The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

She clucked her tongue at him. “Of course not,” she said. “Really, Easton, surely you understand that a woman is not truly free if she is married. Some husbands are benevolent, but others are not, and if your husband is not, there is very little a woman can do for it.”


George had had liaisons with married women, and none of them had ever complained particularly about their lives. But he did recall when Lady Dearing desired to see a sister in Wales who was near death, Lord Dearing refused her, claiming he could not be parted from his wife for so long, and she was not allowed to go.

He shook off the memory. “You want freedom to do what, precisely?” he asked as he cupped the back of her neck with his hand—it felt so small to him. “To attend teas and parties and ride about in Hyde Park?”

“No, I want to be free as you are,” she said. “To not care about society, to do what I please, to go where I desire.”

George snorted. “Do you truly believe what I have is freedom?”

She blinked up at him. “Well, yes... The best kind.”

He laughed low, stroked her cheek. “It is a puzzle to me how one woman can be so clever and fearless, and yet so naive all at once.”

“Naive!”

“Quite. How can you even think I am free, when you yourself have had to seek invitations for me? Admit it, Honor—we are all prisoners of our society in one way or another. Don’t mistake loneliness for freedom.”

She looked startled. “Are you lonely, George?”

“At times, yes,” he admitted. “I’ve no family, have I? There are times I’d rather have a family than all the ships in the sea.” He laughed, the sound of it a little bitter to his own ears. “And now it looks as if I shall have neither.”

“Oh, George...” She slipped her hand into his. “I...I think...”

He smiled at what he assumed was an awkward attempt to soothe him, caught her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. “Don’t fret for me, Cabot. I make do.”

But Honor didn’t smile. Emotion was swimming in her eyes again, and it seeped into George like good whiskey on a cold winter’s day. He could feel a beast awakening in him, rising up, wanting to take hold—

Honor abruptly looked down as if she couldn’t bear it. She opened her palm, and he saw the necklace there. “Is it broken?”

“No. It’s the casualty of a misunderstanding.”

He had no idea what she meant, but he took it from her hand, turned her around and draped it around her throat. She bent her head slightly forward so that he might fasten it. When he’d secured it, he slid his hand over her shoulder, pressed his palm to her collarbone and pulled her back into his chest.

He could feel her shift closer, her weight leaning against his. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

God, but he wished he knew. He was falling. Off a mountain, down into a strange ravine whose bottom he could not see. It was dark in that ravine—he could not see where he was heading. “I wish you the freedom you seek, Honor.”

She didn’t move at first, but then she turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder at him, her blue eyes glimmering with desire.

He slid his hand down into her bodice, dipped his head and kissed her neck. “Freedom to experience all that life is.”

“You are a curious man, Easton. Dangerous and unpredictable and unexpected. I don’t know quite what to make of you.”

He smiled against her cheek. “You might have considered that before you galloped up Rotten Row to intercept me.”

“I mostly certainly did consider it,” she said, and twisted around to face him.

He gazed down at her, taking in every freckle, every crease. He slipped his arm inside the coat, around her waist, and pulled her into his body.

But Honor put her hand between them and pushed back. “Don’t you dare kiss me here,” she warned him. “I can’t bear it.”

Neither could he. He gathered her closer. “Darling, you should never dare a ravenous man,” he said, and dipped his head to kiss her.

She instantly softened into him, her hand sliding up his chest.

George’s response was a guttural sound, deep in his throat. He slipped an arm around her waist, moved his mouth to her neck, her earlobe and across her jaw to her mouth again. It wasn’t enough; it was never enough with Honor. He abruptly pushed her up against the wall, pressing his body against hers as his tongue dipped hungrily into her mouth. He needed to be inside of her, needed to fill her with the emotion that was damming up inside of him.

He thought she might protest and appeal to his sense of decency, but Honor didn’t attempt to stop him—if anything, she curved more deeply into him, and her kisses became more urgent.

He paused for a moment, braced his arms on either side of her head.