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“That’s a wonderful idea!” she said, sitting forward on the stool. The move brought them closer together, tempting him with the idea of her again.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged, “but it is a difficult one. Each time I come around to trying to do it, the money seems to be needed elsewhere.”
“Well, I hope you get to make it someday. I suppose the more people you tell, the more you will feel compelled to follow through with it.”
“You and one other are the only people I have ever told that to.” The confession made him reel. He sat backwards, seeing the surprise on her own features. It had fallen easily from him.
“Who else have you told?”
“It does not matter.”I cannot say her name. Not now.
He didn’t want to. It felt like she didn’t belong here anymore, and she certainly didn’t belong in this conversation with Lady Hermione. What did belong in this moment was the way Lady Hermione was looking at him.
“How come you decided to tell me?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” He was honest. “It seems I am not afraid to tell you anything. Strange. You have that effect on me.”
Her eyes were darting down to his lips in that same way they had done at the beach. “You should not look at me like that,” she whispered softly.
“Like what?” he asked, aware he was doing the same thing she was.
“Like you’re going to kiss me. You made me a promise, remember?” she said with a small smile.
“That I did.” He sighed with the words. Maybe he’d made a promise, but that didn’t mean any kind of touch was off limits.
His hand reached out toward her, and when she didn’t recoil from it, he moved the hand slightly, reaching for the leg of the stool she sat on. He pulled it toward himself, so that she slid across the floor. She jumped in the seat, leaning slightly back, until he brought her to a stop in front of him.
They were so close that her legs were practically touching his. He could feel the silken skirt of her dress brushing his trouser legs. It was tormenting him, making him yearn to touch her. When he rested his hands either side of her on the seat of the stool, he felt for sure he was pushing the boundaries too much, that she would stand up and walk away, but she didn’t.
Instead, her eyes fluttered closed for a second as though she was waiting for the very kiss that he had promised not to give her. The temptation of her was too much, but determined not to break her trust, he opted to do something else instead.
He angled his head to the side, moving so that he could reach her neck, then he brushed his lips against the side of her neck. “Y-your promise,” she said, stammering with the word.
“I’m keeping to it,” he assured her. “I will not kiss you; I am merely…” he trailed off, just as he let the brush of his lips travel downward, right to the middle of her collarbone. She gasped as she tipped her head back, opening herself to him so that he had more access.
“Teasing me, Your Grace. That is what you are doing,” she whispered. Her words made him smile against her skin.
From this angle, the low neckline of her dress exposed the curve of her breasts. He found himself angling his head further downward, brushing his lips through the valley to the top crease of her breasts. She gasped all the more, her breath coming in pants.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he promised her, brushing his lips over the top curve of a breast that could just be seen over the bodice of her gown. She did not tell him to stop at all. He smiled, thrilled by it.
Things were changing now. His want to stay away from her was vanishing completely. Maybe there was a way to indulge in this special thing he and Lady Hermione had without entering into a marriage? Maybe… it was possible if he didn’t go too far. They both wanted it, clearly. What would be the harm in it?
He trailed his lips back the other way, up to the bottom of her collarbone again, still actually resisting giving her a proper kiss anywhere. She let out a small breathy moan. “Is it possible to die of torment?” she whispered to him, pulling a deep chuckle from him.
“I’m beginning to think so,” he admitted. He lifted his hands up from the seat of the stool to the tops of her arms, then trailed them down her sleeves until her palms were in his. He pulled those hands toward him, tugging her off the stool and rearing back until she was sitting in his lap.
Her eyes were wide with shock, the green even more noticeable. He lifted one of her hands, about to torment her again by trailing his lip up the skin exposed on her lower arm. He was going to begin with the wrist when his eyes caught sight of her skin.
It was purple and blue, even swollen a little, with a nasty bruise. He frowned instantly, feeling pain in his chest at the sight.
“What is this?” he asked.
