Chapter Seven #4
“Do not agree with me,” she warned. “That’s not enough for me to forgive you.”
His inhale was deep and audible. “What if…” He paused for a long moment. “What if I let you shake me again?”
He sounded hopeful, the fool. “No.”
Shaking him hadn’t been very nice. Lady Asquith would be ashamed.
“You can…” His searching palm met her shoulder.
This time, she didn’t turn away.
“That is”—he guided her hands back to his lapels—“if you still wish.”
“Shaking you was in poor taste.” She gathered his clothes in her fists. “But, right now, I’m so angry at you I’d shoot you, if I was sure I’d get away with it.”
His light chuckle rumbled beneath her hands. “No doubt you would.”
She didn’t know what to do. Pull him close? Push him away? Remain as they were indefinitely?
“May I hold you again?” he asked.
“Madman,” she accused. But softly. And with the tiniest tug.
He encircled her in his strong arms. So much better. So much warmer. And so…right.
She sighed deeply and then dropped her head against his shoulder. A surrender. Not to him, but to her overwhelming need for him. She was exhausted. She didn’t want to fight anymore.
“I wouldn’t want you to risk the rope,” he soothed. “Not for a dunderhead like me.”
“No one would blame me for your murder, madman.”
His thumb passed over her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I am not mad, you know. I’ve been stupid, yes. I thought that you—Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. It appears I have been very wrong. Let us just concur on the stupid.”
She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I shouldn’t like to be hanged.”
“No, dearest. You must avoid the rope. Especially, with a neck so…so…” His voice deepened. “So perfect.”
“Perfect?” She sniffed again. It was the nicest thing he’d ever said.
“Perfect.” He ran his fingers down her nape to her shoulder and back. Then, he repeated the motion with a heartfelt sigh.
Millie’s tingling sensation returned.
She wanted… She winced. Well, after all she’d been through, she quite felt she deserved a proper kiss. And after that look Neville had given her in Harbury’s library, she suspected Neville could provide that proper kiss.
But dare she ask?
She didn’t want to risk another rejection, but she must. She had to be brave. She had to stop letting everyone else around her make the decisions.
“Kiss me, Neville. I want you to kiss me like you care for me.”
He groaned again, deep and long. “I do care, Millicent.”
He pressed his lips to her, but only against her brow. Still, she felt their warmth everywhere. Yes. Please. More…
Had he somehow heard her silent plea? Because suddenly she felt a shattering trail of kisses along her temple and down toward her ear. She collapsed against him, nothing but a puddle of heat and desire and more than a little relief.
“I’ve always cared.” He kissed beneath her ear. On her temple. Between her brows. “How could you not see? How could you not know?”
“Neville,” she whispered.
Tell me you want me. Tell me you cannot resist me.
The unspoken pleas sat on her tongue. She’d already asked for too much. So, she let her requests dissolve. They were too sweet, too sticky and likely to make her ill…candy she had stolen but was never meant to have.
“Call me Auggie again,” he asked.
Auggie? Ah, yes. She’d done so moments before, as a taunt. How outrageous she’d been. He didn’t look like an Auggie at all.
“Auggie,” she sighed.
So long as kept his cheek against hers, she would call him whatever he pleased. And, she found, his request made her bold enough to propose another of her own.
“Will you kiss me properly, Auggie?”
His momentary silence was followed by an extended sigh and then a meek, “Yes, ma’am.”
She lifted her face. He cupped her cheeks. Then, he touched his mouth gently to hers—warm, dry, infinitely tender. He pulled away, only to return and then to linger.
“Was that ‘properly?’” he whispered against her mouth.
“Yes,” she supposed, somewhat disappointed. “Thank you.” She sighed. “Perhaps proper wasn’t quite the right word.”
He groaned low in his throat. Giving up his resistance, he snaked an arm around her waist, while keeping ahold of her jaw with his other hand.
She went limp and yielding as he pressed her into the crook of his arm.
In Neville’s embrace, she would not come to harm.
As she accepted this truth, the brief, hesitant contact between their mouths turned molten.
Her lips, she was sure, were trembling, and the sensation in the maze that had left her so awed and befuddled was a light spring rain to the deluge of tingles raining down on her now.
His lips, on the other hand, were firm. And he kissed her thoroughly and without hesitation, as if he’d done so a thousand times, as if tasting her was the sole purpose of his existence.
Was that her heart, throbbing?
Or was the throbbing coming from his heart?
She hardly knew where she began and he ended. Again, just as she had on first entering the chamber, she felt sheltered. Safe.
As if she belonged right where she was.
This was a proper kiss.
Finally.