She pulled away slightly, but he wasn't about to let her leave him. Biting her lip gently, he tugged her closer, enjoying her gasp of surprise that melted as he deepened the kiss. Her warm hand still framed his face, tightening as he ravaged her mouth, taking from her all the flavor he could consume. His hands wanted to be wicked, but he reigned in his own passion and settled for a possessive grasp on her shoulders coupled with feathered traces of his fingers down the side of her neck and arms, mapping her body, committing it to memory.
Heart pounding, he forced himself to remain a gentleman when his mind was all too vividly reminding him how easily it would be to lean forward, inviting her to recline. From there, it would be so easy to—
No. Rather, he backed out of the kisses, feathering them till they came to an easy end.
When he opened his eyes, his focus narrowed on her swollen lips, pink and moist from his assault. Her eyes were a deep earthy brown, drunk with passion as her dark lashes accented their almond shape. In a word, she was breathtaking, rather — heart-taking.
"I really must stop allowing you such liberties." She spoke breathlessly, pressing two fingers to her lips, tracing them slightly.
Little did she know the gesture was like offering an invitation to a starving man.
Glancing away, he willed his desire under control.
"Have you ever considered that you're not allowing liberties as much as you're asking me for my freedom?" he asked, unable to glance away from her earnest gaze.
"Pardon?" she asked, her dark brows pinching in confusion.
He loosened his grip on her shoulders and trailed his fingers down her arms, pausing at her wrist. Then, taking a hand within both of his, he traced her fingers. "With every kiss, every touch, you seal my fate — my destiny. If I were truly taking liberties with you, I'd grow freer, rather than finding myself captured. Enraptured. Willingly," he whispered and glanced up. "And I found I'm quite content with the prospect."
She exhaled a shaky breath, as if his tender touch of her hand was just as powerful as his kiss.
He rather liked that idea.
"Either you are charming beyond compare, or you—" She glanced down, not finishing her sentence.
"Or I'm falling in love. It happens, you know. Your sister is proof."
"Indeed, but I thought it happened — differently." She met his gaze, her heart in his eyes, but he could see the fear.
He recognized it because he felt it, the edge of it, bringing hard questions to his mind. But the risk it necessitated was nothing in comparison to the reward.
"I'm not the authority on the subject." He glanced away, knowing how accurate that statement was. "And I'm aware of the precarious risk in placing too much stock in emotion. We are English, are we not?" he teased, earning a slight smile.
"Indeed."
"But my affection is not dependent on my emotion. While love is what you feel, it is also what you choose. I choose you." He tilted up her chin, meeting her gaze.
"And you're certain of this decision?" The question was asked with the most direct gaze.
Rather than answer her, he placed a soft kiss to her lips. "Yes," he whispered, sealing his vow with another kiss, simply because he couldn't help himself.
After ending the kiss, he watched as her eyes fluttered open. "Although I do find myself doing quite a quantity of assurances to you… with little assurance from your end. A gentleman could easy become unsure in such a circumstance—"
His words were cut off with an eye roll followed by a fierce kiss that almost knocked him backward.
Not that he would have minded for her to be on top of him.
Rather, he lamented that he had stood firm; it would have been much more advantageous to allow her to knock him over.
Damn it all.
"That shall be your answer." She broke the kiss and nodded once.
"And what if I find I need further confirmation?" he asked, knowing a wicked grin broke out across his face.
Smacking his shoulder, she shook her head good-naturedly. This was one of the many reasons he was falling so heavily for her. One moment they were passionately engaged in the most heated kisses; a moment later, they were joking, flirting — being friends.
It was enamoring, to have a friend — with such delightful benefits.
But more than a friend. A soulmate.
Was this what it was like?
No wonder other men made cakes of themselves!
His good friend, Curtis, would no doubt think he'd lost his bloody mind, if only he could see him now.
To hell with it all. He couldn't care a fig. One didn't question the gift of love, but simply took it and ran, protecting it with his life, till death did them part.
"You appear quite serious…" Beatrix traced his jawline with her fingers, bringing him back to the present.
"A thousand apologies." He reached up and grasped her hand, kissing it. "It has been quite the day," he murmured as he pressed her wrist to his mouth, kissing it again and then tracing the sensitive flesh of her wrist with his nose. "I do believe we should say goodnight… before I find myself tempted—"
"Understood." She pulled her wrist back, a deep blush staining her cheeks, though a secretive smile dashed across her features.
It was lovely, innocent, yet… not.
"I shall see you in the morning." He rose and extended his hand to help her stand.
Beatrix's hand met his, causing an undercurrent of desire to hum through him. He released her, against his will, and watched as she nodded then left. Pausing by the door, she turned, and with a slight wave, bit her lip and disappeared.
Expelling a large sigh, he sat back down and ran his fingers though his hair. The woman would be the most dangerous distraction possible, one he both anticipated and also feared. He couldn't allow his guard down, not if he were to keep her safe. While he was quite certain their whereabouts were unknown, he didn't want to rely on that assumption.
