Chapter Thirteen #4
Or she kissed him. It didn't matter. His mouth was on hers, hungry and desperate and impossibly tender all at once.
His hands slid from her face into her hair, scattering pins, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss.
Her own hands fisted in his lapels, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between them at all.
He kissed her like a man dying of thirst who had finally found water. Like a man who had been starving for years and had at last been offered sustenance. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing polished…it was raw and urgent and utterly, devastatingly real.
Her back hit the cold stone of the balustrade, and she didn't care.
She was aware of nothing but Martin, the heat of his body pressed against hers, the taste of champagne on his lips, the small desperate sounds he made against her mouth.
His hands were in her hair, destroying the careful arrangement her maid had laboured over, and she didn't care about that either.
She had waited so long for this. She would have waited longer still.
His mouth left hers to trail along her jaw, down the column of her throat, pressing hot kisses to her skin that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders.
She felt his breath, ragged and uneven, against the hollow of her collarbone.
Felt his hands tighten in her hair as though he was holding himself back from something, barely maintaining control.
"Vanessa," he breathed against her skin, her name a prayer and a plea.
She pulled his mouth back to hers, unwilling to let the kiss end, unwilling to return to a world where they were not touching.
He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh and kissed her deeper, harder, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her entire body feel like it was on fire.
When they finally broke apart, they were both shaking. His forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling in the cold air. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart through the layers of clothing between them, could feel the fine tremor in his hands as they cradled her face.
"That was…" she gasped.
“It is a debt of affection significantly past its season.”
She laughed, a breathless, giddy sound that she barely recognised as her own. "I was going to say 'worth the wait.'"
"That too." He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"My darling, Vanessa. I have wanted to do that for so long.
Every ball, every dinner party, every time I saw you across a crowded room, I have wanted to cross the distance between us and take you in my arms and never let go. "
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I'm a foolish man. We've established this." He pulled back slightly, his hands still tangled in her ruined hair, his eyes dark with desire and something softer beneath it. "There are things I need to tell you. Things that might…"
The letters. The thought cut through her happiness like a blade. He's going to tell me about the letters.
A burst of laughter from inside. Footsteps approaching the terrace doors.
They sprang apart, but the damage was done.
Vanessa's hair was half down, pins scattered on the flagstones like fallen stars.
Her lips felt swollen, her skin flushed everywhere his mouth had touched.
Martin's cravat was utterly destroyed, his hair disheveled, his coat askew, his eyes still dark with the remnants of passion.
They looked exactly like what they were: two people who had been kissing passionately in a secluded corner.
"We cannot go back in like this," Vanessa whispered frantically.
"No." Martin was attempting to straighten his cravat, failing utterly. "Your hair…"
"I know." She reached up, trying to tuck the loose strands back into some semblance of order. "Is it very bad?"
"It's…" He stopped, looking at her. "You're beautiful. You're always beautiful. But yes, it's fairly obvious that something has happened."
The doors opened. Edward stepped onto the terrace, scanning the shadows.
"There you are." He approached them, his expression shifting from relieved to suspicious as he took in their disheveled appearances. "Mother is asking after you, Vanessa. And Martin, what the devil happened to your cravat?"
"The wind."
"There's no wind."
"A localised gust. Very sudden. Very violent." Martin's expression was perfectly innocent…which, of course, made him look even guiltier.
Edward's eyes narrowed, moving from Martin to Vanessa and back again. Taking in the scattered hairpins. The ruined cravat. The flush on both their faces.
“What is the meaning of this?”
"Nothing," Vanessa said, too quickly.
"Absolutely nothing," Martin agreed.
Edward was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed…a heavy, resigned sound.
"You're both terrible fabricators of the truth... You know that, yes?"
"I'm an excellent fabricator," Martin protested. "I'm simply choosing not to employ my skills at present."
"That's not reassuring." Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, looking suddenly tired. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. Can you do that?"
"That depends on the question."
"Are you…" Edward gestured vaguely at the two of them, at their disheveled appearances, at the scattered hairpins and destroyed cravat. "Is this…are you…."
"Yes," Martin said quietly. "We are."
Edward stared at him. Then at Vanessa. Then back at Martin.
"How long?"
“Nigh on six years.”
"You've been…" Edward's voice cracked. "All this time? You have been holding my sister’s affections to your heart all this time, and you never thought to mention it?"
"I thought I was protecting her. Protecting you. Our friendship…"
"Our friendship would have survived, you absolute donkey." Edward threw his hands in the air, his voice rising with exasperation. "All this time! All this time watching you both pine for each other like characters in a bad novel, and neither of you thought to simply talk to each other?"
"In my defence," Vanessa said, "I didn't know he felt the same way."
"Everyone knew! Everyone except apparently the two of you!
" Edward pressed both hands to his face, muffling a groan of frustration.
"I cannot believe…do you have any idea how painful it's been to watch?
The longing looks? The careful avoidance?
The way you both pretend to be indifferent and then spend entire dinner parties staring at each other across the table? "
"We weren't that obvious," Martin said.
"You were exactly that obvious. I've had people ask me about it. Multiple people. Lady Ashworth cornered me at the Haberton soiree last month to inquire whether my sister and my best friend were having a secret affair."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her she was imagining things, because I assumed…foolishly, it seems…that if you were having an affair, you would have had the decency to inform me." Edward lowered his hands, his expression somewhere between exasperated and resigned. "All this time, Martin…”
"Are you angry?" Martin asked quietly.
Edward was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, more measured.
"I should be. I should be furious. My best friend has been secretly holding affections for my sister for so many years, and neither of them thought to mention it to me.
" He shook his head slowly. "But mostly I'm just annoyed that it took you this long to do something about it.
Do you have any idea how exhausting it's been, watching you both suffer in silence?
Trying to decide whether to intervene or stay out of it?
Hoping that one of you would eventually come to your senses? "
"You knew?" Vanessa asked. "All this time, you knew?"
"Of course I knew. I'm not blind, Vanessa.
And I'm not a simpleton, despite what Mother sometimes suggests.
" Edward ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded her suddenly of Martin.
"I've known about Martin's feelings for years.
I suspected about yours. I was simply waiting for one of you to do something about it. "
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because it wasn't my place. Because I thought if I pushed, I'd only make things worse. Because…" He broke off, sighing. "Because I was afraid. For both of you. Martin's reputation isn't exactly spotless, and I worried... I worried he might hurt you. Or that Society might hurt you both."
"Edward…"
"I know, I know. It's not my decision to make. And I can see now that I should have said something years ago." He looked at Martin, his expression softening slightly. "You really love her? This isn't just…I don't know…infatuation, or convenience, or…"
"I am devoted to her,” Martin said quietly.
"I have been since the day she threw a cushion at my head and called me an insufferable pedant.
I have cherished her through every argument, every dance and every miserable moment of pretending I felt nothing.
And I will be devoted to her until the day I die, whether she chooses me or not. "
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between them. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Very well then.”
“Very well?”
"Very well, I believe you, and if this is what you both want…if this is truly what will make you happy…then I won't stand in your way." He paused. "But Martin, I promise you this, if you harm a single hair on her head, and I shall make it my life’s work to see you utterly ruined.”
"I would expect nothing less."
"Excellent." Edward took a breath, squaring his shoulders. "Now, we need to get back inside before someone comes looking. Vanessa, your hair is still a disaster. Martin, that cravat is beyond salvation."
"I'll stay out here," Martin said. "Smoke a cigar or something. I shall leave you, then, to see Vanessa suitably settled.”