a cold and deserted beach. Forgot that she was promised to another. All that mattered was her uncontrollable hunger for this man. The wild desire to be with him in any way she could. Never had she felt this reckless, urgent need to be kissed, to be touched by another human being. And heaven help her, but she wanted more, needed more, from this man. From him. Only him.
Quinton.
He broke away from her and she almost cried out from the loss.
“Lisette.” He breathed her name against her ear and she thought she would faint from the pleasure of it.
She tilted her face up to look at him. His blue eyes were filled with a mixture of passion and pain, and she suddenly felt the urge to cry. Her kiss-swollen lips trembled. He caressed them with his gloved fingers, touching her so delicately. Surprising herself, she pressed a kiss onto his leather-covered hand, wishing she could take his bare fingers into her mouth.
Good God! Had she truly thought of doing something so scandalous?
Of course she had allowed Henry to kiss her over the years. They had been sweet, chaste kisses, so brief she could hardly recall them now. But never had she felt this way. Reckless. Hot. Wild. Never. Not once. Never had she been awash with desire for Henry to kiss her as she was with Quinton Roxbury this very minute. Never had she wanted Henry to hold her and never let her go.
She suppressed the sob that tore at her throat.
“Let me go.” Her words were barely above a whisper, because deep down she did not mean them. Not with any force anyway.
He did not release her, but held her tightly against him, and she was glad of it. Once again she rested her head upon his broad chest, soaking up his warmth. They stood for some time just holding each other, unwilling to move and break the spell they were under.
What had just happened between them? For it was more than merely a kiss. Kissing Quinton had changed her, awakened something within her she didn’t even know existed. Lisette had never felt so uncertain of herself or was so unsure of her own emotions. Confusion about her very life welled within her. Quinton had done something to her.
Leaning down, Quinton pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before withdrawing from their embrace. His arms fell to his sides as he took a step back. “Forgive me, Miss Hamilton.”
The chill that raced through her body caused her teeth to chatter. She breathed in deeply and the icy air filled her lungs, saturating her with a chilling dose of reality. She nodded wordlessly at him for there was too much to say.
Finally Lisette and Quinton moved with reluctant steps from the shore, neither of them in a hurry to face the consequences and obligations that awaited them once they returned to the house. He reached out and took her hand in his, and she almost wept at the sweetness of the gesture. The silence weighed heavily between them.
The sun had set behind the steel gray clouds, and darkness began to obscure their pathway home. The snow flurries turned to a sleety rain, and they reached the gate to her mother’s house just as the worst of the storm that had threatened all day finally let loose. Quinton pulled her by the hand and they began to run, but they were soaked by the time they arrived at the doorstep.
“My goodness! Just look at the two of you!” Fannie exclaimed in dismay as they stood dripping in the hallway. “A couple of drowned rats you are! Miss Lisette, you get yourself upstairs and out of those wet clothes this instant. And no, don’t think to argue with me, miss. Upstairs with you now. And Mr. Roxbury, you come and dry yourself by the fire.”
Quinton saw Lisette freeze in place.
“Thank you, but I really must be on my way,” Quinton protested affably. “A little water won’t hurt me.”
“Nonsense! Mrs. Hamilton already told me you are staying for supper. I’ve a delicious roast beef and some potatoes that will warm you right up. It’s just about ready. You’d be a blamed fool to go back out in that nasty storm anyhow. Now give me your coat, sir, and leave those wet shoes of yours by the door.” She held out her hand for his coat.
Quinton knew he should leave, and more important, he knew that Lisette wished for him to leave. But he could not refuse without being unforgivably rude. He had already agreed to stay for supper. Wouldn’t leaving abruptly cause more suspicion than his staying? And the roast beef smelled delicious. His rumbling stomach attested to the fact that he was more than a little hungry. And there was a storm outside. He would simply have a fortifying meal and be on his way after the worst of the weather subsided.
He would not see Lisette again after tonight. Besides, he felt like a cad for the way he just acted, and he could not leave her without making amends of some sort. He could not let this be the end of things. Not after that extraordinary kiss . . .
He slowly removed his coat and hat, glancing at Lisette. She shook her head ever so slightly to discourage him. He gave his coat to Fannie. “Thank you.”
“That’s it,” Fannie praised him for agreeing to stay, the expression on her round face one of triumph. “Now, Miss Lisette, get yourself upstairs and change like I told you. I’ll take care of your gentleman right proper, don’t you worry.”
There was nothing for Lisette to do. “I shall be back down shortly,” she mumbled before fleeing up the stairs.
Meanwhile, Quinton followed Fannie into the parlor. He raised his brows at the pretty table set for two in front of the blazing fire. It was quite the romantic setting and more than a bit odd given the circumstances. However, he stood gratefully before the mantel, absorbing the blessed warmth emanating from the fire, and accepted the thick towel Fannie handed him to dry off.
