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He knew how to kiss. At least he’d thought he had. But this was less a kiss than an unraveling—a once-coiled lunge line attached to a galloping horse.
His heart beat faster, the hand on her hip curled into her clothes. After this, he would be changed, but he did not hesitate. Heat and moisture tantalized his senses as he nudged apart her lips. Then, he plunged inside and let the soft, wetness quench a lifelong thirst.
She was soft and yielding. Light, fast wisps of her breath fanned against his skin. Sweet cherries. Heady port. Neither comparison nearly as succulent.
He couldn’t believe he’d denied himself this pleasure for so long. She whimpered lightly before responding yet again. He resisted his growing hunger, the always insatiable demand for more, else what was wholesome become a ravenous need.
As he withdrew, their lips briefly, involuntarily clung together before a final, reluctant separation.
Her eyes remained closed. She held herself utterly still.
He would have to ask her to go, soon. The alternative, carrying her up those stairs, would hurt her far worse than his anger and his words.
He would not make promises with his body that his mind had not figured out how he was going to keep. But he intended to apply himself diligently to the task in the coming days.
He would find a way for them to be together.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
She lowered her head. He interpreted that as a nod.
“Good.”
He touched his forehead to hers, letting the heat she exuded rise. Again, she rested her face against his chest. He pressed his cheek against her hair. She was warm and pliant, and their closeness comforting, real, and inexorably entwined.
But they weren’t inexorably entwined. Not yet. “Lenora, you have to go back inside.”
“I know.” She pulled back and glanced up, neither hurt nor surprised. “Because you are angry with yourself for having kissed me, right?”
“No!” His arms briefly tightened. “Because going any further wouldn’t be right.” Certainly not until the Lord Chancellor gave his permission. “I am not angry at myself. Or you. I am just spent. This isn’t...”
“I understand.” She saved him from having to answer. “Thank you, Asquith.”
Simon, he answered softly in his mind. The boy you’ve been looking for is Simon.
She released him, adjusted her dress and then went around him to say goodbye to Mont. He stood, staring at the ladder to Barker’s rooms, willing his knees to hold firm.
***
Step by intentional step, Lenora proceeded through the kitchen entrance of Asquith House. She climbed the servants’ stair, something the housekeeper had asked her not to do, but she had to avoid attracting Lady Asquith’s attention.
She couldn’t face anyone now.
You cannot pry into my mind against my will. I resent every one of your unwanted attempts!
With those words, spoken in a threatening tone, he’d shattered something inside her. And yet she’d still felt responsible for healing his hurt.
She’d told him to embrace contrition and not to wallow. She’d listed the ways she knew he was good. But even as she’d done both those things, she’d felt as if she were calling back something she’d irrevocably lost.
On the surface, she believed what she’d told him. But he’d ignited fear that repeatedly burned within her mind—I thought he was going to hit me.
She’d thought Asquith—decent, kind, wonderful—was going to strike her as her father so often had. Whether she’d been right or not, he’d lost his temper. And in her experience, the former always followed the latter.
Her breath scorched her lungs. And now her lips were aflame, too.
From the moment his raised voice had made her flinch to his odd question about the Exchange, she’d been outside of herself, cowering.
But then he’d drawn her into an embrace even her trembling soul needed. But she’d kept her hands on his chest, just in case she needed to push him away.
