Chapter 25 #2
“What’s unfair,” she replied, rising with fluid grace that made firelight dance across her wrapper, “is that you speak of duty whilst looking at me as if you’ve forgotten what the word means.”
He flinched. The observation cut too close, too accurate. How long had she noticed? How many times had he betrayed himself with careless glances, with the way his entire body oriented towards her presence, with his transparent jealousy of every gentleman who dared show interest?
Rain lashed the windows with renewed fury. The storm seemed to be pressing against the glass, demanding entry---or perhaps demanding he acknowledge the matching tempest inside his chest.
“You promised to help me find a husband, Tobias.” Her voice remained soft, but steel threaded through the words now.
She took a step towards him, then another, her bare feet silent against the carpet.
“And yet, you become rather sullen whenever one seems to be interested in me.
What is the reason? What is it that you want?
Everything. The answer rose unbidden, absolute and terrifying. I want everything.
But he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t give voice to the desperate longing that had been building for months. So he opened his mouth to offer some platitude about her welfare, about ensuring she found a suitable match, about his responsibility as head of the family.
The words tangled in his throat, caught between what he should say and what he desperately wanted to confess.
She stepped closer still. Near enough now that he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremor in her hands before she clasped them together. The scent of lavender and something uniquely her surrounded him, more intoxicating than the finest wine.
Near enough that if he reached out---just reached out---he could touch her.
“You can’t decide, can you?” Her breath came unsteady now, her composure finally cracking to reveal the hurt beneath. “You want to be honourable and distant, but you can’t bear to see another man near me.”
Yes. God, yes. The admission screamed through him, demanding release.
“That’s enough,” he said roughly, though whether he was warning her or himself, he could not say.
“No.” The word was but a whisper. Then she lifted her chin and faced him head-on. “For once, it isn’t.”
Lightning split the sky outside, throwing the library into stark relief, every shelf, every shadow, the unbearable space between them. Thunder followed immediately, so close that the floor seemed to shake.
Or perhaps that was just his heart, thundering so violently he could feel it in every extremity.
She was right. Heaven help him, she was right. He’d spent months pretending, deflecting, hiding behind duty and honour whilst wanting her with an intensity that terrified him.
And she knew. She’d known all along.
The realization shattered something inside him, some final barrier he’d been maintaining through sheer force of will.
He moved before thought could intervene.
Closed the distance in three strides, caught her face between his palms, still cold from the rain, his hands, whilst her skin burned beneath his touch.
For a heartbeat, they only stared at each other.
Her eyes had gone wide, pupils blown dark with something that mirrored the chaos inside his chest.
His thumb brushed the curve of her cheekbone, and she drew in a sharp breath.
This was madness. Complete madness. He should release her, apologise, leave before…
“Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely, giving her one last chance. Giving himself one last chance to do the right thing. “Tell me to leave, Amelia. For God’s sake, tell me I’m a bastard and throw me out of this room.”
“I can’t.” Her hands rose, gripping the sodden fabric of his shirt as though anchoring herself against a tide. “I’ve tried. Heaven knows I’ve tried to hate you, to feel nothing, to want you gone, but I can’t.”
The last thread of his control snapped.
The kiss came like the storm outside: fierce, consuming, inevitable. Her gasp opened beneath his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, pulling her closer until no space remained between them. She tasted of tea and something sweeter, something he would never be able to forget or recover from.
Her fingers clutched his soaked shirt, his arms banded around her waist, lifting her almost off her feet in his desperate need to have her nearer still.
The height difference forced her onto her toes, and he supported her weight easily, mindlessly, every part of him focused on the miracle of her mouth against his.
It was a kiss of hunger and heartbreak, of everything they had denied and everything they should not want. All the months of careful distance, of polite conversation and averted glances, of lying to themselves and each other, all of it burned away in the heat between them.
She made a sound low in her throat, half sob, half moan, and it nearly undid him. He gentled the kiss, meaning to pull away, to apologise for his roughness, but she followed him. Her hands slid up to tangle in his wet hair, keeping him close, and he was utterly, completely lost.
Rain hammered against the windows. The fire crackled. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour. Tobias heard none of it.
There was only her: the silk of her skin beneath his palms, the way she trembled against him, the scent of lavender that surrounded him. The way she kissed him back with a desperation that matched his own, as though she’d been starving for this just as long.
His hands moved of their own accord. One tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The other splayed across her lower back, pressing her impossibly closer despite the soaking barrier of his coat between them.
She was everything. Everything he’d wanted and denied himself. Everything he’d convinced himself he could never have.
And she was kissing him like she felt the same.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her wrapper had slipped from one shoulder, and she looked utterly, devastatingly undone.
His own heart thundered so violently, he feared she must hear it, feared the entire household must hear the chaos raging inside his chest.
Her eyes were wide, luminous in the firelight. His hands still gripped her waist, unable or unwilling to release her. Every instinct screamed at him to kiss her again, to damn propriety and honour and every reason this was wrong.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said hoarsely, though his body refused to move away from hers.
“I know,” she whispered, though her lips still trembled from the taste of him. Her fingers uncurled slowly from his shirt, leaving damp creases in the fabric that would mark this moment long after they’d parted. “But we both knew it would.”
The truth of it hung between them: heavy, damning, undeniable. How many nights had he lain awake imagining precisely this? How many times had he watched her across rooms and wanted nothing more than to close the distance, propriety be damned?
And she had known. Heaven help them both, she had known.
Thunder rolled again, softer now as the storm began to move east. Rain still fell but with less fury, as though even the heavens had exhausted themselves against the inevitability of what had passed between them.
Tobias released her slowly, his hands sliding away, though every fibre of his being protested the loss. Cold air rushed between them where moments ago there had been only heat. He took one step back. Then another.
Creating distance that felt like death but was absolutely necessary.
“I should not have...” He stopped, dragging a hand through his wet hair, which left it standing in wild disarray.
Water dripped onto his face, mingling with something that might have been rain or might have been the beginning of tears he refused to acknowledge.
“Forgive me. Even though I do not, could not, deserve it.”
“Was it?” Her voice emerged barely above a whisper, but it carried across the space between them with devastating clarity. “Are you sorry you kissed me, Tobias? Or are you sorry you want to do it again?”
He flinched as though struck. Every word he should say—apologies, assurances of his honour, promises it would never happen again—died on his tongue.
Because she was right.
He wasn’t sorry he’d kissed her. He was sorry he had to stop. Sorry, he couldn’t sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs and show her exactly how thoroughly he’d fallen. Sorry that duty and honour and his damned reputation stood between them like walls he could never breach.
He turned towards the door before his resolve could crumble entirely. His hand closed around the handle, wet leather squeaking against brass.
“You deserve better than this,” he said without looking back, his voice rough with emotions he could not name. “Better than stolen moments and forbidden kisses. Better than a rake who can barely manage his own life, let alone offer you the respect you’re owed.”
“And if I don’t want better?” The question stopped him cold. “If I want…”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than intended. He forced himself to turn, to meet her gaze one final time, though it cost him everything. The firelight caught tears pooling in her eyes, tears he’d put there. Tears he wanted desperately to kiss away.
“Don’t finish that sentence. Not tonight. Not when I’ve already proven myself weak enough to compromise you in your own home.”
“This is my home?” The bitter laugh that escaped her held no humour. “I think we both know that’s a pretty fiction, my lord. I am a guest here. A mere responsibility you inherited along with the title.”
“You are not a mere responsibility.”
“Then what am I?”