Chapter 12 #3
Her heart stumbled at the sight of him in profile—that distinctive Italian nose, the clean line of his brow, the sculpted curve of his mouth. How could she ever hope to entice a man like him into something so permanent as marriage? Surely, such a gentleman might choose whomever he pleased.
Fortitude, Molly! You have no chance at all if you do not attempt it.
“Marco?”
He turned, and his smile softened. “Molly.”
He crossed the room to meet her, reaching out to close the door behind them.
“I wish to apologize.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, “you mentioned that earlier.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, and Molly recognized the gesture for what it was.
Nerves. Was that a hopeful sign or a troubling one?
She wished she possessed more experience in courtship to decipher such moments.
If only Madeline were here to advise her.
Perhaps she truly should write, as her friend had urged.
“I wish to be certain you understand that my … scompósi?”
“Discomposure.”
He nodded. “Sì. My discomposure was not directed at you. I am facing decisions of great consequence, and I do not wish to give you expectations I may not be able to fulfill.”
“I understand.”
“Still,” he continued, his voice low, “given my regrettable conduct, I should at least confess that you are not inconsequential to my deliberations. If I were to choose to remain in England …”
He broke off, uncertainty flickering across his features, and Molly felt the air between them tighten with all that remained unsaid.
It was not clear what he meant. Did he consider her one of the advantages of remaining here? That was something, at least!
“That is … encouraging.”
“But I do not wish to encourage. It is not my habit to dabble with the feelings of young ladies.”
Molly feared it was far too late to shield her from her feelings. They had taken root deeply, growing with alarming speed since the first moment she had caught sight of him. She could scarcely think of anything but him.
Reaching out a hand, she rested it on his lapel as she gazed up at him.
“I understand that you have much to consider about your future, and I will confess that I hope you choose to stay.”
His black eyes found hers, and he smiled. “I cannot promise anything, but I can assure you if I were to do so, you would be a prize beyond comparison.”
The words burnt a hole through her soul, and for a moment, she envisioned the true possibility of being his wife. What that might entail, what freedoms it would unlock, and the joy of spending time with him unfettered by etiquette.
“I would ask one thing while you make your decision.”
“What is that?” His voice had grown husky, and she realized they were now staring deep into each other’s eyes.
“I would take at least one more kiss, no matter the path you walk.”
His lips spread into a knowing smile. “Would you?”
She nodded, never breaking eye contact as her cheeks warmed, and she wondered if she glowed with radiance or had merely taken on the appearance of a beetroot. But this was not the time for such vain anxieties. She had been thinking of that first kiss and longed for another.
“I confess I have been thinking … about our kiss.”
Her heart thundered against her ribs as she leaned forward and rose on her toes to press her mouth to his. To her mortification, Marco did not respond, remaining perfectly still. It was not at all like the last time when he had flung her to the ground to save her life.
She dropped back onto her heels in confusion, disappointment sweeping through her like a torrential downpour. “Did I do it wrong?”
He stared at her for several seconds as if he were sorting through his thoughts until, finally, she saw him reach a conclusion.
“Sì. Very, very wrong. As a tutor who has helped dozens of students these past years, it is my duty to … how do you say this … demonstrate the correct method?”
He pulled off his glove, using his bare hand to cup her face. Those soulful black eyes stared into hers. The warmth reflected in their depths made her feel unsteady as the pad of his thumb gently stroked over her cheekbone with maddening patience.
Marco appeared so calm while she felt so wild, fascinated by his presence, his touch, until nothing existed but him and the intensity of his unwavering gaze and the clamoring of her chaotic heart. His head descended and his lips brushed over hers.
All thought was lost as she breathed in sharply, but he drew back.
Then he leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers once more with such aching deliberation, she wished to reach out and cling to him.
When he brushed against her a third time, he lingered there, deepening the moment until she thought she might dissolve entirely where she stood.
Her heart beat like a wild bird attempting to escape captivity as his lips left hers and rested briefly at her temple, his presence close and overwhelming, drawing a soft sigh from the depths of her soul.
He slowly drew away, his gaze still intent, though the languid heat within it had cooled to something more restrained.
“I am afraid I cannot continue.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I shall not be able to stop, and all decisions about my future will be taken out of my hands.”
She pressed her lips together, the memory of his mouth still vivid even as he backed away. Molly pressed her fingers to her flushed cheeks as she tried to collect her wits. “I … should go. Before Miss Dubois returns.”
He reached out to open the door, standing aside for her with an expression of regret, and Molly realized what he had said was true. He truly considered her one of the advantages of remaining in England!
As she walked away, she turned this revelation over in her mind to consider it from all angles. And decided she was comforted that, if nothing else, she would always have this moment to hold on to.
The man she was growing to love had been sorely tempted to accept her heart as his. It was better than the alternative … that she had been inconsequential.