by Darcy Burke
Taking her arm from Sutton’s she went to the dresser and found a pile of pins. The door snapped closed behind her. She spun about, but before she could speak, he said, “I thought you might need privacy. Perhaps I should wait outside.” He lingered near the door, still clutching her bonnet and looking a bit uncertain. “However, I don’t regret telling you that I’d rather not. Leaving you alone is what put you into this mess in the first place.”
His tone was impassioned and his gaze fervent. Both sparked a response deep in her belly. “It isn’t a mess. I’m fine.” She pivoted and plucked a pin from the dresser.
Her attempts to pin the dress failed miserably due to a sudden inexplicable quivering of her fingertips. It was also an awkward place to pin, and she was having difficulty holding the fabric together while also positioning the pin. She released the pin in frustration and drew off her gloves, tossing them atop the dresser. She snatched up the pin from the pile and tried again, to no avail.
“May I help you?”
His soft query came from nearby. Startled, she jabbed herself in the finger with the sharp instrument. She sucked in a breath.
“Here, please allow me.” Setting her bonnet on a small table near the door, he moved to stand in front of her and took the pin. He frowned slightly at her finger. “You’re bleeding.” He swiped his gloved hand over the dark ruby droplet, then pressed his thumb to the spot. “Just give it a moment.”
She looked up at him, entranced by the low, rumbling timbre of his voice, the bold, masculine spiciness of his scent, and the sudden stirring arousal of his proximity.
Arousal?
Yes, it was as if she’d just awakened from a long, deep sleep and she was seeing the world anew. Every part of her was teeming with awareness and a keen…need.
The pressure of his thumb on her finger radiated through her hand and traveled up her wrist and arm before spreading through her and stoking whatever was happening to her.
She stared up into his gray eyes. They were the color of rain clouds behind which the sun was striving to break through. Dark and tempestuous, but with a brightness that stole away any threat. They held a promise, a temptation she’d never glimpsed before. A temptation she was suddenly desperate to indulge.
He lifted his thumb and broke their trancelike eye contact to look at her flesh. “All better,” he whispered. “Now, let’s set you to rights.”
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be “right” again. What on earth was happening to her?
“Here, you hold up the fabric, and I’ll pin it,” he said.
He exuded confidence and control, and she thought back to him rescuing her from Mary, and also from her foolishness that night they’d met at the Middlegrove ball. Was there a situation he couldn’t manage? A problem he couldn’t solve? The idea of someone—a man—who was helpful and considerate filled her with wonder.
“Miss Knox?” he murmured, forcing her from her reverie.
She grabbed at her sagging bodice and held it up on the left side so he could pin it. “Thank you for your assistance. I apologize for ruining your glove.”
He shrugged. “It may be salvageable. Anyway, it’s my pleasure. Speaking of my gloves, if you’ll pardon me, but I need to remove them.” He drew them off and set them on the dresser next to hers.
She clung to her torn dress as if it were a parasol trying to blow away. Her body thrummed with anticipation before he touched her. His hands were warm and capable as he set the first pin.
A breath of relief escaped her, and he arched his brow slightly. Without a word, he grabbed another pin and placed it below the other. He studied her bodice, smoothing his fingertips over the edge. “One more, I think.”
He plucked up a third pin, and this one had to go lower, closer to the top of her breast. She couldn’t seem to breathe.
“I, ah, have to pin this to the garment beneath.” His tone was apologetic, but there was a heat in his gaze that spiraled through her, coaxing her senses to an even more heightened perception.
His fingers grazed her flesh, eliciting a craving that tingled along her breasts and moved lower. She’d been attracted to a few gentlemen before, had even exchanged a kiss with one years ago after she’d returned home from her first Season, but this was something completely different. Oh, it came with the familiar fluttering in her belly, but it was so much more. It swept over her in waves until she thought she might suffer physical discomfort if he didn’t touch her more.
He bent his head and attended to his task. Still, she couldn’t draw a full breath. She told herself it was because she didn’t want him to stick her, but inside, she knew the truth. This was the most exciting moment of her life.
