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He wasn’t sure if his lips found hers first, or if hers found his.
God. Oh, God. He couldn’t think; he couldn’t let himself. If he thought, this couldn’t happen, and it had to happen. He could not have let himself stop, not for a thousand rational arguments. The gentle pressure of her mouth on his felt like a promise. Her lips whispered against his, wiping away his concerns one by one.
It will all work out. You have nothing to fear from me. We are in this together.
He had thought at first that he could simply get the annulment and walk away, unchanged. Then she’d worked her way inside him, with her smiles and her impulses and her strength. Now she was fire itself, and he wanted to be burned.
Her lips stroked his in tiny little kisses—almost chaste, despite the heat in them. His other hand slipped around her waist, bracketing her in place.
He felt full, so full. His mouth devoured hers, and she opened another inch to him, blooming in the incandescent heat of his kiss. Her lips burned him, and oh, he desired. He wanted more—her on top of him, not sitting to the side; her opening to him fully, not this chaste embrace.
But he couldn’t take anything else, not after what had been done to her. All he could do was stand here and wait, wait for her to give.
Their lips touched briefly, parted for a second, then came back together in a symphony of perfection. It was too much. He wanted her too much. He wanted to take hold of her and pull her down onto his lap. He wanted to lick her lips and slide his tongue inside, if she’d let him. He wanted to take her upstairs to his bed, no questions asked, not a moment of hesitation, and damn the fact that it would doom any chance of annulling the marriage.
He wanted her and nothing but her, her forever.
She brought one hand up tentatively, setting her fingers against the fabric of his shirt. For one moment, she didn’t move; then, ever so slightly, she stroked downward, sending a spiral of electric want through his nerves. Her hand slid down his ribs, a delicate brush against his flesh. I want you. I care for you. I see you.
He let out a gasp, and encouraged, she shifted her hand farther down, letting it catch on the waistband of his trousers.
Yes, he thought wildly. Yes. Don’t stop. Don’t—
She pulled away first. Her eyes were suspiciously bright; she jumped to her feet, leaving him feeling cold and alone.
“Oh, look at that!” She did her best to come up with a smile. “It worked, I can’t believe it worked! You knew it was an act, and still I fooled you!”
It took a moment for reality to set in. Right. They’d been play-acting. He almost reached for her; his protest almost came out. What was that he felt?
Disappointment? Surely he could not be disappointed. He’d been on the verge of letting go of the entirety of his future; he should be delighted that she had called a halt to the endeavor.
He was not delighted. He wanted to keep her.
It felt so selfish, so desperate, so wrong. He wanted to keep her, and he couldn’t.
He put his head in his hands. Truth, eh? He’d never been good at lying.
“Cam,” he muttered. “I wasn’t acting.”
He could hear her stillness, the lack of motion. He could almost envision the look on her face.
She let out a long, slow breath, and when she spoke, her voice was low. “I know. I’m sorry; that was cruel of me. I thought you would come to your senses at any moment, and figured…it would hurt less if I did it first?”
He lifted his head and their eyes met. Hers were dark and…no, not unreadable. She was watching him with an intensity that he understood all too well. She’d looked at him that way often enough.
“And what,” he said slowly, “if I didn’t want to come to my senses?”
She folded her arms and looked away. “Then it would hurt even more when you finally did.”
Oh, Cam. Brave Cam, clever Cam, vastly unloved Cam. Cam who chased stars and deserved to wear her dreams like a crown. He wanted to punch the entire world for what it had done to her. She should not have felt that way.
She should not have been right.
He stood and took a step toward her.
“Please.” She sniffed. “We shouldn’t.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “Not that. But would it hurt so much if I gave you a hug?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. “But it will hurt more if you don’t.”
He wrapped her in his arms and held on as tightly as he could. It was just for now, but he wanted to enfold her in all the comfort he could send. And she burrowed into him, melting as if she were meant to be molded to him. Her chest shook, just a little, and when he brushed her cheek, there was a little wetness to it.
