Chapter 17 #3
But it was not nerve he lacked. He would have spirited her away without a thought for anything else if he hadn’t known that doing so would be the height of selfishness and dishonor. How could he make promises to her when she had no notion who he truly was—or his true name?
He wanted more than anything to tell her that now—to make her see that there was not a gentleman in England less fit than he to be the recipient of her precious affection.
When his silence continued, she swallowed, her brows knit with incomprehension and pain. She took a step back, and a blush rose from her neck and into her cheeks. “You know, I began to think you had been avoiding me this week. I convinced myself I was wrong. I hoped I was wrong.”
His heart panged, but he said nothing, for the moment he opened his mouth, the truth would burst forth like evils from Pandora’s box.
She took another step back, the bracelet clutched in her hand. “I had thought you…” She swallowed. “Never mind what I thought or hoped or convinced myself of. I can see I was mistaken.” She turned away, but Silas caught her arm.
She did not struggle against him, but neither did she turn toward him.
“You are mistaken in me,” he said quietly. “But not in the way you think.”
She remained with her back to him for a moment.
“Arabella,” he pleaded. “I am trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” She whirled toward him, her eyes wide and glimmering with tears.
“From me.”
Her brows knit. “You said I was not in any danger from you.”
“You are not. And I am trying to ensure it continues that way.”
“Why will you not explain what you mean?”
He pressed his lips together, struggling with how to respond. “I cannot. I swear to you I want to do so more than anything! It is torture for me to keep the truth from you, and yet…”
“To keep the truth from me,” she repeated. “Has everything been a lie?”
“Of course not,” he responded. “My feelings for you are true, Arabella. But both you and I know that nothing can come of them. You said as much yourself. Your father has particular requirements of the man you will marry. I assure you, he would not choose me, for reasons both known and unknown to you. The specifics of those reasons matter not. Suffice it to say this: you would not want me if you knew the truth.”
She shook her head, her chest rising and falling steadily as he stared at her, stupefied by her beauty and aching at the unfathomable knowledge that she wanted him. Fate’s cruelty knew no bounds.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
She continued to stare at him, the only evidence she had heard him a small quiver of her bottom lip.
“Will you kiss me?”
His vision flickered. “What?”
“Will you kiss me?”
He could only stare at her, at a loss for both breath and words.
Her gaze was clear and intent. Stubborn, even.
“Arabella,” he pleaded. “I cannot. I should not.” And yet in his mind, his lips were already on hers.
“The night we met,” she said, “you told me you would not kiss me unless I begged you to.”
His heart thundered against his ribs like a battering ram, sending cracks through his resolve with each beat. “I remember.”
She stepped toward him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “I am begging you to kiss me.”
His determination splintered down the center.
“If I am indeed to marry, and if it cannot be you, I would like to know—just once—what it is like to be kissed by the man I love.”
A thousand pieces of resolve crumbled onto the floor of the orangery, and desire burst through.
Silas stepped toward her and put a hand to her cheek. The other slipped around her waist, just as his mind had pictured minutes ago. But his vision had not prepared him for the feel of her body against his fingertips or the way she yielded so willingly to his touch.
He stared at her, hungrily taking in every detail. If he could only ever kiss Arabella Easton once, he would savor every moment.
She watched him, her eyes full of wonder and patience, as though she, too, wished to savor things.
But a man could only look at Arabella Easton for so long, surrounded by her sweet scent, his thumb stroking her impossibly soft cheek, before his lips begged for hers.
The moment she closed her eyes, he let his lips stray where they wanted, pressing softly against hers, as velvety soft as the petals of the roses.
And yet, not amongst all the flowers and exotic plants in the gardens of Kew could one find a treasure like the one whose body gave a little shiver as he deepened the kiss, whose hands grasped the lapels of his coat and pulled him closer—as though he could even consider going anywhere else.
She may have begged him to initiate the kiss, but the depth of it required no urging. He would stay here in this precise place, holding her and showing her the way he longed for her—longed for a life with her—until time itself was extinguished.
His heart was hers, trapped inside his body and pounding against his ribs, beating toward her in a desperate attempt to reach the woman who possessed it. It beat with such force that it was not until the footsteps were upon them that Silas heard the rustling nearby and broke his lips from hers.
Frederick emerged through the branches and stopped short, staring at them in astonishment.