Chapter 14 #2
“I don’t want to call you Miss Williams anymore.” He breathed the words into her ear, marveling as she trembled against him. Did she have any idea how intoxicating her unpracticed responses were? “I want to call you Hannah. Invite me to.”
As if they were true lovers, and not a hollow parody of it.
“Call me Hannah,” she obliged. Her voice was little more than a whisper.
He decided to reward her by pouring every ounce of his attention into their kiss.
Silas might not have any prior experience escorting a woman to a ball or dancing a quadrille, but he did know how to bring them pleasure.
And it was evident that Hannah was eager for him, even more than she could admit.
As he explored her mouth with his tongue, she began to make that whimpering sound again.
It was a sound of frustration, of a need that could never be satisfied.
Silas began stroking her breast through the silk of her gown, running urgent circles over the nub of her nipple with his thumb, which only increased the noise she was making.
“What are you doing?” Hannah gasped. She was obviously trying to sound indignant, but couldn’t manage to hide her excitement.
“Don’t you like it?” Silas pressed a little harder, and her whole body shuddered in response.
“We’re—we’re at a ball,” she managed weakly. “What if someone catches us?”
“Then they’ll think you’re my fiancée and I couldn’t hold myself back until our wedding night,” he growled. Silas could almost believe it was true. He felt like he’d been waiting for this for years, like he’d been promised to Hannah ages ago and was counting each day until he could call her his.
Hannah’s breath was coming quickly, making her breasts swell above the confines of her corset with every inhalation. Silas couldn’t tear himself from the sight. God, she was arousing. He bent his head to kiss the tender skin just above the neckline of her gown, wishing he could get her undressed.
Silas had been with more experienced women.
With beautiful women. But he couldn’t recall ever wanting someone the way he wanted Hannah.
Every meeting added another layer to his interest, until it was nothing like the easy, uncomplicated feeling that he’d known as desire before this.
Silas had thought that lust was supposed to be a whim, a passing impulse that struck if the right opportunity arose, but which could be dismissed just as easily.
He couldn’t seem to dismiss what he felt for Hannah, no matter how he tried.
He wanted to possess her. He wanted to show her that every other man she’d ever looked at was nothing, that he was the only one who could touch her this way.
Not that wretched old man that her mother had tried to chain her to, not any of the pathetic suitors who’d dared to hurt her with their misplaced disdain, whatever titles or fortunes they held out as compensation. Him.
“They’ll think I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” Silas continued roughly, his self-control slipping. “Every time you’ve touched me, I’ve had to act the gentleman instead of pulling you into my arms.”
“You can’t really mean that.” Hannah pulled back from his attentions, her cheeks flushed. There was that doubt again. “You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t paid you to come. You didn’t want me to kiss you at Bishop’s.”
“I want you to kiss me now.” Silas took her hand and placed it on the evidence of his arousal, pressing her gloved palm against the head, until the delicious pressure made him groan. “Can you doubt it?”
“Oh.” Hannah’s eyes widened in shock. She didn’t seem to know how to react to such an indecency.
Silas let go of her wrist, realizing that he might have gone too far.
He’d gotten carried away, and he didn’t want to scare her.
But even once she was free, Hannah didn’t move a muscle.
For what seemed like an eternity, her hand rested lightly on his cock, while Silas grew increasingly sure that he would combust any second.
Then, very slowly, her fingers began a shy exploration through the wool of his trousers, tracing the outline of his arousal.
“Hannah, please,” he gasped. He was in serious danger of spending himself. Not here. He wouldn’t humiliate himself this way. “Enough. You need to stop.”
He pushed her hand away, struggling to get enough air into his lungs.
“Did I do something wrong? I thought you wanted me to.”
Silas chuckled to himself. “Not wrong. Just not for the balcony at a crowded ball.”
“Oh.” Hannah was staring at the bulge in his trousers with naked curiosity.
He couldn’t help but imagine the things he could show her, if only he could find some real privacy.
