“Why were you coming to find me?”
“What do you always smell like?” he asked, the abrupt segue confusing her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is it your perfume? Something sweet but also herbal, almost medicinal?”
“Oh, it’s chamomile.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“I make my own eau de toilette.”
He looked at her exceedingly fondly, which was a bit confusing. She repeated her previous question. “Why were you coming to find me?”
“I was going to tell you I could not in good conscience agree to your proposal.”
No! That was not what she expected, or wanted, him to say. “Why not?” she demanded, not liking the way her voice rose and her tone went shrill.
His implacable expression cracked then, made room for something that appeared part fondness, part resignation. “All the usual reasons, I suppose. Your reputation, for one.”
“We discussed this. I’m already ruined.”
“We did discuss this, and no, you are not.” He spoke in anuncharacteristically sharp way. His hands remained in her hair, though, and that was something. She never wanted them tonotbe there.
“Yes, I am. And if I’m to be judged wanting because I’ve given my virtue to one man, what difference does it make if I give it to another?” When he didn’t answer, she tried a different tack. “What if I told you I would find another man to help me if you won’t?”
“You won’t.”
“I will,” she lied. “So it might as well be you.”
He laughed, the beastly man. Not unkindly, but as if what she said was so absurd it merited only laughter. She lifted her chin—but not too much, as she didn’t want him to take his hands off her head.
“Who else would you ask?” he asked in a way that clearly communicated he was humoring her.
Who else, indeed. He had her there. That had been the point of her proposal: Archie was uniquely suited for the job.
“See?” he pressed when she did not answer. “That was an empty threat, Clem.”
She could feel the beginning of a retreat as his hands started to reverse their way back toward her temples. No. She was losing control of the situation. She tried to muster another argument, but as those fingers slid over her temples, she considered that perhaps now was not the time for more words.
So she kissed him. Well, she kissed what she could reach, which even on her tiptoes, was only his neck, but pressing her lips against the scratchy whiskers there seemed to have a paralytic effect on him. He stood frozen, his hands still bracketing her head and his body stock-still with the exception of his chest, which rose and fell as his breath grew labored. Encouraged, she applied herself more decidedly to the task, dragging her lips across his Adam’s apple. And, look: his chest was positively heaving now, as surely as that of the heroine of a Gothic novel. She almost wanted to laugh in triumph but found, to her consternation, that her own breath was not coming sufficiently reliable to allow for laughter. How curious that a man standing stock-still could have such an effect on her. He needn’t know it, though. She was enjoying having struck him dumb and rendered him immobile. It was a curious kind of power, one she’d never thought to want but also, now that she had it, was loath to surrender.
“See, Arch?” she whispered, moving her lips against his skin as she spoke. Her lips were chapped from too much time out of doors today, and his evening whiskers abraded them in a way that was slightly painful yet altogether agreeable. Two sensations that shouldn’t have coexisted. “What’s a little more ruination?”
He came to life then, reanimated, a butterfly freed from a net. His arms banded around her, and though Clementine had never liked being confined, she found this particular brand of imprisonment rather thrilling. He pulled her to him and leaned over to speak into her ear. She almost didn’t recognize his voice as he rasped, “Do this because you want to, not because you’re already ruined. You’re not ruined now, and you’re not going to be ruined afterward if we decide to do this.”
She had to concentrate on what he was saying, to not lose herself in a curious warm sensation that seemed to be spreading inside her body. “Because you won’t tell anyone.”
He sighed, and his hands came to her shoulders. He took a large step back so he was holding her at arm’s length. He looked her right in the eyes and said, “Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone, but no, that’s not why. You wouldn’t be ruined because you wouldn’t be ruined. I reject the premise.”
The warmth continued to spread even as she shook her head at him. “You reject the premise. I adore you for saying that, forbelievingthat, but you, my dear Arch, are but one man. You are not the world.”
She wanted him to be, though. She wanted everyone to think like him, or, failing that, she wantedherworld to shrink such that he was the only person in it. How could she make that happen?
Perhaps the trick was merely to agree with him? It was worth a try. “All right. I’m not ruined now, and I’m not ruined afterward. I still want to lie with you.”
He was kissing her then, and she could see where she’d gone wrong. She was going to be ruined, but not in the usual sense of the word. She was going to be ruined for any other man—not that she was planning on having any other man. But she could see where she’d gone wrong with Theo, with the idea of settling. Archie, gentle Archie, kissed her as if the world were ending. His lips were strong yet soft. Another pair of words that should mean the opposite of each other yet somehow, with Archie, did not. He was intent on his task, intent onher, and as his mouth moved over hers, and his fingers dug into her scalp anew, heat marshaled between her legs. Different from the slow, spreading warmth of before, it was a sharp, disconcerting sensation that would have alarmed her had she been kissing anyone else. With Archie, she could let it happen, she could follow the unfamiliar like a newly discovered stream that led to parts unknown, and know that she would not lose her way.
