Page 34 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“More times than I can count,” he said. “It was the only way I could have you.”

“I was certain you’d forgotten me.”

“Never.”

“Nor I you,” she whispered.

He felt her arms curve around his neck. Only then did he tighten his hold on her, hauling her up against the broad expanse of his chest. “How I’ve wanted you,” he said huskily. And then he bent his head and took her mouth again.

He had clearly run mad, he thought vaguely. But if he had, then so had she. She was returning his embrace with a full measure of passion. It was nothing like the careful kisses they had shared in the Mainwaring’s garden. No. These kisses were fevered and intimate. The sort of kisses a man might give his mistress as a prelude to a thorough bedding.

Sylvia pulled back, breathless. “Sebastian…”

He gave a low, frustrated growl of acknowledgment. “I know. Much more of this and we won’t be able to stop.”

She slid her hand from his neck to cradle his cheek in the soft, feminine curve of her palm. Sebastian’s eyes closed briefly at the feel of her fingertips scratching through his late evening stubble. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He made a choked sound of acquiescence, half laugh and half groan. “My God, yes,” he said. “So much.”

She drew back just enough to look at him. Her blue eyes searched his face. “Do you mean it?”

A flicker of regret stung at Sebastian’s conscience. He had treated her abominably since her arrival at Pershing. It was no wonder that she doubted him now. “I mean it.” He caught her hand and pressed it against his lips. “I am going to take care of you,” he vowed.

And he would, by God. He was going to make it his life’s work to take care of Sylvia Stafford. She would never want for anything again for as long as she lived.

“Take care of me,” she repeated.

“I am going to give you everything. Gowns. Jewels. A carriage and four. Whatever your heart desires.”

She stared up at him, her brows drawn in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You must know I could never accept such things from you.”

“You can,” he assured her. “And much more besides. I intend to spoil you shamelessly.”

She shook her head. “Sebastian…”

His gaze fell to her half-parted lips. She looked as if she were about to say something more. To give voice to another objection, no doubt. He captured her mouth before she could speak, kissing her deeply, almost savagely.

For one endless moment, she yielded herself to the tender onslaught. Her lips softened beneath his, welcoming and sweet. And then she turned her face away from him, her bosom heaving against the hard wall of his chest. “It was not like this before.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth. “No” he said, nuzzling her. There was faint amusement in his voice. “Three years ago I would not have dared be so bold.”

“Because I was a gently bred young lady.”

His mouth stilled on her cheek.

“But now I am only a governess. A manner of superior servant, as you said.”

Sebastian raised his head to look at her. Good God, could she really believe that? Could she really think, even for an instant, that he had kissed her so passionately merely because she was some sort of inferior person? “Sylvia…” He moved to reassure her.

She drew back from him, setting both of her hands on his chest to hold him at a distance. “You did not call me Sylvia then.”

He had a sinking feeling that something had changed. A subtle shift between them that he could not quite identify. “Nor did you call me Sebastian,” he pointed out.

“But I did,” she said. “In all of my letters.”

Devil take it! Those infernal letters again. With a muttered oath, he released her from his embrace. She immediately withdrew to the opposite end of the settee. Her dressing gown was rumpled and her hair spilled all about her in a glorious chestnut tangle. She looked thoroughly tumbled. “I’ve already told you that I did not receive any of your letters.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I wrote them.”