She would be an eager pupil. Hell, if they had a more reliable barrier between them and the rest of the ballroom than the double doors a few feet away, Silas would have been all too happy to lift up her skirts and teach her how to beg for the release she obviously needed.
This woman was going to be the death of him.
“We should go back inside before anyone finds us.” Silas forced the words out despite the desire that pulsed in his veins. It was the truth, even if it wasn’t to his liking. “Or rather, you should go back inside while I cool down for a minute.”
Hannah looked as conflicted as he was, but didn’t protest. After a moment, she murmured, “Come and find me once you’re ready.”
She turned toward the doors, her silhouette framed in orange by the gaslight that shone out from the window.
“Wait.”
Silas would have preferred to let her go without regret, but it was impossible.
He hadn’t had his fill yet. Nothing like it.
Shamelessly, he slipped his hand along Hannah’s back and tugged her close for one last kiss.
Each time he did this, it felt like a promise.
That Hannah was his, that he could make her feel something no one else could, that he’d proven himself worthy of a greater role than the one she’d assigned him.
But as soon as he released her again, the feeling was gone, leaving him frustrated and uncertain.
Do you still want me to ruin our engagement?
Silas wanted to ask the question, but something held him back. Perhaps he sensed what her answer would be.
He knew he could make Hannah want his touch, but that wasn’t the same thing as wanting a marriage. What would he do with a wife, anyway? He doubted very much that she would be thrilled to learn he intended to spend his life as a brewer, supplying beer to local public houses with Marian and James.
He would be taking Hannah away from all of this. She might want to escape her mother’s plans to marry her off to the first man who offered, but she’d never expressed a desire to escape her place near the top of the social ladder.
She would have to be a fool to want that.
“I’ll see you inside,” Silas finished awkwardly, releasing her.
It was for Hannah to tell him if she’d changed her mind about breaking off their engagement. She was the one who’d hired him for exactly that purpose, after all. And she’d never been afraid to tell him what to do.
What they’d just shared was the result of pent-up desire and too much drink. It wasn’t a promise of anything more. Silas couldn’t let himself forget that.
* * *
Hannah wandered back through the crowded ballroom as if in a dream. A servant offered her a glass of punch, but she didn’t think she could risk another while her head was swimming this badly. Who knew what might happen?
I can’t believe he really did that. Hannah’s whole body was humming, a restless vibration that settled over her skin. I can’t believe I didn’t stop him. She’d melted under Corbyn’s touch. He could have undressed her right there on the balcony and Hannah would have happily agreed.
What’s wrong with me?
How did Corbyn make her forget herself so completely? When Hannah had picked him as the means to escape her mother’s plans, she’d been the one in control. She’d set the terms of their encounters and he’d grudgingly obeyed, predictable in his lackluster agreement.
There was nothing predictable about this. Nothing lackluster either.
Hannah shivered, drawing Jane’s lace shawl tightly around her shoulders. It was warm inside the ballroom, but the heat of the crowd didn’t seem to reach her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d crossed a breach tonight.
That had been far more than just a kiss. Not only in the intensity of the heat between them, but also in the consequences for their agreement.
She still needed Mr. Corbyn. Their engagement was the only thing bringing her father to town. Without it, Hannah had no hope of getting her parents in the same room to work out their differences.
Could she still rely on Mr. Corbyn? What if things soured between them, and he changed his mind about helping her?
What if things didn’t sour between them, and she found herself in Corbyn’s bed? Hannah’s heart beat a little faster at the prospect.
She wasn’t supposed to want that. Her mother had always said that only very wicked girls let a man steal their virtue; a proper lady would never let herself be used that way.
Hannah had always believed herself strong enough to resist seduction.
On some level, she’d thought herself immune to it.
But then, no one had ever wanted her before.
Not the way Mr. Corbyn did. She should have been outraged at the way he’d touched her—at the way he’d invited her to touch him—but instead, she felt such a thrill, more intoxicating than any drink.
The only thing that stopped Hannah from turning on her heels and racing back to Corbyn right now was the knowledge that there was no real privacy to shelter them.
Was there something wrong with her, or was Mama wrong about the way things were supposed to feel?