His tongue swept past her lips. There was nothing tentative or polite about his kiss. There was only heat and passion. Erika clung to the front of Christian’s jacket.
A strong hand was placed in the small of her back holding her to him.
She should have fought against it, knowing how dangerous it was to give in, but this was something Erika had craved for forever. Their mouths were fused in an embrace, a long slow spell of desire.
This was everything she had ever hoped a kiss with Christian would be. As their tongues danced over one another, Erika prayed it would never end.
And then it did.
Christian drew back, released Erika from his hold, and stood staring at her. The look of surprise and bewilderment on his face crushed her heart in an instant. It had been a moment of madness—that was what his expression said.
He regrets it. Oh, god, please don’t apologize.
Without another word, Christian turned on his heel and left the room. Erika stood, fingers held to her swollen lips, while she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The kiss earlier in the evening had been for the benefit of others. It had been a public display of affection, something to which they had agreed.
But this kiss was something else entirely. It had been spontaneous, and passionate. And she had felt it to her core.
As she continued to stare at the door through which Christian had fled, Erika was left with one question. Why had he kissed her?
This was not a part of their agreement. It served no purpose, nor contributed to their cause. There had not been a gathering of interested spectators to witness it.
She touched the engagement ring once more, running her thumb over its smooth surface.
No, his kiss made sense. He had been worried that she was not fully invested in their scheme. Christian had kissed her to reaffirm their agreement. To remind her that while she wore his ring, he could demand her loyalty. That she would maintain the lie.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christian was certain that there would be bruises from where he had continually kicked himself in the hours since that kiss. Why, oh, why had he done that? And then to top it all off he had fled like a thief in the night as soon as it was over.
The morning sun shone brightly through the dining room window and he was still struggling to get his head around it. One minute he was busy trying to understand what was wrong with Erika, the next he was indulging in his deepest fantasy and kissing her senseless.
Correction. You were the only one with a complete lack of sense last night.
The ball at Carlton House had been an outstanding success. They had everyone believing that they were a couple madly in love. He should have left things with her as they were when they had returned home. Waited until the cold, sensible light of day to ask her if she was alright.
“Yes, well, if there wasn’t a problem before you left the party, then you surely made certain that there was one as soon as you got home,” he muttered.
Their romance was meant to be purely for public consumption. No sneaking off and having a little kiss in a dark corner. Not that he would have minded, but Erika had made clear her position on the matter of affection, right at the outset.
As he sat at the breakfast table pushing a cold piece of haddock around on his plate and wishing it were pickled herring, Christian struggled with how he was going to mend things between him and Erika.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight o’clock. He had been sitting alone in the room for the past forty minutes, waiting for Erika to make an appearance.
Oh, you have made a pretty mess of things.
He had fought hard to overcome his impetuous nature, done all he could to stamp it down. But when it came to Erika, his impulses were always threatening to revolt and take command.
He pushed back his chair, ready to go and find her. At the same time, the door swung open and the rotund and ever cheerful Mette, the house cook, entered the room. She carried a plate of boiled eggs, potato, and sour cream in her hands, smiling proudly as she placed it on the table in front of him.
“God morgon, Your Highness,” she said.
He bowed his head. In the short time since Christian had been in residence at the house, the Jansson’s cook had made every effort to serve his favorite food. What she lacked in talent in comparison to the highly skilled chefs of Stockholm Palace, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.
“This looks delicious. You do spoil me, Mette,” he said.