At last, he straightened, looking into her eyes once more. His mouth curved up, and she stared at the contours of his lips. “Success,” he said.
She glanced down and saw that his hand was still there, lightly touching the flesh above her gown. He abruptly pulled it away, and she did the unthinkable. She said, “Don’t.”
Her gaze found his once more. He regarded her with uncertainty. “Don’t what?”
“Nothing.” She’d been about to say don’t stop touching me, but good heavens, she couldn’t say that.
His eyes held hers, and it was as if the truth would be pulled from her, whether she wanted to confess it or not.
“I liked you…doing that,” she said, her face flaming. “Touching me.” No one ever touched her. Well, not until she’d had close friends and come to live with Lady Satterfield. Affection wasn’t something that was demonstrated in Aquilla’s family—not in word and certainly not in deed.
“I see.” He lifted his hand, his gaze questioning. She gave a slight nod of consent and prayed it would be enough. She’d already revealed too much; she wasn’t sure she could ask him to touch her again.
Lightly, his fingertips grazed her collarbone and the side of her neck, gently stroking. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and lose herself in this simple and yet devastating sensation. If she completely surrendered… What? What would happen?
“May I kiss you?”
His question jolted her, making her flinch. His hand stilled, and a bit of the light in the clouds of his eyes diminished. She wanted it back—the light, the touch, all of it.
“Yes.” She shouldn’t have agreed, had barely considered it, but she was also powerless to deny him. No, she was powerless to deny herself. She, who had forsaken so much, deserved this solitary moment.
“Yes,” she repeated, her voice strong, and her will even stronger.
His eyes searched hers, and she edged closer, seeking him. His hand cupped the side of her jaw, and he lowered his head. She closed her eyes just before his lips touched hers. They were warm and soft, moving gently but purposefully and ignited a desire Aquilla had never known.
He brought his other hand up so that he held her face between his palms, caressing her as his mouth explored hers. Anticipation swelled through her. She wanted to touch him too, but wasn’t sure how. She raised her hands and bumped his elbows, but he didn’t stop kissing her. She set her palms against his jacket, her flesh sinking into the soft wool. His lips parted, and the kiss shifted from light and airy to concentrated and lush. Rather than just meeting flesh to flesh, this was a joining—a small one, but more than she had ever experienced.
The butterflies fluttering in her chest and far lower gathered strength and stirred a tumult within her. Her fingers curled into his lapels, and his touch grew more insistent, his fingertips pressing against her jaw in the most delicious fashion.
He guided her head to the side, angling her so that his mouth slanted over hers. And then everything changed again, going from pleasantly enticing to utterly decadent.
His lips parted further, and he gently stroked her jaw, urging her to open her mouth beneath his. She couldn’t help herself even though she knew she should try. The butterflies were gone, replaced by deep swells of hunger and need. The urgency for more was nearly desperate and more than a li
ttle bit frightening. The longer he touched her, the deeper he kissed her, the more she wanted.
His tongue slid into her mouth, shocking and yet so welcome. This was the wilderness, a vast domain she’d never thought to visit. And had never wanted to.
Temptation gave way to surrender as she pulled at his coat, bringing him against her. Well, almost against her. She needed to move her hands so that she could feel him, and then maybe he’d put his arms around her.
His tongue sweeping through her mouth snatched her thoughts away. There was heat and desire and a flush of anticipation that took control of her. Sensations and excitement shot through her and made her more aware of places within herself than she’d ever been before. If she ever had been. Her breasts tingled, her belly tightened, and an odd, hungry need pooled between her legs, made her want to press her hips into his.
He suddenly jerked away from her, his hands clasping over hers and gently, but firmly, directing them to her sides. “Someone is coming.”
Then she heard the footsteps and the voices coming from outside the door. The closed door.
Heavens, if someone discovered them here, alone, closeted away…she’d be ruined. Then the question of her marriage wouldn’t be a question at all.
