He snorted, shaking his head to clear his vision. “Oh, I wouldn’t be overly worried about that dog. She’s already back at Seacliff. By now she’ll be warm and dry, and no doubt on a gilt-embellished cushion before a blazing fire.”
Relief filled Lenora. “Thank goodness,” she breathed.
Peter shook his head again. His hair, which had fallen out of its queue, was plastered to his cheek. Without thinking, Lenora reached up and smoothed the strands back, wiping the water from his eyes.
His arms constricted, his step faltering before starting up again. “Thank you.”
“It is I who must thank you. You saved me, Peter.”
His eyes shifted to her for the briefest moment, the tenderness in them taking her breath away. She studied his face as he trudged on, taking in the tense line of his jaw, his blue lips, the hair stuck to his temples, as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And to her, he was. That glow in her chest burned brighter, warming her from the inside out as no fire ever could.
She tightened her arms about his neck. “I’m sorry you had to come out after me.”
“I’m not,” he whispered, so low she almost didn’t hear it above the sound of rain, the words going straight to her heart.
Chapter 19
The house was quiet, everyone in bed, when Peter made his way on bare feet to Lenora’s room.
He shouldn’t go to her. He knew that as surely as he knew the sun would rise on the morrow, bringing him one day closer to leaving the Isle for good. Yet he also knew that if he didn’t see Lenora this instant, to verify with his own eyes that she was well and safe, he would go mad.
He stopped before her door. Everything was silent within. Perhaps she was sleeping. He should go back to his bed and try to fall asleep.
His toes curled in the plush runner, his entire body leaning toward the wooden panel as if it held all the answers to life. And perhaps it did. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked lightly.
The door opened almost immediately. As if she’d been waiting on the other side, as if she’d expected him.
“Peter,” she breathed.
It was as natural as breathing to take her in his arms, to claim her lips with his own. Her slender arms came about his neck, her fingers grasping greedily to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his shirt. Heaven. She was absolute heaven in his embrace. Berries and sunshine and sweetness filled him. He walked her back into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.
“I had to see you,” he murmured into her mouth. “I had to make sure you were well.”
An understatement. These last hours, after they had whisked Lenora from him, closing her up in her rooms, had been the longest in his life. He’d paced the floor, sick with worry. Had he been too late? Had his decision to carry her through the pouring rain been the right one? Or had he merely made certain she would fall ill? The urge to see her, to make certain she was safe, had been more than a need; it had been a compulsion.
Now she was in his arms, safe and dry. And he couldn’t stop touching her. He ran his hands down her back, over her hips, up her sides until his thumbs brushed the gentle swell of her breasts. She wore only a nightgown, a thin cotton affair. There were no layers upon layers of clothing, no stays to keep his hands from exploring every delectable inch of her.
“I was hoping you would come,” she whispered, running her lips along his cheek to his ear.
“Were you?” He pulled back, looked down into her face. The fire had been banked, the faint orange embers sending barely enough light to where they stood half the room away. Yet the warmth, the hunger in her gaze, was as clear as if a thousand candles burned bright.
His breath caught in his throat. He had to leave before he did something they both regretted. “I’ll let you rest,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You need to sleep.”
Her hands came up to cradle his face when he would have released her. She swayed against him, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest. He sucked in his breath, his body burning.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
He shook his head helplessly. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” She smiled, her beautiful eyes clear of doubt. “I want you, Peter. I have from the start.”
Her words sank in slowly. When their meaning penetrated the thick cloud his brain had become, his arms came about her, his hands clenching in the delicate material of her nightgown. He buried his face in her neck, pressing a desperate kiss to the soft skin there.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he rasped. “I tried. Damnation, but I tried.”
“You don’t have to stay away,” she whispered into his temple. Her fingers threaded into his hair.
“But I can’t marry you, Lenora.” It was no more than he had said before. Yet one word stood out from the rest, adding a wealth of meaning:can’t. Even so, his course in life suddenly sat heavy and wrong on his shoulders.
