Chapter Thirteen #2
The last vestiges of his restraint fell away as his lips molded onto hers.
Whereas before, his kiss had been gentle and tentative, now he was emboldened to claim her mouth as his own.
Her lips were soft and yielding, her hands, entwined in his hair, pulled him even closer.
Adam felt the urgent swell of his desire beginning to overtake all rational thought as he skimmed his palms over her bodice and along her spine.
She felt right in his arms. They slotted against one another as if long accustomed to the fit of their particular limbs and lips and fingers. How could that be? When she was light, and he was darkness?
But it was so.
Kissing her deeply, Adam had never felt so sure that he was entirely where he was meant to be. Her hands ran over his chest, and even though they were both fully clothed, he felt her touch like fire.
He groaned at the back of his throat. “We should take care.”
“Just this once, I am of a mind to not take care.”
Her playful whisper stoked his desire further. In one smooth movement, he could lift her from the chair and carry her to the rug. “But the servants.” He pulled away, his breathing ragged. “We might be discovered.”
I must not be caught deflowering Lady Esme de Neville.
The thought was instantly sobering. He rested his forehead against hers and tried to steady the pounding of his pulse.
Esme leaned back, her blue gaze scorching him. “There are other chambers.”
He groaned again. “You know not how you torture me.”
She swallowed and turned her head, so he regretted his harsh response. But at least his reason was returning. The lady did not know how she tortured him. She was an innocent.
Although she does not kiss like an innocent.
She kissed with all the passion and intent that she brought to everything else.
“I do not mean to torture you,” she said tightly.
“I know this.” He stood up, pulling her up alongside him and resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.
She was slender against him. A delicate, beautiful flower that was not his to pluck.
“You would not do anything that was ill-intended,” he said in a rush.
“You are all things that are honest and true.”
Her response was to press her face against his chest. He caressed her hair, thinking it was better he could speak these words without the challenge of her all-seeing gaze. “I have never met anyone like you before,” he whispered. “You have opened my eyes once again to the beauty of the world.”
He felt her deep, shuddering breath. “There is much you have shown me, taught me.”
He skimmed his thumbs over the defined lines of her cheekbones. “How to swing a sword?” he offered, half teasing.
“So much more.” She tipped back her head, and her eyes shone up at him.
“I would not have you thinking that I am some old, seasoned warrior looking only for a conquest to brag about.” He was trying—and so far, failing—to articulate the complexity of his feelings.
“When I first met you, you were Lady Esme de Neville. Now you are a bright, guiding light in the darkness of the world.”
“I am not anything so grand.” She half shook her head.
“You are to me.” He had to make her understand. “You are beautiful and pure in a way I have never known.”
“What if I am not so pure?” she choked.
“But you are.” He smiled down at her. “Kind and honest and pure. There is naught you would not do for another. Naught you would shy away from.”
Once again, she pressed her face into his chest so he could not see her expression. ’Twas an invitation to further unburden himself.
“I have become hard and unknowable in these last years. I erected barriers in my heart and hid behind them. But you have begun to break them down.”
Esme pulled away and he saw, with distress, that she was trembling.
“I am not the person you think I am.”
“I think you are wonderful,” he answered simply.
She put the back of her hand to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the floor. Adam realized, belatedly, that his words had pushed her away.
But how?
He had never been gifted with words. What had he said that was so amiss?
“Wonderful and good,” he added, tentative now.
“Nay.” She shook her head. “I cannot do this.”
Of course she could not.
Adam saw the scene unfold in slow motion, as if he was hovering somewhere in the rafters. The beautiful, golden-haired lady. The clumsy oaf who had attempted to romance her.
How foolish he had become. In just one night.
“Forgive me.” He backed away and put a hand to his head, immediately seeking to put distance between them.
“There is naught to forgive.” Her words sounded sincere, but Esme looked everywhere except at him. “Truly, Adam. The fault is with me.”
“I will leave you.” His mind still whirred, but his body knew what to do. He gave a short bow, turned abruptly and walked toward the servant’s door in the corner; his long legs striding across the polished floor, even as his heart yearned to stay where he was.
Where he had been, just moments ago.
Happy. Or at least, beginning to believe in the possibility of happiness.
You are a fool, Adam Hawker, he told himself grimly as he clambered up the steep, narrow stairs.
He could scarcely see where he was going but could orient himself well enough with one hand brushing against the cold stone.
He reached the top floor and flung open the door to his chamber so violently that it banged loudly against the wall.
“A damned fool,” he said out loud.