Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Well, that is it.” Edmund leaned back against the wall and smiled at Molly who was seated cross-legged opposite him. “That is the last of it.”
The woman who was fast becoming the most interesting person he had ever met returned his smile. “I was surprised that we found any food, to tell the truth.”
Edmund sighed. “I do not think you can call half a loaf of bread that has seen better days, pork that had dried out but was supposedly edible, and those two apples ‘food’, Molly.”
As his lips moved around her name, Edmund felt another jolt of desire rush through his body and he saw no reason to quell it. She was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful in the light of the single candle they had found.
Hours had passed since he had revealed his true parentage to her, and yet she had not responded how he had expected. No curtseys, he had never expected, nor wanted those.
But she had treated him no differently. Perhaps with a little more kindness, after hearing what a brute old Papa had been. But no reverence, no carefulness around offending him, no scraping or self-censure.
It was what he had enjoyed so much when he had become free – free of his family and their expectations.
When no one knew you were the son of a Duke, no one treated you any differently.
It was liberating, but Edmund found to his horror, that a part of him wanted her to.
A small part, certainly, but it was there.
He wanted Molly Kimble to be impressed by him, and it pained him that despite the last few years of learning to survive on his own, he had still not purged himself of the entitlement he had been born with.
“It is better than nothing.” Molly’s gentle words brought Edmund back to reality, and she was smiling. “Perhaps not the Christmas dinner you had expected, however. Turkey and trimmings?”
Edmund grinned. “Mrs Bird’s stew and a side helping of bad cheer. Well, that is what I had last year.”
She smiled and it danced in her eyes. Edmund swallowed.
He was not enjoying being here, in this godforsaken hole, waiting for some mysterious kidnappers to return and demand money from him that he did not have – but of all the people that he could be locked up with on Christmas Day, Molly Kimble would have been his choice.
She stretched out her legs to the side and ensured her gown still covered her ankles.
Molly Kimble, the woman who was so innocent and sweet and yet had found herself in this nonsense.
Molly Kimble, who knew how to untie knots far more complex than he had ever seen, and yet who blushed when their fingers met.
He had wanted to do quite a bit more to her, once those damned ropes had been removed, but he had not done anything about it.
Not yet.
“I am – ”
“Bored?” Molly interjected, her smile broadening. “Do not disappoint me again, Sir Edmund, I had thought you had grown out of that in the last few hours.”
Sir Edmund. She still was determined to give him a title, any title. Being a knight was not something he could be proud of. If Edmund was honest with himself, and that happened rarely, he had looked down at baronets, sneered at them when he had been the Marquis.
Now Molly spoke the word, it was like a badge of honour.
“No, I am not bored,” Edmund said slowly. “I have something far more diverting to stave off boredom.”
She sighed. “Do not tell me that you found a pack of cards, because I will not play with you. I think we have already seen that I am the better player.”
“No. You.”
Molly stared at him for a moment as though waiting for the rest of his sentence, and then she laughed. “Me? You cannot possibly find me interesting, you who have undoubtedly met dukes and earls all your life!”
“And Prinny,” said Edmund cheerfully. “But they are boring, Molly, trust me.”
Her dark eyes were wide now, and she laughed again. “I am more accustomed to speaking with a butcher or baker, Sir Edmund, not the royal family.”
“I wish you would just call me Edmund.”
The sentence had fallen from his lips before he could stop it; a heartful wish that he had been thinking but had not intended to say.
Molly glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”
Edmund swallowed. He hardly knew himself. “Because that is my name. I call you Molly.”
“Without any invitation,” she said with a mocking haughty tone. When he did not respond, she relented. “Edmund, then. You have entertained princes, no doubt, whereas I – ”
“You are here with me,” Edmund pointed out. “Kidnapped too. There must have been a reason for that. Any money in the family tree that may fall into your lap?”
Was it a trick of the little candlelight they had, or did Molly suddenly look a little uncomfortable? There it was; that small shiver as though there were secrets in Molly’s past just as juicy as the ones in his own.
“You have not told me much about yourself, Molly.”
She hesitated before replying, “You have not asked.”