Sutton picked up his gloves and strode to where he’d set her bonnet. After donning the gloves, he plucked the bonnet from the table and held it in front of himself as he crossed to the door. Opening it wide, he greeted the keeper and Malster as if nothing were amiss. “Thank you for the use of your chamber,” he said.
Aquilla, still reeling from the events of the past several minutes, blinked at the open doorway.
Malster hurried inside, his face drawn with concern and perhaps a bit of trepidation as he glanced toward Sutton. “I’m so sorry, Miss Knox. Are you all right?”
Aquilla gathered her wits and picked up her gloves from the dresser. “I’m fine, thank you. I feel terrible for poor Mary.”
The superintendent gaped at her. “You do?”
Aquilla frowned at his reaction but didn’t respond.
“Of course she does,” Sutton interjected as he walked to her and handed her the bonnet. “Miss Knox is a kind and benevolent young woman—as we all should be. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Malster pivoted, wincing as he shot a pleading stare at Sutton. “My lord, I do hope this won’t reflect poorly on us. We do our best to manage all the patients, and Mary had been doing so well of late.”
“I do wonder what the keeper was doing and why the day room was unsupervised, but I’m sure you’ll ensure that doesn’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t, my lord. I can promise you that.” Malster sent a glower toward the keeper, who’d gone rather pallid since Aquilla had seen her last. Clearly, she’d suffered the superintendent’s admonishment and perhaps anger.
Aquilla hated to see another person abused, even if they’d committed a mistake. “I’m certain the keeper will endeavor to ensure the safety of everyone in the ward, including the patients.” She smiled warmly at the older woman, whose eyes lit. She nodded quickly before dropping her gaze to the floor.
“Come, Miss Knox,” Sutton said, offering his arm. “We should return to Lady Satterfield and my aunt.”
“Oh yes, they are waiting in the entry hall,” Malster said.
Aquilla inclined her head as she took Sutton’s forearm, and he escorted her from the room.
Once they were in the gallery, he whispered, “Marry me.”
Aquilla tripped. She knew he was considering it, so it ought not have been a surprise. Nevertheless, the urgency and…yearning in his tone stunned her beyond words. Indeed, she was at a loss.
“My apologies,” he murmured. “Miss Knox—Aquilla—would you do me the greatest honor of becoming my countess?”
Her body, still thrumming from his kiss, screamed yes while her brain tossed with all the reasons she should say no.
Marriage means ownership.
Ownership means I will be completely at his mercy.
And if he has no mercy?
She suppressed a shudder as she thought of her father and now her brother, a new father, and no better than his sire.
“I barely know you,” she said, noting that their gait had slowed as they traversed the gallery. Lady Satterfield and his aunt were seated up ahead.
“Do you really feel that way? I feel I know you enough to determine that you would make an excellent countess—and you know I’ve never offered before.”
That statement made her stop. But only for a moment. She pushed forward, her mind churning. As far as she knew, he hadn’t ever proposed marriage. The man who was notorious for disappointing a host of young ladies was now ready to commit.
To her.
“Why me?” She couldn’t help but ask the question.
“Because you’re everything I want in a bride. You’re kind, considerate, discreet, and I enjoy your company. Watching you with Mary—”
His voice cut off, and now he stopped as he pivoted to look at her. She looked up at him, at the sincerity in his gaze and relived the feel of his mouth upon hers. Marriage to him might not be so bad…
“Watching you with Mary,” he said again. “You are exactly the kind of woman I’ve been searching for. Please say yes. Say you’ll be my wife.”
Again, her sensibilities warred. She glanced toward Lady Satterfield, who’d risen from her chair and was watching them with interest.
“Should I drop to my knee?” he asked. “That way, they’ll know what we’re talking about and you’ll know I’m utterly serious.”
Say yes, a part of her urged.
Say no, another part of her demanded.
She wished she’d been able to talk to her friends about him yesterday, but the horrid rainstorm had prevented them from visiting. Furthermore, she couldn’t have told them about today—about his kiss—because it hadn’t happened yet.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m ready to marry you. I’m…”
He took her hand in his. “What?” He moved closer, his brows dipping low over his eyes with concern. “Are you…afraid?”
