Page 7 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

For once, they barely spoke, both caught in the magical isolation of the moment, where the meeting of eyes seemed to speak far more clearly than words could. Scandalously, she wished that he would pull her closer, would hold her body against his, instead of at the socially approved distance, which kept them bare inches apart. The thought shot even more heat through her, which pooled low in her body in a manner both delightful and shocking.

She was not completely unaware of the matters of the bedchamber – she could not have remained so, once she had begun to hear the gossip about her own birth – but the sensations which coursed through her were new to her, and left her almost breathless.

After what seemed both an impossibly long, and an impossibly short time, the music slowed to its conclusion, and they came to a stop close to the terrace doors. As he released her from his arms, Bea felt the loss of them around her acutely. When she placed her hand upon his arm, he tensed a moment, then, instead of leading her back to Honour as she expected, he inclined his head to the doors beside them.

“Shall we walk on the terrace for a few minutes – it is quite stifling in here?”

A shiver ran through her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and wet her lips with her tongue. His eyes followed the movement.

“I… yes, that would be most pleasant – perhaps the night air is cooler.”

She very much doubted that the night air could cool the heat that he raised within her…

They stepped through the doors, and moved along the terrace to the far end, by unspoken consent taking themselves as far from the other couple present on the terrace as possible. The air was fresher outside, it was true, but Bea was no cooler – if anything, she felt that she was burning up, the heat spreading from where her hand rested on his arm.

They stopped in the near darkness, past the point where the light coming through the doors reached, and she quivered as he turned to face her. His eyes caught hers, and again, she was lost, entangled in all that his gaze seemed to say. Her lips fell half open on a tiny exhalation of air. Words seemed completely unnecessary.

As if in a dream, she watched his hand lift until it cupped her cheek. The touch burned, and she felt molten inside. Slowly, inevitably, he lowered his head, until his lips brushed hers. It was the lightest of touches, yet more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. He drew back a moment, and she swayed towards him, not wishing the kiss to end. Something flickered in those eyes, and he met her movement, his lips firmer upon hers this time, his tongue slipping out to trace the curve of her lip. She sighed, and somehow, the distance between them disappeared – as she had scandalously thought about when dancing, now her body was pressed against his.

Minutes passed, as nothing moved but their lips against each other’s, and eventually they drew apart. It was a parting she regretted the instant that it occurred. He swallowed, and a tiny shudder ran through him. He looked completely uncertain.

“Miss Wormsley… I must apologise… I…”

“Whatever makes you think that requires an apology?”

Her voice sounded sharp, she knew it – but his words had shocked her. Did he regret the kiss in some way? For she most certainly did not – it had been utterly wonderful. For it meant that there was hope – even though her return to the country for summer was only a few weeks away this, at least, was a sign. Or was he simply playing with her? Did it mean nothing to him? At that thought, all of the delicious heat left her, and she shivered.

“I should not have… taken liberties in such a manner.”

She turned her head away, suddenly unable to bear looking into his eyes. Confusion filled her.

“Does my opinion of the matter have no importance? For, I hope that you noticed that I made no complaint or resistance.”

“That is not the point – I should not have done such a thing. A young lady cannot know… does not have the experience to… it is beyond inappropriate for me to do such a thing.”

Bea snapped back towards him, incredulous. This, from the man who was willing to allow her intelligence in all other ways, who conversed with her about subjects which women were commonly held incapable of understanding! Yet on this one matter, he did not credit that she might know her own mind, that she might understand enough to make a choice about whether she allowed the kiss or not. Disappointment surged through her, so strongly that she felt on the edge of tears. Her hope had been foolish after all, it seemed.

“If my opinion is of no account on this matter, then I see no reason to stay here. Good evening, Lord Challoner.”

She spun, and walked away. But she felt his eyes upon her, every step that she took, until the terrace door closed behind her.

~~~~~

Nash watched her go. Rejection felt no better now than it had eight years ago. He was a fool. He had known from the start that Miss Wormsley had the chance of a far better match than he, yet he had allowed foolish hope to cloud his view of things.

He had done the right thing in apologising – no matter what she had said, surely a girl like her was so much an innocent that she could not understand the risks, the reasons why such a kiss was beyond inappropriate. Yet her words still hurt – for, in truth, her opinion on any and all matters did mean a great deal to him.

Still, perhaps it was for the best. After all, eventually Travers was likely to marry, and then the Viscount title would pass to his son and heir, leaving Nash simply Lord Ignatius Harringdon, and nothing more. She deserved far better than that.

He had been a fool to let his desire overcome him for those few minutes – he knew the price and risks of passion, after all. But no matter how foolish it had been, there was a part of him which could not, entirely, regret it – for it had affected him as no other kiss in his life had.