In two days, he'd have word from Curtis, and the rest of the plan would be set in motion. In two days, he'd know what action to take.
Which was the easy part. The hard part? Convincing Beatrix.
His betrothed.
His love.
His addiction.
And quite possibly, the thorn in his side.
CHAPTER SIX
BEATRIX BLINKED, HER EYES UNFOCUSED FROM the remnants of sleep. It had been two days since Lord Neville had practically accosted her. Signing, she snuggled farther into the warmth of the linen sheets and closed her eyes, a smile bending her lips as she thought about the past few days. Time had flown by, seeming to only have been marked by a glance, by a whisper or touch that made the fleeting moments stand still.
It was incredible how life could change so quickly.
Shifting so she could rise, she fisted her hands and stretched, placing her warm feet on the cool wooden floor.
As attentive as her betrothed had been, she sensed a tension underlying his smooth manner. Last night when she had approached the topic, she was relieved to discover her lover was more than willing to converse with her, not shutting her out as she had anticipated.
As warm as his embrace had been at the moment, her heart felt a sudden chill as she considered the reason for his tension. He had sent off a missive to London, to his friend Curtis Sheppard, and was awaiting word.
Blast the man, kind as he was, he was unwilling to divulge any further information on the topic, other than, of course, what pertained to her.
As if that alleviated any curiosity!
Rather, it made it far worse!
He simply chuckled when she expressed her irritation.
Which only made her far more incensed!
Of course, that he'd decided to soothe her ruffled feathers with a heart-melting kiss only redeemed him slightly.
Very slightly.
But redeemed him nonetheless.
Beatrix sighed and shook her head. The man was far too charming for her good.
A kn
ock sounded at the door, pulling her from her thoughts.
Her maid entered with a quick curtsey and, in short order, had Beatrix all properly attired for her role as Lady Southridge's companion.
Bah. She hated the need for playing the part, not that she objected to pretending to be a blue stocking — oddly that didn't bother her too greatly — it was that Lord Neville called her Bev.
She hated that.
Because when he spoke to her, it was her own name she wished to hear from his lips.
Not Bev.
Bev didn't exist, and, well… if she were being truly honest… that he called her Bev made her wonder if any of this were real.
Silly, foolish and insane, but it was the truth. She'd never claimed her emotions were rational.
What woman had?
Soon she was passing the richly wooden walls of Breckridge House. Light poured through large leaded-glass windows, making the house seem even larger than its massive size already boasted.
"Good morning," Lady Southridge called, her eyes not lifting from the newsprint before her. She sipped her tea gently and then replaced the cup to the matching saucer.
"Morning, ma'am." She curtseyed, falling into her practiced roll. Helping herself to a plate, she served herself. Crispy bacon and rich eggs with toast completed her meal, and she sat across from the dowager.
"I trust your night was well?" Beatrix offered kindly as she poured tea, watching the steam swirl from her cup.
"Passable." She lowered the newsprint, folded it, and picked up her tea with both hands.
Beatrix noted the date on the print, about a week ago, which was quite recent, considering how far into the country they were residing.
"Morning."
Lord Neville's voice melted over her like the butter on her warm toast. Her glance shot up to meet his, a shiver of delight vibrating along her heart. His dark eyes were rich and deep, like melted chocolate and just as delicious… and sinful.
"Morning to you as well, Lord Neville," Lady Southridge replied, nodding politely.
"My lord," Beatrix echoed.
"And what delightful diversions do you ladies have planned for the day?" he asked as he loaded his plate with much of the same as Beatrix, only a far more masculine portion.
"I'm not quite sure. I'm sure Bev and I will work on our embroidery," Lady Southridge answered.
Beatrix bit back a groan. Embroidery. How she hated it.
Hated.
"Perhaps we could take a walk, however?" Beatrix found herself asking, her tone pathetically hopeful.
Pride be cursed.
"Possibly, but I'd think that Lord Neville would need to make a trip to town today to check the post?" Lady Southridge shot him a meaningful glance.
"Indeed." He took a seat between Lady Southridge and Beatrix, though, she noted, his chair was noticeably closer to hers.
A grin tugged on her lips, and she lifted her teacup to take a sip, hiding her reaction.
"I'm not blind," Lady Southridge replied dryly, her gaze darting to the smaller space between her and Lord Neville.
"I doubt anyone has ever accused you of being such, my lady," Lord Neville replied, arching a dark brow and buttering a biscuit.
"Would you care for tea?" Beatrix asked him, sharing an amused glance.
"Please."
Beatrix poured his tea then paused, realizing she had no idea how he took it. How did a woman become betrothed to a man, ignorant of such a basic preference?
"No sugar, just cream if you please," he answered her unasked question.
"Of course." She added the milk and stirred.
"Thank you. To answer your question, yes. I do need to take a ride into town today. Would it be possible for you to spare your companion's company this afternoon so that she might go with me? With a proper chaperone of course," he added.
Beatrix bit on a crispy, salty strip of bacon and waited, praying Lady Southridge would agree.
"I see no fault in that. Do take a maid plus one other. While we are far into the country, word does travel, and we wouldn't want Bev's good name to be smudged."
