Chapter Three #3
‘So thank you. Thank you for making me see reason—that leaving my child with you would be the worst thing I could do. Someone so unfeeling. I would rather bring him up with nothing apart from love than…than all this,’ she said, waving her hand about her.
‘I’m going to release you of any responsibility you ought to have felt for our child, because I’ve just realised, I don’t want someone so hollow in my son’s life.
’ She turned her back on him, to return to the boy.
Pure anger pounded through him. No woman had ever dared to speak to him like that before and his chest was burning from where she’d had the audacity to poke him. It had him reaching out, gripping her wrist, spinning her back round to face him. ‘What did you say to me?’
‘I’m going. And you don’t need to worry, you won’t ever have to see me or Thomas again.’
She was offering him what he had thought he wanted.
For all of this to just disappear. He should have been relieved, grateful, and yet he wasn’t, for he didn’t want that at all.
He was furious that she would try to disappear from his life, just like his mother had.
A fierce need to protect her and his son in a way he’d failed to in his absence pounded through him, along with desire.
‘The hell you are,’ he said, pulling her right up against him. ‘Do you think I would let you out of my sight for a moment now that you have involved me?’ Before another clever retort could fall from those beautiful, sensual lips, he hauled her to him and crushed her mouth with his.
One moment Edward’s intense, disarming blue gaze had burned into hers, and the next, his hand had wrapped around her neck, bringing her face right up against his, his hard lips pressing against hers, causing a flare to ignite before exploding inside her body.
Bea felt the pent-up anger behind his kiss, but also, the passion.
The same passion that had been there the night they’d met.
She didn’t understand it—and once again, she was helpless against it.
She knew she should be pulling away, pushing at his solid chest and telling him she didn’t want this to happen, so why wasn’t she?
Why, instead of resisting, was her body softening, surrendering, responding with fervour, her lips yielding, opening against his, allowing his silky tongue to slide inside her mouth, to taste her, to claim her?
Her knees trembled and her hands reached up to hold onto his shoulders for support, her breasts grazing against his chest as his other hand came up to hold her tightly around the waist, tugging her closer into his powerful body as he deepened the intensity of the kiss. She shuddered.
It felt glorious to touch him again—to have him hold her. His skin against hers, he tasted, and smelt, so good—of shaving soap, brandy and spice—evoking memories of the sensuality of the night they’d spent together before. He felt so strong, so virile, making her want things, need things, from him.
How could one kiss make her desire all this, and after everything that had happened? She shouldn’t. She mustn’t. That was what had got her into this position in the first place—wanting to be his for one night. She couldn’t be again. Not now.
She heard the rattle of the tea tray down the corridor and her eyes flew open. Horrified, she tore her mouth from his. ‘Edward, stop,’ she said, pushing at his chest. ‘We can’t do this.’
He was the Duke’s heir.
He was about to marry another.
She had heard the resentment behind his words when he’d spoken about the woman he was set to wed—resentment no doubt aimed at Bea for coming between them. His face had been grim, his eyes full of regret.
She wondered momentarily if the woman was pretty. She imagined her being delicate, refined, eloquently spoken… So unlike her. Sickness and jealousy swirled. How could she ever compete with someone like that? And she immediately quashed the thought. Why would she want to?
She glanced over at the door again. What was she doing? She had to respect herself more than this. What if someone had seen?
Edward blinked, staring down at her, his ragged breathing and the crease between his brows the only signs that he was as affected by the kiss as she was. He pulled back, letting her go, his arms dropping to his sides in disgust.
She brought her hand up to her burning lips and turned away from him, fighting for composure. She was furious with herself for letting him draw her into his arms again and kiss her so easily. So fiercely. For still wanting this. Him.
Oh God, what must he think of her?
Was it because he was the father of her child that she felt a lingering affection for him? Yet he had only ever intended this to be a one-night thing. He’d even called her a mistake.
She’d often wondered, in the months since, whether she would go back and do it again, knowing the outcome, and unlike his feelings on the matter, her answer was always the same—yes.
It had been an incredible night and she wouldn’t change what had come of it.
To go back to a time when Thomas didn’t exist was unfathomable.
But it didn’t mean she should do it again.
Even though she had thought she needed Edward’s help, her body seemed to think it needed him.
It was screaming out for his touch. It was dangerous.
She had to keep her distance. She had to stay away.
It was this attraction between them that had landed her in difficulty before.
Edward might want a last fling before he settled down into married life, but there was no way she would survive it.
Slowly, she turned around to face him. He stood there, his hands by his sides, clenched into fists. ‘You are right, that should not have happened,’ he said, his face grim, his jaw set. ‘It will not happen again.’
‘Good,’ she said, nodding, her voice unsteady.
His lips formed a hard, grim line. ‘At least, not until we are married.’
A wave of dizziness washed over her. ‘What did you say?’
‘We will marry, immediately. Marriage will legitimise the boy and soften the scandal.’
Bea stared at him, horror-struck. She shook her head, bringing her hand up to her temple, where her pulse was pounding. Her stomach was growling—in protest and hunger.
He walked over to the desk in the corner of the room, seemingly determined, galvanised by his decision.
‘How old are you, Bea?’ he asked, picking up a pen and dipping it in the ink. He began to write on the parchment.
‘Two and twenty. Why?’ Panic was rising in her chest.
‘I am wondering if we need anyone’s permission.’
She shook her throbbing head. ‘I told you, my mother is dead. I do not know my father.’
‘Then that settles it. I will write to the archbishop and request a special licence for us to wed quietly here on the estate.’
She reached out her hand to hold the desk, to steady herself.
The door opened with a bang and Mrs Potter entered with the trolley, announcing tea and biscuits, but her words sounded distant and muffled.
Bea began to sway, the sudden loss of strength in her body making it hard to stand.
The last thing she heard before darkness descended was Edward’s concerned voice frantically calling out for a doctor as he caught her in his arms.