“Mrs. Hamilton isn’t feeling so well this evening, so it will just be you and Miss Lisette for supper.”
After seeing the table set for two, he was not surprised by this news. Nor did he imagine that Fannie just gave him a sly little wink.
“I’ll bring in the food soon enough. Now you just make yourself at home, Mr. Roxbury,” she instructed as she bustled about the room. “There’s some nice red wine in the decanter there on the table.”
“Thank you.” He watched the wide-girthed woman waddle from the room and wondered at the matchmaking effort that was most definitely being executed this evening. What was Mrs. Hamilton thinking? She was practically throwing her engaged daughter at him! It made no sense. Was the man betrothed to Lisette such a poor choice for a husband that her mother saw fi
t to try to sabotage their engagement? For surely he had not misinterpreted the intimate overtones of the dinner table.
Intrigued by the play of events, he remained by the fire as his clothing began to dry out and warm up. Now he must face the beautiful Lisette, whom he had clearly wronged earlier with their kiss on the beach.
But Christ above, it was an amazing kiss!
Lisette had excited him like no woman had ever had. She was passionate and sensual and willing. Oh, so willing. He had had to use all his strength and resolve to end their embrace, reminding himself that Lisette was not the type of woman a man trifled with. Tonight he would make his apologies to her and then bid her farewell, for no good could come of their relationship at this point. It was too dangerous. For both of them.
He needed to stay away, far away, from Lisette Hamilton.
He was marrying Emmeline just after New Year’s. He could not be kissing a woman like Lisette. It would only ruin his carefully laid plans for the future. He needed to marry Lady Emmeline Tarleton, even if she did not make his blood race the way Lisette had that afternoon.
Quinton glanced up as he heard Lisette coming down the stairs. She paused in the doorway and seemed hesitant to enter the parlor, her green eyes wide at the intimate scene. She had changed into a simple gown of midnight blue that hugged her figure perfectly, and she’d combed her windswept hair into a neat knot atop her head. In the glow of the firelight she looked stunning. His heart pounded at the sight of her.
Sensing her unease, he moved to her side, taking her small hand in his. The feel of her warm skin against his sent a jolt of desire through him. With a great force of will, he guided her to the table.
“I am so embarrassed,” she confessed in an anguished whisper. “I don’t know what is going on here.”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly and gave her an encouraging smile. “It seems your mother wishes for us to dine alone together.”
Lisette cringed and shook her head in disbelief. “I could just die of mortification.”
“Please don’t die on me,” he said, attempting to lighten her mood with a bit of humor. He gave her hand another comforting squeeze. “It will be fine. We need to talk in any case. Now sit down and take a breath.” He urged her to the chair and then took his own seat.
She glanced across the table at him, almost shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Roxbury, for being so understanding about all this.”
“The funny thing is, I don’t mind, Miss Hamilton.” He could not help smiling at her as he realized he spoke the complete truth. “I don’t mind at all.”
Fannie bustled in carrying a tray and began serving them a hearty feast. The scent of fresh biscuits and succulent roast beef made Quinton’s mouth water.
“If either of you need anything else, just let me know.” She gave them an elaborate wink.
“That will be all, Fannie.” Lisette’s voice had a distinct edge to it. “Thank you.”
Fannie shuffled from the room with a giggle.
Without a word, Quinton poured them each a glass of red wine. He raised his glass to her and she did so as well. “To good friends,” he said pointedly, taking a sip.
She shot him a rueful glance before drinking her wine.
He picked up his fork. “You know, Miss Hamilton, I’m beginning to think you are not betrothed at all. That you just said so to me on the train to discourage me.”
Lisette set her glass upon the table with such force wine sloshed over the rim, staining the delicate white lace a dark red. “I am getting married!”
He gave a skeptical chuckle. “Your family doesn’t seem to think so.”
“My mother . . .” Lisette began to explain and then stopped abruptly, closing her mouth. She sighed and began again. “Let me be clear with you, Mr. Roxbury. Henry Brooks is a wonderful man, a good man, and he loves me. He and I have known each other since we were children, and we have been planning to marry for years. We are quite devoted to each other. My entire family knows this and has known of our intentions to wed. For some reason I cannot fathom, my mother has suddenly taken it into her head that I do not love Henry and should not marry him, which explains but does not excuse her behavior with you and me this evening”—she waved her hand helplessly to indicate the intimate supper—“and all of this.”
“I see,” Quinton said. So his name was Henry Brooks. He wondered if the man was good enough for Lisette and found himself irrationally siding with Mrs. Hamilton. He ignored the sudden flash of jealousy at the thought of this “Henry” kissing Lisette the way he had just kissed her. Had she ever kissed Henry the way she had kissed Quinton with such passion? He cleared his throat. “If you and your fiancé both wish it, why the long delay in marrying?”
