Page 55 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“If he did not take liberties, why are you so troubled?”

Louis prayed she wanted him to murder the blackguard, for he’d take the greatest pleasure in doing so.

Evie blushed, and the picture before him was one of such sweetness, such innocence, that he knew damned well why he was being punished. He could never be worthy of her, was not a fit husband for her, but he would have her all the same. She would be his, he swore. Not through force, not with bullying or underhand tactics. He would be patient. He would wait as long as she needed him to wait. But no one and nothing on earth would stop him. No matter how long it took for her to see him, no matter what he needed to do, she would be his wife, for he needed her as no one else did. He needed her generosity, her kindness, her endless patience, her love, for he hungered for that as much as he did her voluptuous curves. He had spent too much time of late imagining losing himself in her softness, exploring her splendidly lush body and resting his head upon her magnificent breasts. He wanted her to be his with a single-minded determination he’d felt for nothing before in his life. So he would not mess this up.

“I’m not troubled, exactly,” she explained, though she sounded mortified. “Only it was so… disappointing.”

Louis let out a breath. Merci. Merci. Grâce à Dieu. Gathering his wits, Louis forced himself to speak.

“In what way was it disappointing?”

Evie frowned, staring at the ground. “Well, everyone makes such a fuss, don’t they, about kissing, I mean? Many of my friends have told me about the first time they kissed their husbands and—” She gave a despondent sigh. “Your first kiss is supposed to be memorable but… but it was just rather wet and sloppy and… and I didn’t much care for it.”

Louis’ heart ached, and he consigned the bumbling young man to the devil. He’d known he would not be her first kiss, known he must let her have her freedom, though the thought had plagued him to death, but that some thoughtless prick had just snatched it from her with no regard, no realisation of the preciousness of what he stole made him wild with fury. His fists clenched.

“Je vais tuer le fou!”

“There’s no need to kill him,” she said, smiling at him and laying a reassuring hand on his arm. “Though I appreciate the sentiment. He was quite sweet, only…. Oh, I don’t know, Louis. I just felt nothing at all. Was it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“Non!” he retorted, struggling to regain his composure before he did or said something he ought not. “No, you did nothing wrong. You felt nothing because this man means nothing to you. He is just a thoughtless boy who does not know how to go about such things. This is the trouble with very young men. They know nothing but act like they know everything and—”

“Louis,” Evie said, interrupting him, her voice gentle. “It’s all right. I’m not upset, I was just rather underwhelmed, that’s all. Was your first kiss like that too, then? Or was it special?”

She could have said nothing better calculated to cut through his mounting fury and unbalance him. The memory swept over him like a toxic cloud, revulsion swirling in his gut like acid.

“Louis?” she said again, concern in her voice now.

Louis shook his head. “First kisses are seldom what one would hope for,” he said, pushing the past back into the locked box where he kept it. He had long since learned to compartmentalise things he did not wish to think of, and he had buried deep those days of wretchedness, banishing them to a place so dark they need trouble him no more. He let out a breath and drank in the sight of the woman in front of him, letting her nearness calm him. His Evie. The pain of the past eased away, replaced with a longing to claim the peace she brought him for always.

“What is it, Louis?” she asked, reaching out and taking his hand. The worry in her expression made his throat tight. “You’re awfully pale. What did I say? Do you want to tell me?”

Louis shook his head and managed something that resembled a self-deprecating laugh. Merde, he would never want to burden her with his past. She was too tender-hearted, and the knowledge could only distress her. “Non. It is only the strain of being up at such a lamentable hour of the morning.”

Evie smiled at him but did not look entirely reassured, and Louis cursed himself. He stared down at their linked fingers and returned to the topic they should discuss, easing her concern over that ridiculous kiss.

“This business of first kisses is nothing to fret over,” he said, reaching out and allowing himself the delicious torment of touching the back of his hand to her cheek. Her skin was like warm silk, and he savoured the knowledge, imprinting the moment upon his mind to be remembered over and over again when he was alone. “He was just a foolish boy, snatching an opportunity. Your reaction was inevitable. If you were kissed properly, you would not dislike it, I promise.”

“If you say so,” she said with a sigh.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

Louis knew he ought not to have said it, but he was damned if he’d take the words back. He was putting temptation in his way and threatening everything, but… but how could he not? She was so close. Her scent had invaded his mind and made him reckless. Sweet chamomile. Was that the soap she used? It was delicate and unpretentious, unlike the sophisticated perfumes he had become so heartily sick of.

“Prove it to me?” she repeated, frowning. “How?”

“I could kiss you,” he said, fighting to keep his voice nonchalant. “Just to show you the difference between an ignorant boy and a man who knows what he’s doing.”

Her eyes widened.

Louis thought perhaps his heart stopped beating. He certainly held his breath. If she rejected him out of turn, or found the idea repulsive, he would die of misery.

“All right, then.”

Marie, mère de Dieu. Merci. Mille mercis.

His heart leapt, and he stared at her for a long moment, hardly daring to believe he’d heard her correctly. Her cheeks were pink, but she stared at him unblinking, unafraid, trusting him.

Behave. Behave. Behave.