Now he was the one looking out the window and she knew it was because he’d conjured up images of what had transpired between them last night. She’d halfway hoped that once they were beyond sight of anyone, he’d cross over and take her into his arms. That they would do on this bench what they’d done in his bed.
She didn’t think the cut on her lip would split and bleed if she gave him a generous, come-hither smile, but she couldn’t be sure. Yet a hundred times she’d thought about testing it. She didn’t want to leave him without experiencing his kiss, and yet she had the uncomfortable sensation that his kiss,more than making love, would make it harder, nearly impossible, to leave him.
But the harsh reality was that she didn’t want to be his mistress. She feared what she wanted was to be his wife. His viscountess, the mother of his children. His partner in all things.
It was full on night by the time they finally crossed into London. Marlowe could sense the miles they’d traveled increasing and the ones to be traveled decreasing. Like sand through an hourglass, their time together was drifting away.
During the days and nights since they’d begun the journey, occasionally they’d stopped at a tavern or inn for a meal and a change of horses. But they’d never taken rooms anywhere. Instead, they’d stayed on the road. Lighting lanterns to guide them through the darkness when it had arrived.
Perhaps Langdon had determined it was the only way to ignore the desire rampaging through them.
She wouldn’t see him again after tonight. Shecouldn’tsee him again after tonight. It would be too difficult. She suspected he was mulling over similar thoughts, because a few times she’d noted him studying her lips to such an extent that she was relatively certain he could have perfectly sketched them. With the tip of her tongue, she pushed at the inside corner of her mouth, where the gash was healing. She grimaced and cursed at the discomfort. Was it ever not going to hurt when she applied pressure to it? Was she going to go the remainder of her life without fully knowing his kiss?
“Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly, and shewondered if within the dim confines, he’d been able to see her testing it.
“I’m afraid so. I’m beginning to think it might have needed stitches.”
“You’ve seen my handiwork. It would have no doubt left a horrendous scar.”
“I’ll pay a visit to my physician tomorrow.”
“Scoot over.”
She did as he bade, then watched his shadowy form cross over to sit beside her. She shifted slightly to more squarely face him, not at all surprised when his warm and slightly chafed palm cradled the side of her face that had escaped bruising. Without any thought at all, she found herself leaning into it, a puppy seeking a petting.
Or a woman who had traded passion for security.
Although the path she was currently on wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted either.
It had taken a brush with death to teach her that lesson. When the hour of her demise had been upon her, snippets from her life had passed before her in a slow unwinding. Very few had brought her satisfaction or joy. They’d left her feeling miserable and alone, so very alone, and crying out to the heavens,Not yet!
Who would remember her when she was gone? Who would mourn? What evidence of her existence would remain when she was no longer about to serve as a reminder?
She placed her hand over his, where it rested against her cheek, turned her head into it, and pressed the gentlest of kisses against his palm. She didn’t know exactly why she’d done it. Perhaps asa demonstration that a whisper of a kiss was better than no kiss at all.
He could hold himself in check. Their mouths could come together. They could go slowly, lightly, testing the waters, increasing their zeal—
“Be my mistress, and I’ll pay off your father’s debt,” he said somberly, a mourner speaking at a wake. It felt like her heart stopped for a second or two before carrying on with pumping blood through her body. She’d gone as cold as ice but now the heat of embarrassment was flooding her. “All of your allowance will be yours to do with as you please.”
She wondered if he’d been pondering this notion during the entire journey, if he’d been considering what his life would entail with her and what it would without her. The same sort of thoughts had been tumbling through her mind.
“But you won’t be exclusively mine, will you?” she asked, nearly losing the battle to keep her voice steady, to give no hint to the turmoil swirling within her, a tempest with the strength to engulf ships and deliver them to the bottom of the sea. “You’re a viscount who will one day become an earl. You have a duty to marry, to provide an heir. How many mornings will I awaken to find you in my bed, in my arms? How many nights will I wait in vain for you to come to me? How long will you stay in my company? How long before the only thing between us is fornication?”
“I won’t marry for a few more years.” He was taken aback by his tone threaded with desperation.He didn’t want to voice aloud that she could leave him then, find another protector, do as she pleased. He wasn’t certain he’d ever be ready for her to be with someone else.
But the disgrace that would arise if he were to marry her...
His parents had survived scandal, but it had taken a toll on them, their children.
The coach was slowing. They were in London proper now. She would be with him only a little while longer.
She hadn’t responded to his earlier statement, and he assumed it was because it didn’t matter. A few years together wasn’t worth the heartbreak that would follow. Arrogant of him to think she would find the parting as hellish as he would.
The glow from streetlamps eased in and out of the conveyance, casting her in a different light each time. So many facets to her. During the short time they’d been together, he’d been able to explore only a few of them, when he desperately wanted to explore them all, every single aspect of her. He might possibly need a lifetime to study them all.
“We’re almost there,” she said.
Looking past her, he could see the residences. No shops, no taverns, no pubs. Only dwellings lined up, side by side. He would soon be without her, the realization nearly unbearable.
