Chapter 7 #2
The rush of panic at her own desire shocked her back to the present. Swallowing, she pressed her fingertips into the rough bark of the tree and forced herself to meet Stephen’s gaze squarely.
His expression was unreadable. She had a feeling that even in broad daylight, she still would have struggled to guess what he was thinking.
“Not a spy after all, then,” he murmured. “Not spying on me.”
A quick image of his body, white in the moonlight, flashed through her mind, and she gave a quick shake of her head to banish it.
“I would never spy!”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Oh, I know that, don’t fret. I know you’re keen to get away. I hope I don’t frighten you.”
“Frighten me? No, I’m not so easily scared,” she shot back, lifting her chin.
Now that she’d looked him in the eye, it wasn’t so easy to look away. Whatever was compelling about him seemed to concentrate in his eyes, rendered almost black in the moonlight.
“No,” he whispered, voice dangerously low. “No, you aren’t easily scared, are you? Nothing frightens you.”
“I wouldn’t say so. But being afraid and persevering despite it are two different things, aren’t they?” she retorted.
He leaned closer still, and she could have sworn that he still carried the scent of the lake water around him.
“You see a great deal, Amelia,” he murmured, gaze dropping to her mouth just for an instant. “I should congratulate you on your sharp observation skills.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It does. You should not be out here at this hour. It’s late, and the woods get cold at night.”
“You are the one who was swimming.”
He tilted his head. Before she knew what was happening, his palm curved around her cheek, thrillingly warm against her chilled skin.
“Yes, I was swimming. And you were watching me.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. “I said I wasn’t… I didn’t…”
He gave a low, throaty chuckle. “You are going to cause trouble for me, aren’t you? I should have known it the second I saw you standing in that storeroom.”
“I don’t intend to cause any…” she trailed off when the pad of his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
At first, it seemed like an accident. Then, quite slowly and purposefully, he slid his thumb across her lower lip.
Her heart stopped, then started up again at twice its usual pace. The warmth of his hand and the gentle touch on her lip were all she could think of. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Could he see it? Did it matter?
“Yes, trouble,” he whispered. “That is exactly what you are.”
At that point, there was barely a hair’s breadth between his lips and hers, or at least it seemed so.
Cool, smooth lips pressed against hers, stealing her breath.
She gave a stifled gasp, which he seemed to draw into his lungs.
His hands were on her waist, warm and firm, the rough bark at her back, and his damp shirt pressed against her front, the cool water almost sizzling as it touched her overheated skin.
When had she put her hand on his shoulder?
His muscles flexed under her touch. Shivering, Amelia dug her nails in until he had to feel it, but he never flinched away.
The tip of his tongue stroked across her lower lip, threatening to plunge into the wet heat of her mouth.
And she wanted it, wanted him to touch her, kiss her, wanted his hand on her ribcage to slide up to the swell of her breasts, even though a proper lady would never—
He broke the kiss.
Amelia flinched, woken from her breathless desire as if someone had upended a bucket of water over her head. Lake water.
Stephen took a step back, drawing in a shuddering breath. His eyes had gone black, or perhaps that was her imagination.
“I cannot let you escape, Amelia. You ought to know that,” he stated, and there was an almost imperceptible quiver in his voice.
Amelia swallowed, pressing her shoulders back against the tree to ground herself.
“I like your grandmother, and would be pleased to be her companion,” she managed, after rolling the words around in her head. The kiss seemed to have jumbled up her thoughts. “But I cannot leave my sisters for so long. Surely you must understand that.”
He rolled his shoulders, and abruptly she found herself thinking of those crisscrossed scars. How on earth did a gentleman—a duke, no less—earn such marks?
“I understand that you will try to escape again,” he answered.
“But you had better stop. I will send word to your sisters in the morning, telling them where you are. I shall also send a carriage to pick them up, and a maid to chaperone them and guarantee their safety. I’m sure they’ll be here shortly.
In the meantime, I’ll have to insist you go back inside. ”
Amelia swallowed, letting her gaze briefly drag up and down the length of him. Coiled muscle and barely suppressed energy. It wasn’t worth even trying to outrun him. She wouldn’t even make it two steps.
Play along. For now, at least.
“If you say so,” she said.
Not the most convincing promise, but it was better than nothing.
He grunted and gave a sharp nod. “Very good. But I should warn you, Amelia. If you keep trying to escape, I can’t promise to be so gentle with you next time.”
It was a threat, of course. It ought to make her recoil. It ought to make her angry. Instead, it filled her with taut desire, a pulsing want that almost made her gasp.
To avoid saying or doing anything that might disgrace her—she had no idea what she might do, and did not intend to stay and find out—she swallowed thickly and raced past him back toward the house, leaving the lantern behind.
He didn’t follow her, and she could not decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
Relieved, of course, she told herself angrily.
If she kept telling herself that, perhaps it would become true.