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“It never stops, you see. It’s all the time, every moment. I’m a hopeless wretch for love of you. I hear you laugh, my breath is stolen. I see you dance, I’m struck still. When you challenge me, I am weak to my bones. You place a flower in your hair, and the whole world blossoms. You lick icing from your fingertips, and I yearn to taste the sweetness on your lips. Can you imagine?” He jabbed a finger in his chest. “Me.Yearning.”
“It does seem unlike you.”
“And if it’s material evidence you desire, look no further.” He swept his hands down the unbuttoned horror of a waistcoat and flicked a tassel with his fingernail. “I worethis.On mybody.Inpublic.”
Chloe swallowed hard. She had to admit, that was rather convincing.
“The worst part about this waistcoat? Now that I know you made it with your own hands, I won’t even be able to burn the thing. I’ll have to keep it in my wardrobe. And when I’m very,verydrunk, I might even put it on. I love you. There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ve tried.”
“Tried?”Well, this should be interesting. “What, precisely, have you tried?”
“Whathaven’tI tried. Believe me, I made several valiant attempts at a cure. I put a great deal of effort into the endeavor, and I’m not lacking for resources or strength of will. If there were a remedy sandwiched between pages of a boring ledger, or stuck to the bottom of a brandy decanter, or loitering about a fencing academy, or buried in a fox’s den on the grounds of my estate, I assure you—I would have found it. But I found nothing. Actually, I found worse than nothing.”
“What’s worse than finding nothing?”
“Findingeverything.I don’t know how people survive this love business. The world is alive to a painful, bewildering degree. I’m nothing but a raw, throbbing nerve. My heart lives outside my body, where it’s more likely to be bruised than delighted. It is torment, and yet”—he exhaled, resigned—“a lifetime of torment wouldn’t be enough. I love you without reserve or limit.”
Lord above.
“I’m now aware, of course, that I have misunderstood you at every step of our acquaintance, and that my feelings are not and have never been returned.” He looked toward the carriage house. “Can’t imagine what’s taking my coach so damned long.”
They stood in awkward silence.
“I have an idea,” she announced. “You should kiss me.”
He stared at her. “That may beanidea. But it is not agoodidea.”
“For once, hear me out before you start correcting me. When I was fourteen years old, I spent the summer with my older sister Eliza and her husband. They have an estate in Hampshire. Their land steward’s son was home from school. He was almost sixteen and quite handsome despite his pockmarks. I spent the summer drowning in infatuation. I didn’t want to marry the boy, but I hoped for some pining on his part, a good case of heartache on my end, and perhaps a few romantic letters from Harrow.”
She was babbling, but it couldn’t be helped. “Most of all, I wanted a kiss. Myfirstkiss. The summer went on and on... Nothing. Finally, the day before he was to leave, I cornered him in the gardener’s shed. I pinched my cheeks to make them pink, batted my eyelashes like butterfly wings, and all but drew an archery target on my mouth. At last, he either caught the hint or simply gave in. And the kiss wasdreadful.It felt like a salamander had wriggled into my mouth and had an apoplectic fit.” She shook off the unpleasant memory. “Suddenly, I was cured. I wanted none of it. No lovelorn suitor, no romantic letters from Harrow, no heartache. So I was thinking... perhaps ifwekissed, it would be similarly disappointing.”
Lord Cheverell was silent for a long time. Chloe fidgeted, tapping the bewildering ring against her palm.
“Forgive me,” he finally said. “I am uncertain how to receive this. Are you suggesting that if I were to kiss you, the experience would be similar to that of kissing a pockmarked, salamander-tongued fifteen-year-old schoolboy in the gardener’s shed?”
“No,” she leapt to say. “No, not at all.”
“But you believe it would be disappointing.”
“Foryou. Youwould be the one disappointed. I have had so few kisses, and none of them good. It’s bound to be mediocre at best. I scarcely know what I’m doing.”
His gaze was intense. “I know whatI’mdoing.”
“Oh.”
“And if I were to kiss you, Chloe, it would not be disappointing. If I kissed you, it would become my life’s purpose, my sole reason for existing, to make that kiss so deeply, lushly, passionately soul-stirring that from this night forward, for the remainder of your days, any other kiss from any other man would turn to ash on your lips.” He leaned close. His voice was thrilling and dark. “It’s not. A good. Idea.”
This encounter had left Chloe wholly unmoored, but she knew one thing for certain. Good idea or not, he was going to kiss her. He knew it. She knew it. It was destined to happen.
But apparently not quite yet. The wait drew out to an eternity. She didn’t mind waiting for other things. Christmas was all about anticipation, after all. But this? It was sweet, aching torture. She couldn’t bear it for another heartbeat.
So she grasped him by the tassels of that hideous waistcoat. And with a jingle of bells, tugged him close. “Lord Cheverell, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk and no kiss.”
His mouth quirked in a knowing half-smile. For once, he didn’t seem to mind her teasing. And for once, she didn’t mind being corrected.
His hands took her by the waist. His head lowered until their breathing mingled. His lips found hers, after months of searching.
And Christmas came two hours early.