"As you say, my lady," he graciously accepted then proceeded to eat his meal.
Beatrix was enjoying her eggs when a foot pressed against hers. Eyes darting to Lord Neville, she narrowed her gaze, but he gave no indication that he was aware of the close proximity.
Shrugging inwardly, she gave her attention to her tea, picking it up and bringing it to her lips. She gasped when that same foot slowly lifted the hem of her skirt beneath the table! Tea sloshed from her cup and stained the white linen tablecloth. As quickly as the hem of her skirt had been lifted, it was released, but the damage was done. Her gaze shot to Lord Neville, narrowing as she studied the way his full lips pressed together, as if restraining his amusement.
Miserable man!
Well, two could play that game!
With measured movements, Beatrix picked up her toast and took a bite, watching out of the corner of her eye.
"Do you think you'll receive word from London today, Lord Neville?" Lady Southridge asked.
He'd picked up his tea but paused to answer her question.
Beatrix set her toast down and slowly placed her hands on her lap.
"That is the very reason I have made plans to travel to town this afternoon," he affirmed with a nod. While he lifted his teacup to his lips, Beatrix made her move.
Before she could think better of her actions, she reached under the tablecloth and squeezed the underside of his thigh, as it was the only place she could touch him without being overly obvious, since the tablecloth only hid so much movement.
Her blush was immediate, but so was his reaction! Tea did not slosh; it practically flew from his cup, and if that weren't glorious enough, he choked on the liquid then sputtered and coughed into his quickly retrieved napkin.
Satisfied, Beatrix swallowed her laughter and forced her expression into one of sincere concern and turned to him. "Dear heavens, Lord Neville, are you well?"
"I — cough — am indeed — cough cough — Miss L — Bev." His dark eyes narrowed.
"Do be careful," she countered daringly.
"I will do my utmost, however…" He leaned forward slightly, matching her determination in his gaze. "…I find that sometimes one needs to take a risk or two."
Beatrix tilted her chin. "Indeed. For at times, the payoff is indeed worth it," she answered, glancing to his almost empty teacup and back.
"Touché," he whispered.
"In case you two had forgotten, I am still present." Lady Southridge's voice broke through their now silent engagement. "And I also feel it behooves you to understand I'm not as oblivious as you might imagine."
At this, Beatrix turned her curious gaze to the older woman.
Lady Southridge's light red eyebrows rose as if affirming her statement.
A fresh blush seared Beatrix's skin as she cleared her throat and straightened in her seat.
Then, with a barely restrained giggle, she turned to Lord Neville. "More tea?"
LORD NEVILLE COULDN'T STOP the smile that broke through at his memory of the escapade at the breakfast table that morning. Truly, Beatrix was a rare treasure. By all the saints, he still couldn't quite believe that she had squeezed his thigh! He was sure she'd had no idea the effect it had had on his person. She was far too innocent for that. However that didn't negate the fact that he'd needed to eat breakfast quite slowly, just to insure his own propriety.
Granted, he had initiated the whole thing.
But she had certainly ended it.
Further sealing her dominion in his heart.
The sound of the horse's hooves on the soft and moist English soil were the only sounds of the moment. But it wasn't an awkward silence, rather a companionable pause between conversations that simply was like breathing, natural.
"If I weren't raised with the rain, I don't think I'd be able to tolerate it as well," Beatrix commented from atop her roan mare.
"I
ndeed." He had often thought the same. "Perhaps one day we'll venture somewhere slightly less… soggy." He glanced at the dark earth.
It was bloody annoying to keep their conversation so… bland. But with two footmen in tow, per Lady Southridge's directions upon realizing they were not taking the carriage, they had to keep up appearances.
A wicked smile twisted his lips. For surely it had to be wicked with the direction his thoughts took. "I find myself curious," he started as he turned to face Beatrix, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face, a slight edge of alarm peppering her expression.
He smothered a chuckle that threatened to rise.
"Yes?" she answered tentatively.
"What is your opinion of the floral gardens at Breckridge House?" he asked innocently.
A shadow of confusion crossed her expression before she answered. "I find them quite stunning."
"Indeed? I find that I share your opinion." He nodded, glancing from her to the road ahead. "But there is a particular species of flower I discovered in the orangery that has utterly captivated me. I find it's far more beautiful than any of the kind I've seen in London."
"Is that so?" Beatrix replied.
He glanced to her, watching as she studied him, as if trying to ascertain if he was talking about flowers.
"Its petals are so very soft, almost like velvet," he added, then, unable to resist the rake within, he offered her a quick wink.
Rising to the challenge as he'd known she would, Beatrix flushed and gave a disbelieving snort. "I would think you'd think the flower in question quite thorny," she shot back.
"At times. After all, even a rose has its thorns…" He shrugged. "…but I find that I don't mind a scratch or two. Sadly, however, I've been denied the pleasure of holding even one stem."
Beatrix choked slightly, as if scandalized at his comment.
"Are you well?" he asked as a footman glanced between them curiously.
A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3) Page 8
