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Brown eyes, more rich than any silk or sable, peered at Bellona. He smiled. ‘But it doesn’t matter. Nothing changes. I tried shaking my fist in the air. Pounding the wall. It changed not a thing. Didn’t make me feel any better, only more angry because it was senseless.’
‘I did not mourn my mother after she died. But I did not need to. While she was ill, I cried and thought my life could not go on. But she talked so much with us towards the end. We talked of everything and she prepared us. I missed her, but the hardest part was her suffering. The last week of her life. That was cruel. She hurt so.’
In front of him, she rested her hand on his shoulder and then let the back of her hand move upwards, along his cravat, to the skin above it, letting sensations engulf her as she talked. ‘Your mother will get over this. It is just the valley before she climbs back up the hill of life again.’
‘I thought if I went to London I might be able to put the loss behind me. But when I return, there will be even more. You will be gone.’ His eyes flicked to her and one side of his lips turned up.
She brushed his hair from his temple. ‘There is the duchess you must find.’
‘Do not remind me.’
‘Why not? You will do it. You have put your mind to it. Don’t tell me you do not think of the woman. How you will approach her. What you will say. How you hope to feel something for her in the way you used to feel before Geoff passed away.’
‘When I close my eyes at night, it’s not her I think of. When I open them in the morning, she is nowhere in my head.’
‘Truly?’
He turned to her. ‘Look at my face. What do you think?’ He touched the earring at her ear. ‘I notice you always wear these.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I think it makes your mother feel better.’
His hands clasped her waist. Warm bands. Strength that made her feel delicate.
‘I want to make certain you are provided for,’ he said.
‘It is not needed.’ She held her chin up.
She shook her head and turned her gaze from his. ‘When you wed, I will never again see or speak with you. It is for the best. I will not forget the past. The good or the bad. Yet I will not fall into the same trap of the heart that my mother fell into. When it is done, finished, it is over and done with.’
She didn’t raise her eyes, but kept the expanse of his chest in her view. The cravat rested close to his heart, but she didn’t know what emotions lay inside the man. No words of love reached her ears and only the warnings of her mother sounded in her mind. She would heed them.
Rhys’s hand slid up, sparking eruptions she had only heard about in myths. He cupped her cheeks in his hands. One kiss. Then another. So light. Lighter than the one before. Soft. The barest moment of contact and then he pulled back.
She kept her eyes closed, her chin upturned, and savoured the softness of the lace on his sleeve against her face.
Opening her eyes, she said, ‘You dressed so fine to go to London.’ She grasped his wrist, trapping the thin cloth so that she kept it between them. His jutting wrist bone rested under her fingertips. Then she stepped back and let her hand fall slowly, and land on the buttons of his waistcoat.
‘Bellona...’ He said her name, but it wasn’t really a word. More of a caress. He paused. ‘I cannot. Not now. Not ever.’
‘Cannot?’
The words sounded pulled from him. ‘I cannot touch you because I cannot...touch you. You deserve the promise along with the touch.’
Her gaze stopped at his face. She could see him more clearly than she had ever seen another person. Her eyes even caught the tenseness at the corner of his lips and the slight sheen of moisture at his brow.
His eyes darkened, but with an emotion that didn’t frighten her in the least. But he still did not move one bit—even one hair closer.
Then she waved fingertips over the silken waistcoat. The fabric working as a barrier between the life of him and her hand. He took in a breath yet still didn’t move towards her. Nor away.
He made her think of the statue of an armless woman she and her sisters had found on Melos. If the artist had carved a male, Rhys could have been the perfect model. His face. The stance. Unmoving.
She trailed her hand up, turning the palm so that the back of her knuckles moved past his cravat and caught the slightest bit of roughness on his cheek. He was strong enough to have moved away at any time, but she knew he couldn’t. His eyes closed. The back of her fingers stroked his chin. His lashes rested just above her touch.
With the lightness of a feather, his fingers clasped over her wrist. Eyes still shut, he pulled her hand away. ‘You must go to Warrington’s estate.’
