Chapter Thirteen #2
Once again, he had painted her actions in only the most acceptable way possible. He truly must be in love, Augusta decided, if he could hear of her melancholia and spin it to be a virtue.
But if what he said was true, then he had spent some time knowing of her spells.
He’d had opportunities to think over them, and to decide if he wanted to see the marriage through.
And still, he stood here before her, proposing as though she were a diamond of the first water.
It more than flattered her; in truth, it completely disarmed her.
It felt as though the very ground beneath her feet were shifting, and with it, her mind.
She thought of Lord and Lady Wallingford, and the love that they shared, and imagined a world in which she, too, could have it.
It was that thought which sent her hurtling over the edge. The fluttering in her stomach increased to such a degree that she felt light in the head. This made it much easier to say the words that next escaped her.
“Yes, then. My answer is yes.”
The corners of Lord Brightwater’s mouth twitched, as though a smile had started and then stopped, so great was his shock at her answer. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he looked over her with a heat that made Augusta take a step back, only to find herself backed against the oak tree.
Lord Brightwater leaned down, bringing his mouth closer to hers. His movements were slow and lazy. She swallowed, knowing that whatever happened next, it was going to be very new, very frightening, and very exciting.
One of his hands went to cup the back of her neck.
She gasped at the more intimate contact, then settled into his warm palm as he brought his lips to hers.
At first, he merely brushed against them, the heat of his breath tingling against the burning nerves of her mouth.
She found herself opening for him, tilting her head up to gain more friction against his lips.
He responded with a firmer kiss, insisting upon her lips, her tongue, her whole body as he pressed into her. Her breasts pushed into his chest, creating a pulsing between her legs that she had only ever felt before in her most shameful, private moments alone.
His other hand gripped her waist tightly, the grip of a man barely holding onto control. She wondered how he could have any control at all, when she had lost all of hers.
She held onto his biceps to steady herself, only to be thrown off-balance once more when his mouth left hers and dropped kisses along her jaw, then down her neck. Her sharp inhale sounded greatly like a whine.
Something about the sound affected Lord Brightwater.
If he had been holding onto control before, he shed all of it now.
With a primal grunt, he pressed his entire body flush with hers, pinning her to the tree.
The hand at her waist dropped to her backside and gave a tight squeeze, which she found both humiliating and exhilarating.
His mouth returned to hers, though this time it was with complete abandon - open-mouthed, his tongue playing with her own. She felt devoured. And yet, somehow, it was still not enough.
Something hard pressed against her lower stomach. She knew what it was, had seen the medical drawings during her reading, but even in those shameful moments alone she had not imagined that she’d one day feel one pushing against her like this.
Of its own accord, one of her hands brushed down his chest and abdomen. Finally, she rested her palm against his hard length.
“God,” he breathed shakily, and he did not sound like himself. He sounded like an animal. She was shocked to find that she wanted to hear more of it. “You are going to kill me.”
Augusta understood precisely what he meant.
“I want a special license,” he said suddenly.
Augusta was so dazed, her mind so thick with wanting, that she could do nothing but nod. Whatever might get him back to kissing her, to touching her.
It did the trick; Lord Brightwater returned to kissing along her neck, pausing briefly at the space where her flesh met her neckline. Here, he stiffened. His hand left her backside and he stood up, stepping back from her slightly.
He looked like a different creature - hair mussed, pupils dilated, lips swollen. Augusta felt that she must be in a similar fashion, along with her now-wrinkled dress.
“I will not ruin you,” Lord Brightwater said huskily. His eyes dropped to her neckline again. “As much as I would very much like to at the moment.”
A kind of desperate disappointment flooded Augusta’s chest. She’d so wanted him to take this as far as it would go.
And yet, he was correct. There was propriety to be considered.
And as they were now engaged, and likely to receive a special license, it was not as though they were going to have to wait a long time.
She understood it. Still, she hated it.
Standing up straighter, she attempted to smooth down the parts of her hair that had come loose. “Of course, my lord.” Her words came out hoarse, and her lips felt too puffy to articulate her speech.
“Sebastian,” he corrected. “Please call me Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” she said quietly.
He smiled at that, and her stomach did another flip.
“I do not wish to leave you,” he said, still out of breath. “But I must write a few letters as soon as possible if we are to receive a license.”
“I understand,” Augusta said, because she did. She simply wished that the special license could appear out of thin air. “Go, I shall not hold it against you.”
He ought to have turned and left then, but he remained. Staring into her eyes for several long moments, during which time she stared back into his, and time ceased to matter.
This was it. The first blush of love. And she had just agreed to a lifetime of unfolding it.
When Sebastian finally tore himself away from her, he left behind rushed promises of calling on her and Reginald on the morrow. She assured him she would be at home. With that, he slipped into the shadows, heading for the front of the house.
It took her some time to pull herself together before returning to the party.
Reginald offered her a strange look when he saw her, one that seemed equal parts disapproval and pride.
Still, he said nothing on the ride home, during which Augusta looked out the carriage window and fought against a smile.
She slept little that night, finding that being awake was, for the first time in her life, preferable to sleep.