“I am asking now.” Edmund tried to remember not to look merely at her beauty, and look into her eyes. There was fear there, fear about what? That she would be noticed, that her secret, whatever it was, would be discovered?
Edmund shifted his back against the wall. “We could be here a while, and I do not believe there is going to be any additional entertainment found that that we have discovered already, and I am not going to read The Monk, no matter how long we are here. Why not tell me a little about yourself?”
There was no coquettish smile, no wistful look to encourage him to ask more questions. Unlike many of the ladies he had known, Molly did not want to speak.
“No,” she said finally.
If anything could increase his sense of intrigue, it was a flat refusal. “Why?”
“Because it is a sad story that gets sadder with the telling.”
Edmund shook his head with a smile. “Come now, Molly, you cannot try that one with me. You think that losing an income of twenty thousand pounds a year is not a sad tale?”
Molly’s eyes widened, but not – as he may have expected – with greed, but with sorrow. “Do you still consider the loss of your family in pecuniary terms?”
Her words cut right to the core of him, piercing his soul and exposing the very worst of himself.
Edmund struggled to regain control of himself. “Family is not everything.”
“It was for me.” Molly had spoken sadly, with genuine sorrow in her voice and she smiled wryly. “You escaped your family. I did not.”
It was impossible to ignore the pain in her words and Edmund found himself leaning forward, desperate to be close to her, to care for her. He had never felt this way about a person before; it had always been himself against the family, and now himself against the world.
But Molly; if he could wipe away every tear that had ever dropped from those dark eyes, he would.
“Tell me,” he began, but he was interrupted.
“We cannot just leave these plates here, they will dry out and become impossible to clean,” said Molly briskly, rising to her feet so quickly that Edmund barely saw her move.
“Let me help you,” he said hastily, rising too. “I made at least half the mess, as it is.”
Molly snorted as she picked up the plates and placed them on the sideboard. “Did you ever wash anything in your life, Sir – Edmund!”
The last word had escaped as a gasp and Edmund grinned. He had followed her silently and moved so close to her that as she turned, she had moved straight into his arms.
“Edmund,” she repeated. Her dark eyes found his and Edmund felt a surge of an emotion he did not recognise.
“Molly,” he replied, his voice breathless. God’s teeth, having her this close to him was doing things to him that he could not understand – beyond the mechanics. “Do you trust me?”
“Not on your life.”
“I asked you a question in the King’s Head. You said no.”
Molly stared at him, her breasts heaving as her breathing quickened. “Yes.”
“This time,” Edmund said in a low voice, his eyes darting to her lips, “I am going to ask you in a different way.”
His lips crushed against hers in a passionate and uncontained kiss.
Molly had not expected this – had not expected an embrace, let alone a kiss. Something so personal, so wrong between a gentleman and a lady unbetrothed or unwed.
And so her natural reaction was to fight it. Her hands moved up and pushed against Edmund’s chest, but the kiss was so gentle and yet so passionate that all the fight seemed to leave her. His arms were strong, caring, loving, even.
He did not force more than she was willing to give and Molly found herself melting into his arms. His head shifted and the kiss deepened, and Molly found herself welcoming him in, allowing her mouth to open.
It was wonderful. She had never been kissed like this; could not remember Charlie Kimble ever taking her into his arms for such an experience.
He was gentle still, but she could sense the restrained desire and it stirred her. Knowing that she made him feel this way, knowing that Edmund had found against this but found he could not – it was thrilling.
His tongue teased her lips and she widened them further, allowing him in and it was glorious, these feelings rushing through her body that did not seem to belong to her.
Edmund broke the kiss and looked at her, his eyes heavy with desire. “God, Molly. Say yes. I could give you such pleasure.”
Molly’s eyes looked up at him, unsure of herself but fighting down the urge to give in. She was a widow, after all. She knew the mechanics, knew that it would be over almost before it had begun.
Why not give in to a stranger? And yet Edmund was no stranger; she knew him better than anyone. No other gentleman in the world had ever been as honest as he had been with her.
No other gentleman made her feel these things, made her feel truly alive.
Molly licked her lips before she spoke and felt the throb of desire in Edmund’s breeches. It made her feel powerful, and she liked it.
“Yes,” she breathed.