Page 46 of Engaging Sir Isaac

Millie’s cheeks filled with heat. She stared up into his warm brown eyes, which had turned darker in his approach. They glowed like embers, causing a slow, simmering warmth to grow in her chest and creep upward to color her cheeks.

His gaze lowered, perhaps to her lips, then up to her eyes again. It was a challenge. He meant to call her bluff. That was all it could be. He did not think she knew the first thing about kisses.

And she did not. But Millie would not let him know that truth.

“Of course, Sir Isaac. Come and claim it.” She could call his bluff as well as he called hers. The man was too honorable. He would never kiss her. And she positively would not think upon how much that thought disappointed her.

Millie pulled in a sharp breath the moment Sir Isaac’s hand brushed her waist. But he did not settle his fingers just above her hip, as she might have expected. No, he meant to make a point of the farce, it would seem. His hand slid from the curve of her waist around to the small of her back, his palm flat against her gown. He drew her closer with no more than a gentle press, and the heat from his hand melted through her dress.

Her hands raised of their own accord and she placed them flat against his chest, her lungs constricting and her throat closing. She ought to push him away. Back out of the dare. But he already bent down, his head tilted just so. His thumb rubbed the back of her gown where her sash tied, and the emotions trapped inside of her swirled riotously.

She was not afraid. He moved slowly enough that she might withdraw. Might stop him.

Millie had no wish to end a moment she instinctively knew she would revisit in her dreams.

His lips brushed hers in the gentlest of caresses, and her eyes fluttered closed at the moment of connection. She returned the kiss, her lips pressing against his, and one of her hands slid up to the back of his neck. His arm tightened at her waist as his kiss deepened, causing every inch of her to feel as though she stood beside a roaring fire rather than pressed against a man of flesh and bone.

The kiss ended. He pulled back, and she followed him, standing on her toes to prolong the connection. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and she did not want it to stop. She wanted more. Needed more.

The man chuckled, and her eyes flew open, meeting his, seeing those lips that had kissed her so thoroughly turn upward in a smirk.

“There now, Miss Wedgewood.” His voice was the low growl of a wolf, causing a shiver half fearful and half delightful to run down her spine.

She was nothing more than a helpless little fox. A foolish creature who thought herself clever and crafty.

His voice was low and rough. “We have both proven ourselves capable of exchanging a kiss which means absolutely nothing to either of us.”

If only he were right.

The sob she had held at bay emerged, a quiet, pathetic sound. Millie walked away from him, along the western wall of the church, away from the path that would return her to the road and the sight of others. She wanted nothing more than to hide, to go to ground and escape.

She heard Isaac following behind her, his boots crunching along on the old gravely walk that might’ve once been a fine stone path around the whole of the church.

“Miss Wedgewood, come back. Please, stop.” She heard his protests but ignored them. At least until he caught up to her, which was likely quite easily done considering how much longer his stride was than hers. “Millie, I am sorry.” His hand brushed her arm, not taking hold, but it was enough of a touch to make her halt in her directionless flight.

“I apologize a thousand times over.” Though he spoke earnestly, she did not look up at him. The tips of his boots came into sight as he stood before her. “Anyone who knows me will tell you that I often rush into things without thought. I do not measure my words before I speak them. This was a terrible example of both faults. Please, will you forgive me?”

Millie took the reticule from her wrist and pulled at the strings, attempting to free them enough to find her handkerchief. “There is nothing to forgive. You taught me a lesson.”

She nearly jumped in surprise when he lowered himself to one knee before her, removing his hat as he did. The man looked as though he paid supplication to the Queen.

She sniffed and finally took hold of her handkerchief. She pressed the linen square to her face and glared at him over its edge. “What are you doing now?”

His grin appeared, crooked and contrite. “Begging you for forgiveness, Miss Wedgewood. Humbling myself before you. Please. Forgive my thoughtless words, my foolish actions. I was in a temper when I saw Weston with you. He is a cad. An unscrupulous womanizer. But I behaved as though he and I were cut from the same cloth. It is inexcusable.” His shoulders fell, as did the smile from his face. Though he started his speech with dramatics, it ended with sincerity.

Her heart softened. “I goaded you, sir.”

“I ought to have behaved better anyway, miss.”

“I will forgive you.” She let herself relax, ready to admit fault as well as defeat. “Thank you. You really did rescue me.”

Sir Isaac had the grace not to gloat, nor even appear pleased at her admission. He stood again and replaced his hat, then brushed off the knee that had hit the dirt. “I am sorry it was necessary. Millie, please be more careful.”

He spoke her Christian name with the gentle familiarity she needed.

It was such an exquisite kiss, to have it mean nothing—

How awful.