I can’t say the kiss was entirely unexpected. And I can’t say I hadn’t wanted it.
There was a hesitancy to it at first, as though he worried I might protest. He should’ve known better. I parted my lips and heard a small sound of surprise catch in his throat. And then all nervousness between us vanished. I’d say I yielded to him, except I was every bit as aggressive as he was. I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer, crushing his lips to mine. It was the great release of months and months of pent-up . . . attraction? Lust? A deeper feeling? Whatever it was, I let it sweep me away.
I’d shared a few polite kisses in ballroom corners that seemed to belong to some other world. There was nothing polite here. It was hungry and consuming, almost an attempt by each of us to possess the other. I felt my whole body respond when he shifted his over mine. One of his hands cupped my face, and the other rested on my hip. After years of virtue lectures, I’d always wondered how silly girls could give theirs up. Now, I understood.
When he brought his mouth down to my neck, trailing kisses to my collarbone, I thought I would melt. We clung to each other in the night, struggling to get closer and closer. Though all our clothes remained on, at one point I ended up on top of him, uncaring that it hiked my skirt up to my knee. He tangled his fingers in my hair as we kissed, freeing it from the carefully placed pins.
Then, at last, I paused for breath, managing to sit up—albeit in a very brazen way that still straddled his hips. He ran his fingers along the side of my face, tracing my cheekbone before sliding back to the unruly waves of my hair.
“Disheveled,” I said, smoothing his own hair back. “Just like you always wanted.”
“I . . . have wanted a lot more than that,” he admitted, voice husky. But he dropped his hand with a sigh. “But your future husband won’t thank me for this.”
“‘Future’ being the important word. I don’t have a husband yet. And until I do, I can make my own choice.” I considered that for a few moments. “Actually, I intend to make my own choices even after I have a husband.”
“I’m sure you do, but I’m also pretty sure my father would have some very, uh, strong opinions about this. We’re your caretakers—your guardians. We’re supposed to protect you and support you until you can move on to some extravagant marriage offer.”
Words I’d heard so many times. “And get you an equally extravagant commission.”
He sat up, gently shifting me off him. “I don’t care about that.”
I thought about our original plan. I thought about the riders in the night and the gunshots. Cedric needed to get out of here.
“I care about it,” I said softly. “Have you had any luck with the painting?”
“Not exactly. No one really doubts its authenticity. But Walter— my agent—is having trouble finding anyone with enough money.”
I stood up and brushed off my skirt, more out of habit than anything else. “Then I guess it’s up to me to secure your stake.”
“Don’t do anything you don’t want,” he warned, joining me and shaking out the cloak.
My heart still beat rapidly. I want you, I thought. I want you to kiss me again and lay me back down in that field.
But although my body was heated, my mind was cool. Maybe I was free to do what I wanted right now, but he was right that there would be terrible, terrible consequences if there was any whisper of what had just happened between us. We slowly continued our walk back to the house, both of us lost in thought. I hardened myself. Marriage wasn’t about love and wanting. It was about business, and I needed to get back to that business. One slip could be forgiven, but not a second one—no matter what my heart wanted to tell me. And right now, it had a lot to say.
Cedric was apparently thinking along the same lines when Wisteria Hollow came into sight. We stopped on the far edge of the property, and he looked back down at me. “What do you want to do about Warren?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to marry into that situation, but—”
“Then don’t,” he said firmly. “That’s all I had to hear.”
I eyed him warily. “What are you going to do?”
“Protect you from him. Keep him out of your schedule and put other suitors in. Maybe there’ll be someone else you like.”
I supposed he was right, but as we stood there, I doubted it. Because suddenly, I was pretty sure why every gentleman I’d met in the last week had seemed so lackluster. I was comparing everyone to Cedric—and there was no comparison.
“Your father isn’t going to like your excluding Warren,” I warned. “He’ll fight you on it.”
“Probably. But remember, it’s always your choice. You can choose someone else—someone not holding a secret over you—even if he doesn’t have as much money to give.”