God. How long had it been since someone touched her in affection?
He realized he’d asked the question aloud when she answered.
“It feels as if I’ve been nine years starving.”
He stroked her hair. This was unfair, so unfair, most of all to her. “And here you are—not allowed to eat.”
She shook her head. “I’m allowed, but I’ll pay the price. If we let ourselves do any more, we will be married. In truth.”
It was madness to think they should contemplate that possibility. He didn’t want it. If he gave in like this…what if he regretted it later?
What he said was this: “Am I so horrible, then?”
She looked up at him. “You know you’re not. Of course you’re not. But you told me so yourself. You don’t want a wife who will choose you because you’re not ‘so horrible’ and she felt she didn’t have a choice. You want…” She inhaled. “You want a long, slow falling in love.” She said those words precisely, as if she’d memorized what he’d told her those weeks ago. “A partnership, built over time. Certainty and sureness. You want a choice, and you want to be chosen. You don’t want this—not like this.”
“Cam.”
She looked up at him. She reached out and slowly, slowly touched his cheek. “Adrian. I like you well enough that I promise I am going to give that to you. Don’t give it up, not like this.”
He exhaled.
She pulled herself from his embrace and wrapped her own arms about herself. “Tell me about your parents again. What you said the last time… It was lovely. I want to hear it again.”
I need to hear it again, he heard, and so do you.
He nodded. He sat back down, because if he didn’t, he might reach for her once more. His hands made fists on the arms of the chair, as if holding onto it would somehow substitute for her. “My mother married young, once. She never speaks of that. After her first husband died and left her a wealthy widow, she defied her family to join the abolitionist movement. She devoted her fortune to the cause. Worked with my father for years. My parents fell in love slowly and surely.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“They were comrades-in-arms before they were ever married.”
Cam had become his comrade. His ally in truth, not just in name. Even now, she protected him. She was the one who was reminding him what he wanted, no matter what it cost her.
He trailed off, searching for the right words.
“You’re right,” he finally said, “I want a choice.” He looked up at her. “And I want you to have one, too. You’ve had so little of it; I want whoever ends up loving you to know that you could have had anyone in the world, and you chose him. I want him to think that he has had a gift bestowed upon him, not that he was sentenced to your company by circumstance. You deserve better than this.”
Funny, how she’d faced everything that happened to her in the rector’s household with nothing but resolve, but this could bring tears to her eyes.
“You deserve to have no doubts,” he told her. “You deserve to believe that you were wanted above all others.”
His heart hurt in his chest.
“You deserve everything I want,” he told her. “You deserve a partner, a comrade-in-arms, a slow falling in love. You don’t deserve to be stuck with
a man simply because he’s got a hankering for his own pleasure.”
“Is that what you’re after?”
He didn’t answer. He’d made a set of plates for her—partially, at least. It wasn’t as if he could hide the fact that he had some finer feelings.
“We can’t give each other anything else,” she said quietly. “But I can give you that. If that’s what you want—if you want a slow falling in love, if you want joy, if you want not to be stuck with a woman simply because she’ll do and you’ve a hankering for pleasure—then I will make sure you have it.”
His throat almost closed.
“I’m sorry for what I did earlier.” She gave him a firm nod. “Teasing you, when we were practicing. I will not let myself forget. We have too many enemies in this world to be at odds with each other on the question of how we feel.”
“And what if we decide we want to choose each other?”
She didn’t speak for a long time. She bit her lip. She looked away.
“I’ve been alone a long time,” she finally said. “I’ve wanted someone. Anyone. Rector Miles made me believe that when I told myself I would be loved, it was a legion of devils driving me into sin. He told me the tiny voice of doubt I always heard was my sole hold on righteousness.” Her voice shook. “But I refuse. I cannot believe it is evil to hope somebody will love me someday.”
