She had preferred thinking him arrogant and aloof. If he were not…
Well, then, she’d set out, that first night, to hurt someone already in pain. And she’d done so primarily because she’d been hurting, too. Hurt people hurt people.
“Cassandra has warned me that some secrets are better left untouched.”
“And have you heeded her warning?”
She smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid my nature will not allow me to do so. You may shut your mind to any truth, but what you do not know can still hurt you.”
“Wise of you.”
She didn’t feel wise. In fact, as they made their way into the next room, she was feeling increasingly reckless.
When they stopped by a particularly large sculpture in the shadow of Diana, the huntress, and she caught him gazing, not at the sculpture, but at her, her wild rashness only increased.
“Several times of late,” he said slowly, “I’ve concluded we share a similar nature.”
“I was just thinking something similar,” she replied.
Perhaps that recognition was why he’d sparked such an intense feeling inside of her from the very first time she’d seen him. An intense feeling she’d misread as hatred.
She took a step closer to him, so that they were both concealed in shadow. The air around them grew oppressively heavy.
His jaw flexed. “I would like to kiss you.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. “I-I think I want to be kissed.”
“By me?” His mouth quirked. “Or just in general?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
She brought her hands behind his neck, lifted herself to her toes, and then pressed her lips against his own.
Kissing Miss Wainwright—Eliza—hadnot been a part of any plan.
Then again, although Adrian had suggested the kiss, Eliza had been the one to step forward. The one to take him into her arms.
Just as the Blackbird had grabbed him by the shirt.
He roundly castigated himself for yet another comparison.
He’d been struck by the Blackbird’s fearless, passionate curiosity, drawn to her in a moment of artless surrender. But Eliza was now in his arms, and Eliza was, beyond the shadow of adoubt, a lady. A lady not out to teach him a lesson, but open and willing. A lady who has seen through his façade and touched his wounded soul.
A lady possessed of strength, kindness, and insight.
He angled his head, placed his hands on her hips and savored the softness of her untrained lips. There could be no similarity between the kisses he’d shared with the Blackbird and this. This was not kiss of passion, but of comfort. Of shared experience. Of care and concern.
And it was the sweetest kiss he’d ever known.
She drew apart, dropping her hands from his shoulders. A small frown appeared between her brows.
She was thinking. He didn’t want her to think.
Hedidn’t want to think.
“I haven’t your gift for prescience. What are you feeling”—he touched his hand to her heart—“here?”
“A flutter. Like that little bird in the tree. I’m excited…but wondering whether it would be best to take immediate flight.”
