13. The Marriage Routine #2
“Nor you of mine,” replied Kate in equal state. “Yet here you stand, in my father’s house, telling me how to manage affairs under my own roof.” She lifted her chin defiantly toward his face.
“Our roof. Our home. Our responsibility to that boy.”
Kate’s lips twitched with disapproval. “I do remember you saying he was your responsibility. I only agreed to give him the benefit of the doubt. Don’t expect me to blindly trust you—or him.”
They were standing toe to toe now, both breathing heavily, faces inches apart. Kate could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the way his eyes blazed with restrained anger, so much like hers.
He leaned closer, almost touching his forehead to hers. “You are insufferably impertinent, Mrs. Moore-Sullivan.”
The description of her character mortified her so completely that her mouth opened and stayed so, like a fish out of water, but no words came. Even so, rather than backing away, she held his gaze, right there where she stood.
She felt a fire in her chest, her pulse racing, and a wild urge to give physical expression to her frustration.
She was also acutely aware of their proximity, of the heat radiating from his body, which burned just as fiercely; of his penetrating scent; and of the unwavering intensity of his stare, all of which only stoked the flames raging within her.
Every fiber of her being seemed to vibrate with tension, a volatile blend of anger, indignation, and something dangerously electric that short-circuited her rational thoughts.
“Repeat that again, Mr. Moore-Sullivan,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes as if challenging him further.
She saw him hesitate for a few seconds; she saw his eyes shift over hers as if weighing his options; she saw his gaze then descend from her radiant eyes to her full lips—dangerously close to his own—and finally, she saw him part his lips slightly, as if to comply and reply.
But before he could utter a word, she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him toward her, pressing her mouth against his in a frenzied kiss.
This time, there was nothing tentative about it, unlike the one by the fountain. This was a kiss of fire, fury, and a desire that manifested itself openly for the very first time.
Jason did not hesitate on this occasion either, nor was he gentle as he had been the last time; this time, he responded with a fervor equal to hers, his hands quickly finding her waist and pulling her against him with surprising force.
Kate melted into his body, deepening the kiss and, for the moment, casting aside any thought that might have held her back from devouring his mouth.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him as if this were the one thing she desired most in life.
For a heated moment, the sound of their passion filled the room—breathless gasps and soft sounds of desire.
Everything else dissolved into insignificance.
What remained was a hunger so vivid and powerful it consumed them both.
Their mouths moved together with desperate synchronicity, tongues exploring and claiming, each caress awakening something fundamental that neither of them could deny longer.
Then Jason, summoning every ounce of his willpower—and forcing himself to recall the proprieties of a man who has given his word—pulled away from her, so abruptly that he staggered backward until he collided with the desk.
His eyes were wide, and his chest rose and fell with a wild irregularity born as much of pure desire as of the infinite panic he truly felt.
Kate, breathless herself, stood watching him retreat, her own disorientation leaving her momentarily dizzy.
“You backed away,” she accused suddenly—almost in a whisper, like someone trying to speak and breathe at the same time.
“I—we shouldn’t—”
“Why you backed away just now?”
Jason adjusted his cravat with slightly trembling fingers. “We were discussing Vikram.”
Kate moved closer again, effectively trapping him against the desk. “Were we?”
He stood straighter, trying to regain his composure. “He needs guidance, not punishment. And, on other matters, I… gave you my word that I wouldn’t…” he let the sentence unfinished.
Kate heard the words but they reached her slowly, as if through water.
Her head was still swimming from that kiss, from the heat of it, from the want it had pulled out of her without warning, from the dizzy breathless seconds before he had stepped back.
His retreat had stung in a way beyond rejection.
Perhaps something more confusing than that.
She looked at him, trying to read his face, trying to find something to hold onto, some indication of what that kiss had meant to him.
His expression gave her nothing clear.
She straightened.
“Perhaps it’s time we learned some new approaches, then. On any matter.” Her words carried dual meaning, and she could see understanding flashing in his eyes after that.
“What do you propose?”
“For Vikram? Responsibility rather than restriction. If he values beautiful things, let him earn them honestly.”
