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Francis let out a heavy breath, but the joy he expected to race through him at Miss Narayan’s confession of affection didn’t materialize. Instead, he was even more confused.
Words weren’t enough to express the emotions that stormed through him. The only thing he could think to do was to grasp the sides of Miss Narayan’s face and lean in to kiss her. He’d kissed her in the carriage, but this kiss had more depth and more feeling to it. He claimed her mouth with his own, promising her his undying fidelity and all of the strength he had to fight whatever family demons pursued her.
He parted her lips with his own and brushed his tongue against hers. He wanted everything about her—to fill her and be filled, to take her and be taken, and above all to be her champion. His life couldn’t possibly be complete without her in it.
All too soon, though, she groaned as if in pain and pulled away from him.
“We cannot,” she wept, touching the back of her wrist to her kiss-swollen lips and looking at him with mournful adoration. “It is impossible. Please don’t ever talk to me again, Lord Cathraiche. Please.”
With that final plea, she turned and dashed out of the room.
“Miss Narayan,” Francis called after her, following. “Priya!”
He was forced to stop as soon as he reached the hall. There were simply too many people there, and any slip on his part would cause endless social trouble for her. She seemed to think he’d already importuned her in some way. He could not make it worse.
But he could protect her. He was certain of it. Whatever was dogging her, he could find out what it was and save her from it. Protecting Miss Narayan was suddenly far more important to him than securing her dowry or using her nationality to humiliate his family further. She was more important than any games, anything Montrose could throw at them. She meant more to him than his own soul, and whatever it took, he would show her.
