Page 57
Not enough.
Perhaps it was not directly explained, but Ernest could see clearly what she meant. Their affections for each other, nascent yet growing with every passing day, were not enough. Love was not enough.
Love could not mend roofs or pay off debts. It could not fix the plumbing in Frasemere Hall’s laundry, nor hire two extra gardeners to bring some semblance of order to the parkland. Love would not release the mortgage on two of the tenanted farms, nor cover the cost of improvements needed in the dairy. Love would neither recarpet his drawing room nor mend the chandelier in the ballroom.
Money. It was money that had to do all that.
Gwen let out a long, slow sigh. “So there it is. We cannot be together.”
“Because of money,” Ernest said fiercely, stepping forward and closing the gap between them. There was but a mere inch between them now, and if he inhaled deeply, he could feel her breasts pressed up against him.
Which did nothing to give him a clearer mind.
“Because I am engaged to Lord Ravenshurst,” Gwen whispered, staring up into his eyes—and not stepping away.
“And yet,” murmured Ernest, trying desperately not to do precisely what he was certain he was about to do, “I am the one you standing here with. I am the one you dragged into a library for a tête-à-tête. I am the one you are almost kissing right now.”
Gwen’s eyes darkened, just for a moment, and her breathing hitched in her throat. She did not lean forward and press a passionate kiss upon his lips, much to Ernest’s disappointment…but then, she still did not step away, either.
No, they stood there for moment after aching moment, Ernest’s loins stiffening as he breathed her in, as they stood upon a precipice.
Once they launched themselves over it, he knew there would be no going back. One could not unkiss a woman one was falling in love with.
Yet the spark of the temptation was so enticing that Ernest did not do what he knew he must and retreat from her. It was cruel, to both of them, to dazzle each other with the possibility of what could have been, but for the lack of twenty thousand pounds.
And Ernest knew he would always regret not kissing her.
His gaze darted to her lips, her perfect, shell-pink, kissable lips, and when his eyes returned to hers, it was to see Gwen’s cheeks had reddened.
“Don’t you dare,” she exhaled, not moving an inch.
God it was agony, the self-control required to stand here, this close to the woman he cared about more than any other. No woman Ernest had ever met had been like this, had consumed him like this, had overwhelmed every waking hour like this, and he knew if he did not vacate the library soon, then the remnants of his willpower would soon start to waver.
Then goodness knew what he would do to her.
“You need to leave,” Ernest murmured.
“No, you should,” said Gwen quietly, her voice thrumming through his body and making it respond all the more.
The groan of frustration—both emotional and physical—uttered from his throat was hopefully not audible from the card party. Perhaps he wanted it to be. Perhaps he wanted the Marquess of Ravenshurst to storm in here and discover them and call off—
But no. Despite himself, Ernest knew that he would never do anything to betray the promise Gwen had made to the man.
She wanted a home. A family. A place of her own, and he, Ernest, could not offer her that.
Was he truly going to be so petty as to deny her that opportunity merely because it could not be with him?
“Ernest.”
Ernest swallowed hard. “Damn it, woman—”
“Gwen? Are you in here?”
The door to the saloon opened in a blaze of light and Ernest stepped swiftly back to the shelves, hidden in the gloom of the room even as Gwen was illuminated in the center.
“There you are!” came a voice that he did not recognize. “Lord Ravenshurst was hoping you would make up a whist table with him. Lilianna’s threatening to play, and I hoped—”
“Yes—Yes, I shall be there directly, Cousin Zander,” came Gwen’s voice, utterly unshaken and as calm as though she’d woken from a dull dream. “I just wanted a moment.”
