Chapter 8 #3
“Oh, dear,” she said, putting her plate down now that the last morsel of cake had been eaten. She studied him. “Who’s been asking you about your future?”
“Well, my mother and father this morning, though they’re extremely kind and patient about it.”
“Oh,” she teased, unable to help herself. “Are they on you to find a profession?”
“Men like me don’t have professions,” he drawled, tucking his pencil over his ear, which gave him the most devil-may-care look. “You know that.”
“Well, some of the Briarwoods seem to have professions,” she replied.
“They have causes,” he corrected. “None of us actually have professions. Well…maybe some do,” he relented.
“Cassius has a profession,” she said, brushing her hands off. “And he loves it. He adores working for your uncle, the duke. No doubt it would do you very good if you got a profession.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I thought this was about you, not me.”
She grew quiet. “Do you dislike my line of conversation so very much?”
“No,” he said softly. “How can I? You clearly care about me.”
She sucked in a short breath. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do, Alice,” he returned, that low rumble of his voice back again.
“I care about another slice of cake,” she said.
“Now you’re just being silly,” he tsked.
“Perhaps I am,” she whispered, “but I don’t know what else to do. Because sitting here in this field with you, suddenly I… I know something else that I like.”
He moved a little bit closer to her.
“And what is that?” he asked.
She looked down at her lemonade, then back to him, shocked by the bravery that rattled through her and caused her to declare, “This. I like this very, very much.”
Deimos considered retreating for a moment. But he could not. She called to him. She called to his blood, his body, his heart. In all his life, he’d never felt such a strong call. As she sat cradling her lemonade with the sun’s rays kissing her, oh how he envied those rays.
She was so beautiful. Here in the field, surrounded by flowers, she seemed so at home, so at ease, and yet he could feel her need for him too. It was there in her breathing, in the way her gaze held his and the parting of her lips.
She wanted discovery and he was going to give it to her, because in Deimos’s mind? She was destined to be his. Somehow. He didn’t know how yet. All he knew was it was true. He had to trust that. Trust that she would see it too.
So, he felt no guilt that she was a young, unmarried lady as he stretched his hand out and took her lemonade away. He set it down carefully. Quietly, he slipped towards and said, “I’m going to kiss you.”
At those words, he waited for her to protest. She did not. Quite the contrary, she tilted her head, full of expectation.
But first he drank in the color of her cheeks that heightened with the promise of his kiss, the way her breasts rose and fell quickly now, her breath wild with her passion.
Deimos leaned over her, lingering, letting his lips hover over hers, savoring this moment.
Then he kissed her. Her soft lips welcomed his and that velvety touch undid him.
He swept her into his arms, slowly sliding one of his hands to her bonnet, easing it off.
It tumbled to the blanket, and he wound his fingers into her coiffure.
She moaned softly, pressing her hand to his chest as he arched her back ever so slightly, better angling her for their kiss.
Over and over their lips touched and caressed, awakening them both to a passion they had heretofore been ignorant of.
Oh, he knew passion. But not like this. Nothing like this.
And when he teased the line of her mouth with his tongue, she gasped.
Gently, he slipped his tongue into her hot mouth, caressing. Oh how he wanted her!
It was all he could do not to lay her back on the blanket and take her in the open air. But that? That he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for. Surely, a rake such as himself could practice a modicum of self-control. He was no untried youth, and yet he felt half mad for her.
The kiss went on and on until they strained against each other, their bodies pressed tight, their breaths as one.
She wound her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer.
In another moment, he would raise her skirts, stroke her legs, tilt her back, undo his breeches, and give her a very different education.
Just as his hands went to the hem of her skirts, somehow a jolt of reason hit him. He couldn’t bear it if she wished this moment had never happened.
“More,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “We must go back.”
“I never want to go back. Only forward.”
He let out a low growl. “Then we will, but not here. Not yet.”
“When?” she breathed.
“Soon. If it is what you want.”
“How do I know if it is truly what I want?” she whispered.
“I can’t tell you that.”
She licked her lips. “I think it is you who doesn’t know what they want then.”
He swallowed. Maybe she was right, but he wanted her for more than a day. With each growing moment with Alice, he was certain he wanted her forever.