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Then he reached out and took her hand, pulling her across the way, depositing her alongside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Now about that kiss.” His lazy half smile did strange things to her insides.
She hesitated, her insides roiling. She’d only been kissed once before and that was from a young man who cornered her behind a tree at the church social when she was a mere sixteen years. It had been fast, wet, and sloppy.
Her experience at the brothel had not included kisses, but the rest of it had been dirty, smelly, and painful. But if she were to regain her life, and possibly one day feel strong enough to consider a husband and family, she would have to start somewhere. Marcus Mallory was a gentleman. He would never hurt her or force himself on her. She just knew that.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and slowly nodded. Her heart pounded, but this time not so much from fear of being caught by Mrs. O’Leary in her storage room, but from curiosity. Would she hate having Marcus’s mouth on hers? Would a kiss remind her of the two worst nights of her life?
She felt his movement as he closed the distance between them, the scent of his body soap reaching her nose before he cupped her cheeks in his large hands and lowered his head to cover her mouth with his.
Her first reaction was to push him away, but she gave herself a few seconds and didn’t move, waiting for the panic to overcome her. It did not. His lips were warm and soft. She leaned in farther, closing the distance he’d left between their bodies That seemed to spur him on as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her softness flush against his
hardness.
Visions of the horrid man in the brothel climbing over her flashed before her eyes. “No!” She shoved his chest and scurried to the other side of the carriage, her breaths coming in short spurts. “That’s enough. You’ve had your kiss.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead with a shaky hand.
He studied her for a moment. “It is all right, Lizbeth. I will stay right here. I won’t force you.”
She nodded and twisted her hands in her lap. “I know that.”
She had to admit before that nasty picture flashed in her mind, she had felt safe in Marcus’s arms. He tasted like mint, and that combined with the familiar scent that was Marcus added to her sense of security.
He stayed in his seat, but leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “I love kissing you, and one day when you’re ready I hope we can try again.”
She drew back and shook her head. “Why? From what I’ve been told you can kiss, and do much more, with any woman you want.”
Marcus chuckled. “Not any woman I want.” He waved at her. “You are one example, but I am attracted to you, and I care for you. I can’t help it, it’s just there. You are the only woman I want to kiss, and maybe one day when you are ready, make love to.”
“No. I don’t think so.” She huddled in the corner, wrapping protective arms around herself. “I will never be ready for that.” Tears flooded her eyes and she swallowed a few times. “But I want to. I know that sounds contradictory, but I’ve always wanted love. A husband. A home. Children. But…”
Not easily dissuaded, he smiled. “I am a patient man, Lizbeth. I’m not going anywhere. And as I said, when you’re ready.”
She looked out the window at the darkness. Like the darkness that resided in her soul. Would she ever be ready? Was she to remain unmarried and unloved for the rest of her life? No loving husband, or snug little house like the one she was raised in? No children? The horrible people who had kidnapped her would then win. Would she allow that?
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked into his quiet and steady eyes. “Will you…help me?”
11
Two days after Lizbeth and Marcus retrieved her belongings from Mrs. O’Leary’s house, Lizbeth started on the first painting since she’d been kidnapped. When she’d been a tenant at the boarding house, Mrs. O’Leary had allowed her time to paint during the day, after her work for the day was finished, but that piece, along with all her other artwork, had not been in the storage room, so it was time to start something new.
She’d been thrilled to see her art supplies were among her belongings in the box they’d brought back, though. Adding those to the few she was able to buy with her earnings from the bookstore gave her enough for a new start.
Addie had graciously moved Lizbeth’s bedchamber to another one where the light was much better. She set up her easel and began to assemble her paints when there was a light knock on her door.
She rose from the floor where she’d been sorting things out and opened the door. At first, she thought she’d imagined the sound because no one was there. Then a little boy appeared, who had apparently been standing away from the door.
Michael, - Addie’s stepson had the cutest little face, perpetually smiling. She’d seen him about, but never really spent time with him. Since he was deaf, there really was no way for her to communicate with him, but she decided there were some movements that he would understand.
She bent down and smiled at him. He smiled back. She stood and waved toward the room. “Would you like to come in?”
He nodded and followed her into the room. He looked around, then walked over to her easel and paint supplies. He turned back and smiled again, then pointed to his chest.
“Do you paint?” She twirled her hand around as if painting.
Again, he must have understood her because he nodded. He turned back to the easel she had set up and ran his little fingers over the canvas.
All of a sudden, Lizbeth had a vision of her younger brother, Eli doing the same exact thing when he was about Michael’s age. She’d been starting a new painting and Eli loved to watch her paint.
A total surprise to her parents when they’d learned Eli was on the way, the boy had been fifteen years younger than her.
