Chapter Seven #3
“I swear to you there is nothing at all between myself and that woman.” He gentled his tone. “Nothing. The thoughts I have, they are about you. I was flirting, yes,”—he placed his cheek against hers—“but I was only playing a part. I was—”
“I know,” Millie interrupted.
And she did know.
Suddenly, the woman didn’t matter anymore.
In fact, nothing mattered. Only Neville.
He didn’t hate her, not at all. She didn’t have to understand why he’d acted as he had.
There was always a constructive purpose to his actions.
No matter what that purpose, she could trust he had a solid reason to behave as he had.
Why? Because Neville was not sanctimonious.
He was genuinely good.
Too good.
She scowled into the darkness. “No doubt when you look in the mirror, you see an archangel. St. Michael, perhaps, with his sword of justice, ready to take on the demon hordes in an epic battle for the triumph of truth over evil.”
“I wish that were my problem.” He huffed. “Demon hordes don’t interest me in the least.”
“No?”
“No. But there is one ruinous thing I cannot get out of my mind.”
He did not elaborate. But, again, he pulled her yew-maze close. Back then, he’d been the one to turn away first. She had been too startled, too confused, to tell him that she hadn’t been being reckless. That she’d only been confused. Why?
Because she had felt the very first stirrings of what she now understood must have been desire. But he had known. Had he thrust her away, not because he did not want her, but because he was suffering from the same affliction?
Was he still suffering from it now?
“No hordes,” she repeated. “But, perhaps, one demon?”
“Not a demon. Just one infuriating young lady entirely too sure of herself.”
She could lay the same charge against him. Being sure of himself, that was. And, though she did not consider being confident an insult, at present, she wasn’t entirely sure of herself, either.
She still wanted proof he cared.
She cupped his cheek, liking the feel of his jaw flexing beneath her fingers. The moment felt inevitable, as if they must finally face what they’d been running from since the maze.
“What are you doing?” he asked warily.
She hardly understood herself. She felt driven by a force she could not control. A force entirely at odds with her plan to be free of the obligation to marry. Then again, she couldn’t remember what the details of her plan had been.
She only knew Neville, too, had hurt her, and she wanted him to make things right.
He’d hurt her in the yew maze, pushing her away. He’d hurt her with his subsequent stinging insults. He’d hurt her when she’d realized he had come to the theater with that beautiful woman.
And all because he could not admit what was between them.
“If I had been touched by something demonic,” she said slowly, “certainly, someone so solid, so…moral as you, could set me straight.”
He made a scoffing noise. “You don’t want instruction from me.”
“You’re right. Instruction is not at all what I want.” She paused to consider. “At least not in the moral sense.”
“God in heaven, Millie. Cease your teasing. I cannot… You don’t understand…”
What did he mean? She wasn’t teasing at all.
“I’ve vowed to protect you,” he whispered. “When you tease, I cannot depend on my better self. And you’ve just suffered—”
She touched her lips to his ear, just to prove she was not teasing.
His jagged breath contained just a hint of a whimper. A shiver passed through his whole body, shaking the stubble beneath her hand. All of him was rough. Rough and exciting.
“Augustus,” she whispered directly into his ear.
He inhaled, quick and deep. “How do you know my middle name?”
“Debrett’s.” She recalled the dark block letters. “Ambrose Augustus Merriweather,” she said as if reading. “Ambrose may be your Christian name, but Augustus fits you better.” Augustus sounds strong. Reliable. Much more like Neville than Ambrose.
“You looked me up?” he asked.
“I did indeed.” Why did he sound so surprised? She placed her hand on his neck. “May I call you Augustus?”
“Stop.” He plucked away her hand and held her by her wrist.
She didn’t fight him.
If he didn’t want to acknowledge what was obvious, she could not make him. Strange—so strange. Whatever his other condemnations, Neville wanted her. Badly.
She wanted him, too.
The realization should have stunned her, but a part of her had known all along. That’s why she’d experienced a sudden jolt when she’d stumbled against him in the maze. That’s why she didn’t mind being close to him, now.
His continued resistance, however, made no sense at all.
“How about Auggie, then?” she taunted. “Would you like that better?”
He groaned. “I don’t understand why you sound angry! You know this isn’t right.”
“Do I?” She went cold again and then yanked her hand from his hold. “Preach. Preach. Preach. You sound just like my old curate, Auggie.”
“Did you trap him in dark places, too? Lure him into yew mazes?”
“I did not lure you into that maze.” She wanted to stamp her foot. Preferably on his toe. “I have never lured you—or anyone else—into any place they did not want to go!”
“Oh? This isn’t the first time we’ve been improperly alone,” he said bitterly. “By my count, it’s the third.”
“Well, you went into the maze first!”
“Where you threw yourself at me.”
“I fell on you!” She felt her voice wobble. “Because of the raven, you dolt!”
“Bah,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the bird was your familiar.”
“So now, in addition to being trouble, I’m also a witch?”
The desire that had possessed her to draw him close dissipated. Perhaps she’d been wrong, and he wasn’t attracted to her at all. She pushed him away again, then crossed her arms and vigorously rubbed from her shoulders to her elbows.
She was so very cold without his heat.
The whole night had been a disaster. And now she was dangerously close to tears.
“You’re cruel, Neville.” Her confounding attraction to him melded back into anger that stung in her eyes. “Do you hear me?” She hiccupped. “Cruel!”
“What is happening?” He sounded baffled. Possibly even dazed.
He reached out but she turned quickly away, and he only managed to graze her arm.
“Devil take it, Millie, I can’t see! Where are you?”
“I never lured you to those places! And did not lure you here.” Why did he have to be so enraging? So obtuse? “How could I?”
She didn’t care anymore. She let the tears come.
“You can’t—Oh, God, you can’t truly be crying?”
She sniffed. “W—why—not?”
“Because you hate me?” He suggested as if she should have known. “Because you don’t truly want—”
Why did he sound as confused as she felt?
“I understand,” he started again, “that you are angry and scared. I can even appreciate that you need to…to take the lead. But I just… I just cannot trust myself to resist, even when I know your, your…wooing isn’t real.”
Wooing? How… Neville. If she wasn’t so hurt and angry she would have laughed.
“You think I would “woo” you in jest? I don’t know what I’m doing, you—you dunderhead.”
“Don’t know what you’re—?! But you always make a game of driving me mad. Like that time in the maze—”
“Don’t talk about that!” He’d ruined her memory. “I know where I went wrong, now. I convinced myself you wanted me as much as I wan—” She clenched her teeth and sucked in. “Never you mind!” If he didn’t know, he did not deserve to know. “Just go back to that woman and leave me alone!”
“Dunderhead?” he repeated.
“Dunder-everything!”
He fell quiet. “Yes…Yes, I believe you are right.” He made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “I have been a dunder-everything.”