How had he sensed that? Maybe he did know her. “I would have…conditions.” Her voice quavered.
“I’ll agree to every one of them.”
Her knees wobbled at the promise in his voice and the fervor in his gaze. “If I’m unhappy…will you let me go?” The question came out as the barest whisper.
His brow wrinkled, and he frowned. “Let you go? As in, divorce?”
“No, of course not. But you’d let me leave if I wasn’t happy?”
He stared at her, his astonishment clear. Finally, he simply said, “Yes.”
Her pulse quickened, and blood thundered in her ears. Could she do it? Could she place her trust in his strong, seemingly capable hands?
It was that or almost certainly marry Lindsell.
As if he followed the direction of her thoughts, he said, “Say yes today, and I will procure a license for us on Monday. We can be married the following week. Or I can obtain a special license if you’d rather it be sooner. I’ll write to your father immediately and before he has a chance to deliver you to Lindsell.” He studied her briefly as uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Unless you prefer him.”
She shook her head vehemently. Then she darted another glance toward Lady Satterfield, who was nervously adjusting the ribbon of her hat. Her mouth lifted into a small, expectant smile. She’d be so happy for Aquilla… And Aquilla would never have to go home again.
Still unsure that she was making the right choice but deciding it was better than her current state, she lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. “I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Eight
Ned puckered as he took a bite of Cook’s latest attempt at lemon cakes. He couldn’t send this up to George. He’d likely throw the plate against the wall as he’d done with every other batch she’d attempted. It wasn’t her fault. She was an excellent cook in every other aspect
. She just couldn’t duplicate their beloved lemon cakes.
“What’s wrong?” Aunt Susannah asked from across the low table where the tea service was laid out. “Too sour?”
Replacing the cake on the plate, Ned nodded. “A bit.” He sampled one of the biscuits instead. “These, however, are delicious.”
Aunt Susannah leaned forward and nipped one from the tray. “I know I’ve said it a dozen times since yesterday, but I do think you’ve made an excellent choice, even if you rushed things along.” She shook her head. “I can scarcely believe you did it at last.” She looked at him warmly, her eyes smiling, as she took a bite of biscuit.
He could hardly believe it either. Before meeting Aquilla at the hospital, he’d been optimistic that she could satisfy his requirements for a bride. He was also hopeful—more hopeful than he’d ever been—that she would since she provoked a yearning that no one else had.
But then she’d met him at Bethlehem with an enthusiasm he’d never imagined. He was already barreling toward a proposal of marriage when Mary had attacked her and she’d responded with unequivocal kindness. In that moment, he’d fallen under her spell, and he knew she was the one to be his wife. She would understand George. More than that, she would accept him.
“She is quite spectacular,” he murmured.
Aunt Susannah chuckled as she picked a crumb from her lap and dropped it on the tray. “It sounds to me like you may already be in love with her.”
Love? No, no. That was not a requirement. In fact, it should be avoided. He’d seen what love had done to his parents, how fractured they’d been after George had gone insane, how much love had cost them—in his mother’s case, her life. Losing her son, first to the madness and again to Bethlehem, had all but destroyed her. But it was her husband’s withdrawal that had been the final blow. She’d died of a broken heart, and Ned hadn’t been enough to save her.
Her death had widened the rift between Ned and his father, which had sprouted when Father had sent George away. They’d spent years arguing about how to care for George. Ned longed to bring him home, but Father refused to acknowledge that his son was a lunatic. Finally, in the last days of his life, he’d admitted that sending George to Bethlehem had been a mistake and that he’d done so because he hadn’t wanted a lunatic for a son. George’s insanity might have splintered their family, but Father’s reaction had torn it asunder. The memories ate at Ned like acid, and he strove to keep them at bay. Yes, he would be more than satisfied with a comfortable, happy marriage in which extreme emotion never arose.