Jason looked at her cautiously. “You would trust him with responsibility?”
“I would trust your judgment of his character. Despite our… disagreements.”
Both held each other’s gaze fixedly for long seconds; the tension between them gradually subsided into more familiar territory.
“Thank you,” Jason said at last.
“Don’t thank me yet. I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“We will continue this discussion. About Vikram and…” she gestured between them. “Other matters.”
“Other matters?”
“Why you backed away just now, for one.”
“I told you I swore an oath that I wouldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I am a man of my word.”
“Then I release you from it.” Kate adjusted her hair, which was nearly disheveled from her outburst.
“You can’t simply—there are—this requires more consideration than—” He stopped. Cleared his throat. “That is not how these things are done.”
“We’ll talk about this another time. I need to… take care of something.” Kate was already walking toward the door.
Jason leaned against the desk, losing the strength to argue with her. “As you wish, Mrs. Moore-Sullivan.”
“Kate,” she corrected him from the doorway, this time in a softer tone. “Call me Kate when we’re alone.”
“Kate,” he repeated. And something in the way he said it made her bite her lower lip. Jason’s eyes caught the gesture from where he stood.
She turned to leave, but added over her shoulder, “You should know—I don’t kiss every man who argues with me… husband.”
Then disappeared down the corridor, leaving only the echo of her voice behind. And the meaning of her last words.
Jason remained motionless for quite some time.
The fire had subsided, but his pulse continued to pound.
That kiss had heightened the already latent sexual tension between them—not only for Kate, but also for him, Jason.
And for her, Gina, who found fewer and fewer reasons to hold herself back from her own desires.
Because this wasn’t just danger anymore.
This was longing, vivid and unbearable. A hunger not for a life, or a name, or an escape—but for Kate.
And that kind of want didn’t hide behind male trousers and polished boots.
It stripped away everything Gina had constructed.
It exposed her in a way Jason couldn’t hide for long.
He pressed a hand to his chest, suddenly unsure if it was his ribs tightening—or the truth inside him trying to break out at all cost.
* * *
That evening, in the privacy of his chambers, Mr. Moore could no longer hide the feelings creeping inside him.
Feelings that belonged to Gina, not the gentleman everyone believed him to be.
Jason was merely the mask, the elaborate performance; Gina was the beating heart beneath it all, the woman whose body ached with a yearning that could never be safely expressed.
Her chest constricted painfully beneath the tight bindings that flattened her breasts, each breath a reminder of the flesh she was forced to deny.
Her body cried out for Kate’s touch—a touch that could never reach the woman hidden beneath layers of deception and masculine clothing.
The cruel irony wasn’t lost on her: Kate desired Jason, but it was Gina who burned for Kate in return.
Mary entered with her familiar case, glancing carefully down the hallway before locking the door behind her. Mr. Moore stood by the window, shoulders rigid with tension, still fully dressed despite the late hour.
Mary saw him and his expression suddenly troubled her. “Sir…”
“She kissed me, Mary,” he said without turning around.
“That’s happened before.”
“Not like this.” Mr. Moore’s voice was strained. “We argued about Vikram. She was… passionate in her opinions. As was I.”
Mary began unpacking her supplies—fresh bindings, adhesive, beard attachments. “Your tempers flared.”
“And then…” Mr. Moore turned from the window, pacing now. “She grabbed me. Kissed me with such… desire.”
Mary paused in her preparations, watching carefully. “And you backed away.”
“Of course I did.”
Mary approached, beginning to help with the cravat. “You backed away because you wanted more. Because it wasn’t just your disguise at risk of exposure.”
As Mary helped remove the coat and waistcoat, Mr. Moore allowed himself to be vulnerable. “She noticed. That I pulled away.”
“Of course she did. She is no fool.”
“She’s beginning to look at me differently. To question the… intimacy.”
Mary worked with ease, releasing the tight hair binding at the nape of his neck. “You have two choices as I see it. End this charade now—”
“I can’t.”
“Or be more careful than you’ve ever been.” Mary’s fingers worked deftly, freeing strands of hair. “No more kissing. I see how you look at her as well.”