Like I said, I needed her to fall as hard for me as I had her before she found out my true lineage… or rather the version of events my mother told me. Little did I know that the truth I knew and the truth Anthony knew were two totally different things.
Just as I felt faint and feared my knees would buckle from under me, Rebecca smiled at me. Her red lips seductively pulled me in and I relaxed a bit. I could see nothing but her face, her beautiful porcelain face, smooth skin, lovely lips, eyes so full of life and wonder. When she looked at me, I don't… no woman had ever looked at me that way, like I was important, like I was special and — I don't know.
Her expression warmed my heart much more than the fire had warmed my hands when I walked into the hallway. I knew in that moment if I could just keep her with me, see that smile every day for the rest of time, I could live this life and I could live it fully.
You scoff because you say I didn't know her. I counter with the question of how many of the gentry know their betrothed before marriage? A friendly smile. A warmth toward me. What more could I want in a wife?
"Mr. Dodsworth." She curtsied toward me and my mouth went dry when, from the top of her dress, I could see the wonderfully seductive line formed by her breasts. I'm not a scoundrel, though I know others disagree on that point and I had not meant to look. But… they were there. And I wanted nothing more than to run my hand down it, over her dress, over her body.
You think ill of me for telling you this? Why? It is the truth. Not many men will tell the truth about when they fall in love with a woman. No, it wasn't lust. Yes, I admired her and yes I wanted to know her — to marry her if I could — but it was not because of lust. It was because with her beauty came compassion. One couldn't possess that tranquil of demeanor and be a monster.
As Rebecca rose, her eyes fluttered up under her lashes and caught mine in their seductive gaze. It was very hard not to bite my lip, for I knew it would be rude. I'd get to know her, dance with her, be cordial with her, but by the end of the night I had no doubt. We would at the very least — the very least — begin a courtship. At the very hope, become betrothed.
When her kind and compassionate eyes met mine, I knew two things about life. One, I knew I was in love with Rebecca Eaton: heart, body, and soul. And two: I knew I would never let anyone take her away from me.
I sat next to Rebecca during our meal. It wasn't difficult to slide my way into the seat. Anthony was across the room introducing Simon to Lord Culpepper; the man looked like an old walrus even way back then. He hasn't aged much, truth be told. He always looked like that. I imagine he came screaming from his mother's belly with a wrinkled brow and upturned nose.
When I sat next to Rebecca, our hands touched for the briefest of seconds. Hers had fallen to her side and mine moved back to reposition the chair forward. It was totally unintentional. I didn't mean to touch her. It didn't mean I hadn't wanted to from the moment I saw her, but, at that time, it hadn't been my intention.
But… you would not believe the feeling that rolled through my body at her touch. A current I can't explain started at my finger tips and flowed through me. It warmed my chest, erupted inside my heart.
Yes, I realize I sound like a fool to you. It wasn't love, you say. You cannot love someone so quickly. I say to you, you should know better for you did.
That isn't cruel for me to say. It is the truth. Love happens to us all when we least expect it. Sometimes it is wrong, as with you. And sometimes it is so very right, as it was with Rebecca and I. She felt it too for her eyes lifted to mine, filled with wonder. "Pardon me." She said, her voice strained in an exceedingly lovely way.
Do you know what surprised me most of all? She made no attempt to move her hand. She kept it there, against mine, her gaze on me… her lips slightly parted until she bit the bottom one so tenderly I would have given her my soul right then and there.
In fact, I might have.
"No, my lady. Don't apologize. I…" I had no idea how to end that sentence. Was I sorry to touch her? No. Did I want to pull away? Never. Did I believe she felt the same? Yes.
A love story has to begin somewhere. Even Romeo and Juliet had one brief encounter that defined the rest of their lives. This was our moment. Before, yes, I believed I loved her — but I cannot be certain all these years later if those were actually my emotions upon laying eyes on her, or just my heart's — yes, I have one of those as well — way of reacting to seeing Rebecca in my mind. But I can tell you this, I know more clearly than the sound of my name that when I touched her hand, I fell madly, deeply in love with her.