“Henry . . .” She paused as if considering her words with great care. “Henry is not a wealthy man, and he wanted to make sure that he could support me properly before we married. He’s been working very hard at his uncle’s law practice, but now he will take over the business completely. He told me yesterday before I left that we can plan for a June wedding.”
Quinton stabbed the roast beef with his fork. “Perhaps it’s best if we talk about something else.”
She lowered her eyes. “Fine.”
“Fine,” he echoed. The last thing he wanted to hear about was her fiancé.
An awkward silence descended upon them. Lisette took a rather large sip of wine, and Quinton followed suit. In fact, he poured himself another glass.
“I know next to nothing about you, Mr. Roxbury,” Lisette began, “except that you are an architect who is getting married in January.”
He refrained from adding that she knew how he kissed and how it felt to be in his arms. And that he wanted to kiss her for days and days on end. She knew that much about him but he thought it wiser to keep that to himself.
Instead he gave her an agreeable smile. “There is nothing unusual to report. I’m the youngest son of an earl. I had a traditional upbringing and a happy enough childhood—nannies and tutors, roughhousing with my three brothers and driving our mother crazy. When my father died, my brother John inherited the title of the Earl of Kingston and the estate. My brother George is now a good reverend, and Edward joined up with a regiment and is off in India. There’s not much left for a fourth son, so I had to make my own place in the world. I took my love of playing with blocks as a child and learned how to design and construct houses and buildings.”
“And a younger son must marry well, must he not?” she asked so softly he barely heard her.
“Yes.” The awkwardness he felt at discussing his fiancée with Lisette astounded him. At the moment he had no desire even to think of Emmeline Tarleton or his reasons for marrying her, the least of which was financial. His motives for marriage with the daughter of the Duke of Wentworth had nothing to do with Lisette. In fact, nothing in his life had anything to do with Lisette Hamilton. Which brought him back to the reason why he was here in the first place, and just what the hell did he feel for Lisette Hamilton exactly?
Desire, of course. She was a very beautiful woman. Any red-blooded male would be crazy not to desire her. But it was more than that. She was intelligent and independent, yet there was an innate sweetness in her nature, an innocence, that called to him. No woman, and he’d had many, had ever had this effect on him before, and it was most disconcerting.
Lisette said, “I see.”
“What do you see?” He hoped she hadn’t seen through to his thoughts.
She rephrased her comment, her luscious mouth a tight line. “I think I understand you a bit more now.”
Quinton gazed at her intently. He doubted she understood how much he wanted her. How much he longed to hold her again. Or how much he needed to stay away from her or all his plans for the future would be ruined. Lisette Hamilton was the most dangerous woman he had ever met.
“Good.” He cleared his throat and picked up his fork once more, making an effort to eat again. “Yes, I will be married just after New Year’s.” He said
that more for his benefit than for hers.
“That is only a few weeks away.”
If he was not mistaken, there was a hint of panic in her voice. He was oddly touched by that. “Yes, it is,” he agreed.
“And you are quite happy to marry her?”
“In spite of the way I acted with you earlier, yes, I am. She will make a suitable wife.”
Her voice lowered to a fierce whisper. “And despite appearances to the contrary on the beach with you today, I am quite content with my decision to marry Henry.”
“Fair enough.” He put down his fork and looked directly into her eyes. “Speaking of our behavior on the beach, I don’t know that I can apologize profusely enough for taking such liberties with you, Miss Hamilton. It was unforgivable.”
“I forgive you, Mr. Roxbury. It is my own actions that I find utterly unforgivable.” Her lips trembled and the look on her face caused his gut to clench in remorse. The urge to take her in his arms and comfort her overwhelmed him.
He felt awful about what happened. But did he regret kissing her? No. How could he regret the most passionate encounter of his life? “No, it was all my fault. I was responsible. You did nothing untoward. Please do not blame yourself.”
“It can never happen again,” she murmured.
“Of course not,” he agreed readily.
She nodded and stared at her plate. He noted she had not eaten a bite all evening.
He added for emphasis, “So it is agreed that we shall not kiss again.”
Her head jerked up. “Shh!” she hissed through clenched teeth.
He smiled indulgently at her. If her mother or the impertinent Fannie had been eavesdropping on them at all that evening, they would have correctly surmised by the conversation that a kiss had happened between them, but Lisette did not want him to say the word aloud!
“I apologize, Miss Hamilton,” he whispered for her benefit.
“Please do not make light of this. It is not a laughing matter to me.”
The pained expression on her sweet face chastened his play at humor. “You are right. Forgive me.”
It Happened One Christmas Page 7
