“Army postings?”
She nodded. “A barracks is, in my humble opinion, the most depressing place to live if you are not a soldier. There is nothing to do but read and the reading available is deathly dull. There is only so much military strategy a compact girl can read about before she wants to burn it all.”
Harry wanted to step forward and trace her ironic smile with his fingertip. Instead, he folded his arms in case he gave in to the urge. “I did wonder how you were so well informed about Sun Tzu.” Just as he now wondered how much shouting and insults she had endured in those barracks—and by who.
“But, spared the dratted prison of the barracks, I am sure none of those places are truly as bad as I remember them.” As if she sensed he was about to ask that deeply personal question, she pivoted the conversation back to him. “And perhaps Plymouth won’t be as awful as you remember it once you see it again from an adult’s perspective. Then maybe you will also find your smile again.”
“And if I don’t?” Because that was what was at the crux of it all.
“Then I suppose you will need to do some serious thinking, Captain, to work out exactly what it is you want before the navy sends you somewhere else that you do not want to go.” There was no arguing with that simple but concise logic. “What do you think you want?” She folded her arms, too, and leaned against the wall of the dim, narrow landing, awaiting his reply.
He shrugged again as if he had no clue, which was only partially true because there was one thing he knew he wanted—even if it was the one thing he shouldn’t. “I know what I am supposed to want—this promotion. More promotions.” He spread his arms. “All the promotions it takes until I reach the top of the mast. That is what I was trained for.”
“And what do you find yourself wanting instead?”
He wasn’t sure if it was the question, or their location, or the fact that they were all alone.
If it was tiredness or despair or the constant yearning which he couldn’t conquer.
He wasn’t sure if it was the honesty, or her concern, or her smile,or the fact that she had only just left his arms and they missed her. Or the way the lamplight set fire to the copper in her hair, or the way her smile was like a balm to his soul.
He knew without a doubt that it was madness.
The most assured path to his own self-destruction. That he should say good night and put as much distance between them as was possible for the short time she would be in Plymouth with him. However, the masochistic devil inside of him had apparently taken control of his mouth, so he answered her question in the only way he could in this intimate and charged moment.
With the truth.
“You.”
Georgie knew that the captain was going to kiss her well before he did, because he didn’t pounce or grab or even gather her close first. Instead, he slowly dipped his head, then paused scant inches from her face to give her ample opportunity to say no.
In truth, and she did not know why she knew it, his eyes were begging her to do so as he hesitated. Then hesitated some more. Their faces so close that she knew he was holding his breath just as she was holding hers.
She also knew that he would respect that no if she found the strength to utter it. Would immediately step back and apologize and then would probably never ever try to kiss her again. Which, in that precise moment, felt like a tragedy. Especially when the air crackled around them and being kissed by him, right this second, seemed like the only thing she wanted to do.
So instead of shaking her head, she tilted it upward. Instead of running away and then locking her bedchamber door, as any sensible governess would do when their employer wanted more from her than the job she was paid to do, Georgie stood on tiptoes to close the distance. Then, so eager to experience her first kiss with a man she was beyond eager to be kissing, sighed when she pressed her mouth to his.
What followed was a revelation. One that absolutely made all of Lottie’s claims about the right sort of kiss correct.
Captain Kincaid’s started gentle, but she still felt it everywhere. His lips whispered over hers as if she were something decadent and luxurious he was in no hurry to rush. When he finally touched her, that was reverently too. He used the tips of his fingers to trace her cheek, which awakened all her senses and every single nerve ending.
He smelled like the fresh, crisp, earthy night air of the woods.
Tasted like home.
Like fate.
Like sin.
Perfection.
Ready for more, Georgie stepped closer, tugging him by the lapels in an invitation to continue, but for a moment, he hesitated again. Then, on a surrendering sigh, snaked his arms around her waist as he deepened the kiss while she welcomed every new sensation. Her entire body simultaneously floating and so ripe with wanting that it felt like the most natural thing in the world to let it.
When her hands begged to go exploring, she took them on a bold journey beneath his coat. Over his chest. His shoulders. Down the wide and solid plain of his back. When his went exploring in return, she heard her own moans of appreciation, barely recognizing herself as she welcomed his caresses.
Because she had never been like this.
Never imagined she could be. Not when Miss Georgina Rowewas the sensible but uninspiring sort. The unsentimental, unromantic, not-easily-impressed sort. The sort who had long resigned herself to the life of passionless servitude and spinsterhood she had been trained for and wanted to be grateful for. Yet here she was, transformed into a passionate woman who craved seduction.
