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Placing her palm against his cheek, Vanessa bent her rosebud of a mouth into a tender smile.

God, how he wanted to turn his face and press his lips into her soft hand. To run the tip of his tongue over the creases and taste her.

“Lest you forget, I kissed you too, Kingston. I wanted to from that first night I saw you at Fortuna.”

Had she felt that spark ignite between them too?

Vanessa rolled her shoulders, and Kingston released her.

“Now that our curiosity has been satisfied,” she said, “we can move forward with our original plan.”

She sounded less than enthusiastic despite her composed proclamation.

Curiosity?

It was a bloody sight more than curiosity.

She pressed the latch, and as she stepped through the door frame, she said, “We both expect this union will be annulled, but it’s a relief to know that if, God forbid, it cannot be, we would get on well together. We like and respect each other, and our kiss merely proves we are—um—compatible in other ways, too.”

What a tame, wholly insufficient way to describe the conflagration that had erupted between them from that all-too-brief kiss. Vanessa had absolutely no idea how close she’d come to becoming his wife, in truth, a few minutes ago.

Kingston’s heated blood still hummed with the want of her. To discover if she smelled of jasmine and verbena everywhere. The soft cleft of her elbow or behind her knees. The dimples of her lithe lower back. The ivory and rose of her breasts.

“Six months, Vanessa. Only half a year with no additional attachments or complications.”

Kingston deliberately kept any inflection out of his tone. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement as long as they adhered to the predetermined parameters.

That’s horse shite, and you know it, Kingston Armond Joshua Kennedy Barclay.

It was true.

It had stopped being purely a business arrangement the instant Vanessa had floated into the drawing room on their wedding day. Even before that, if he were candid with himself. He’d wanted to marry her and claim Vanessa Becket as his own for now and always.

“Contracts are often amended,” she ventured huskily, her guileless cognac gaze boring into his.

Not theirs.

Kingston couldn’t take that chance, for he knew beyond a doubt that he’d take her to his bed and worship her body with his, perhaps even claim her heart, as his was well onto belonging to her.

The secret of what happened to Gabriel would forever be between them. He’d despise himself for not telling her the godawful truth. The dread, the genuine fear she’d leave and take any children they’d created together with her, would always stalk him like a dark phantom.

“I regret that’s not possible. We’ll adhere to what we agreed to, Vanessa. I shall concede to permit my family to reside at Helmstead Gate, but I’ll sleep here.”

Disappointment dulled the sparkle in her eyes, and he wavered, wanting to see that brilliant smile that warmed and soothed his soul.

“I shall also break my fast and sup with you,” he conceded, needing to be near her despite his misgivings.

And there was that winsome smile. Swift and freely given, and his heart took to wing.

Stupid thing.

“But that is all I can compromise. We go our separate ways.” He fisted his hands to keep from drawing her to him and pressing her head against his heart. “Trust me, Vanessa, when I tell you, it is for the best.”

“You presume to know what is best for me?” A hint of pink touched her cheeks, but her smile remained in place, though sadness seeped into her eyes, turning them a deep umber. She gave a small shake of her head, and a curl that had escaped its confines fluttered by her ear.

“I’ll see you below, Kingston. Never fear that I intend to renege on our temporary arrangement.”

Jesus, how he loathed those last two words.

Unable to move, Kingston stood there, appreciating the gentle sway of her generous hips as she glided away, wishing she could be his for all time. And knowing he didn’t deserve her. Could never have her.

Not after causing Gabriel’s death.

Madeline stepped into the hallway, and arms crossed, glared at him, suspicion narrowing her blue eyes. “What, exactly, is going on, Kingston? Is Vanessa your wife or not?”