Chapter Twelve #2
“Tess,” he murmured, sliding his hand down to her lower back, then hesitating.
He was allowing her to guide him, to lead, and it seemed to cost him as his breath gusted fast against her skin.
Skimming her hand up his chest, she relished the heat of him, the hard muscles, the thrum of his heartbeat. Then she curled
her hand around his nape and arched up to kiss him.
He groaned at the first taste, growled as she stroked her tongue against his.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a week,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Same.” He took her mouth, cupped her backside and pulled her closer, letting her feel how hard and eager he was for her. “Every damn night, I dream of you,” he admitted breathlessly. He took her lower lip between his teeth, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
Tess bucked against him, shocking herself into pulling back.
“Tess,” he groaned when she pulled away. He then ran a hand across his mouth and studied her in the moonlight. “Does this
mean I’ve grown in your estimation? That you’ve finally decided I’m not a scoundrel?”
“Oh, I know you’re a scoundrel,” she teased with a smile, “but you’re a kind one. An honest one.”
“You’ve asked me for that, and I won’t ever lie to you, Tess.”
“Thank you.”
He bent his head to kiss her again, but she stayed him with a hand against the hard plane of his muscled chest.
“Though I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you for what you did to those books at Lady Goddard’s.”
He hung his head and slumped his shoulders a moment before offering her a contrite look—or as contrite as a man like him could
manage after she’d just divulged how much she wanted him.
“I was in a foul mood that day.”
“Why? You seemed quite jovial.” An image came to her of that moment when he’d descended the stairs in Lady Goddard’s library
and then shamelessly flirted with her.
“If I seemed anything other than grumpish, it was because you’d walked into the room.”
“You needn’t charm me.” Tess pushed gently against him again. “Tell me why you were in a foul mood.”
She watched as he seemed to weigh what to say, or how much to divulge, even as he’d just vowed to tell her the truth.
“Lady Goddard had . . . propositioned me previously.”
Tess recalled how peeved the lady had been to find he’d departed. “That explains a great deal.” Tess swallowed and ran her
fingers along the buttons of his shirt. “Though I can hardly judge her, considering.”
“I cast no judgement on her either. Indeed, I admired her boldness. But it was not something I wished to pursue, nor did I
wish to have another such discussion and disappoint her again on that visit.”
“So, you’re selective as to your . . . lovers?”
He barked out a sharp laugh. “I suppose my reputation would suggest otherwise.”
“Are you not fond of your reputation?”
He held her gaze a long moment before answering. “In the past I was. My father was shameless, and I thought I should be too.”
“And now?” Tess noticed his jaw had tensed. She lifted her hand and dared to draw her finger along that sharp line.
He grasped her hand in his. She thought he meant to push her touch away. Instead, he laid a kiss against her knuckles and
stroked his thumb against her palm.
“I’m not sure I’ve sorted it out myself.”
“You needn’t tell me. Honesty doesn’t mean we have to declare every thought in our head.”
After staring down at the spot where he stroked her palm, he looked up at her again.
“I . . . lost someone who was a genuine friend to me, and now chasing after my father’s shadow feels hollow in a way it didn’t before.” He shook his head and his lips quirked in a rueful grin. “You’ve brought this out in me, you know? This tendency toward awkward confessions.”
“There’s no shame in wanting something different for yourself. Tristan and I wanted to be like our father too, studious and
history-obsessed, but he encouraged us to be true to ourselves first and foremost.”
“Your father sounds like a very good man.” He swallowed hard and drew in a sharp breath. “Perhaps it’s not wrong to choose
something else, but I’ve wanted to emulate my own father for so long. Any detour from that path feels odd. Ill-fitting.”
“Are you afraid of disappointing him?”
“Perhaps. I only know that the more I try to shed his influence, the more odd I feel.”
“Does what’s between us feel . . . odd?” Tess asked, curious about this man who lived up to everything written about him in
the papers, yet at the same time was so completely different.
“God, no.” He pulled her closer without hesitation, cupping her cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Every
day close to you feels . . .”
He trailed off, and Tess leaned in, her breasts brushing the heat of his chest. “Feels?” she prompted.
“You’ll say I’m trying to charm you.”
“Tell me.”
“It feels like a gift.” His fingers traced lightly along her jaw, mirroring the way she’d touched him. “Every day that I wake
up knowing I’ll get to spend my hours with you feels as if I’ve won some grand prize.”
“Oh.” Tess didn’t know what to say. But her heart, fluttering, twisting, dancing in a way that made her breath catch, did. He wasn’t making promises. He wasn’t asking for anything. And somehow, that made his raw confession all the more powerful.
“Did I shock you?” he asked softly.
“A little,” she admitted. “You surprise me. Continually.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.” He seemed anxious for her reply. “Is it?”
Who was this man who kissed like the scoundrel he was widely known to be and yet spoke to her with such earnestness and vulnerability
too?