The Perfect Bride (17 page)

She didn't hesitate as the tears rolled down her face. “I did not know a kiss could be like that.”

He started. Then, “Neither did I.”

I
T WAS VERY DIFFICULT
to stand there like a gentleman. He had never dreamed Blanche would be staring at him with dazed eyes, swollen lips and mussed hair. He had never dreamed he would ever kiss her. But more importantly, he had never dreamed he would want a woman as desperately as he wanted her.

A soft breeze sent tendrils of pale platinum hair against her cheeks. He summoned a smile, as if they had not just shared a devastating kiss, as if his loins were not straining the confines of his breeches, as if he did not wish to crush her soft, small body in his arms again and do far more than kiss her. “Shall we?” he gestured toward the ruins.

She swallowed and breathed, her soft lips opening. He vividly recalled their moist texture and sweet taste. Everything had changed that day at the church. Or had it been the result of her stumbling upon him at midnight while he was foxed—and refusing to condemn him? He had been stunned again and again by her kindness, her admiration, her respect. Maybe their relationship had changed because of the accident. Or was it every single moment combined, rolling together like the rocks in a landslide, gaining momentum and growing in force, since her stunning appearance at Land's End?

He knew when a woman was receptive to him. She had begun to flit about him nervously…and steal glances at him when she thought he was not looking. And that had begun in the great room at midnight when he had been anything but a gentleman.

Subsequently she had been filled with gratitude for his concern after she had fainted outside the church, and somehow, he knew she had wept over him when he had been seriously injured by the stud colt. Most importantly, he would never forget awakening after her surgery to find her openly staring at his body, hunger in her blue-green eyes.

He was never going to define the precise moment in time when Blanche Harrington became aware of him as a man, but it had happened, and with every passing moment, he had become more certain of it.

And now, there was no doubt. He had kissed her, meaning to remain rather chaste, but his passion had spiraled almost uncontrollably until he had taken her with hunger and need. And she had kissed him back, not quite as wildly, but wildly enough; she had also shed tears in his arms.

Now she nodded and smiled tremulously at his suggestion that they stroll among the ruins. He was aware of a distinct aching in his heart, as well as his body. Desire was one thing, any other yearning another, and therefore, forbidden. He could imagine taking her to bed, but he must not go further than that. He limped carefully after her, as the ground was both uneven and strewn with rocks.

And he smiled inwardly. He had somehow known that she was a fiery woman, never mind her infallible grace.

But her single remark still seemed strange.

I did not know a kiss could be like that.

What, exactly, had she meant? Was it at all possible she had enjoyed his kiss that much more than anyone else's? It was unlikely—he'd have better luck betting his entire fortune on the nag with the worst odds at Newmarket, than having such false hope here.

Blanche paused, glancing up at the tower. She smiled hesitantly at him, over her shoulder. “If there are ghosts, they can't be your ancestors.”

He marveled at how elegant and lovely she was, even after such an interlude. “My ancestors haunt the far north if they have bothered to linger at all.”

She reached down and picked a small purple flower, lifting it to her small, delicate nose.

“The gorse rarely bloom until midsummer,” he said. “This is an unusual turn of the weather.”

She faced him, her cheeks pink.

He felt his own color increase and he stared at her, unable to think of a thing to say. He kept recalling her taste and feel and how wildly she had trembled in his arms. He reminded himself that they had shared a simple kiss, even though it didn't seem simple to him. It could not possibly lead anywhere. Could it?

“Will the horses run off?” she asked softly.

His entire body had stirred. It was not a good idea to think of her in his bed. “No.”

“Do you think the ruins haunted?”

“I don't believe in ghosts.”

She nodded. “Neither do I.” She drifted toward the tower wall. This gave him the opportunity to openly admire her face and figure. But the moment she glanced at him, he lowered his gaze. He had to get a firmer grasp on his raging desire, he thought. A kiss between two adults their age meant nothing. It certainly did not signal the beginning of an affair.

He had only begun to consider actually kissing her since he'd awoken after her surgery. Her concern for his welfare had indicated she would be receptive to his advances, if they were made in a proper manner. He had never considered an affair, and he should not do so now. She would choose someone else, someone lighter in nature, someone younger, someone who was whole, and not just physically, but in spirit, too. Her kisses did not indicate a willingness to go further with him.

His tension knew no bounds.

“You are so deep in thought,” she exclaimed softly.

He jerked and felt his cheeks heating. “I have been admiring the scenery,” he heard himself say.

She colored. “I am somewhat advanced in age,” she began.

“I meant it.” He limped over to her, more swiftly than he should have, and his crutch hit a rock. He stumbled but righted himself—she seized his arm, alarmed.

“I have fallen a hundred times learning to use this crutch,” he said flatly.

“Falling cannot be pleasant.”

“It is hardly pleasant, but neither is losing one's leg.”

“It must be difficult, walking on this kind of terrain.”

“It is…but not impossible. Blanche.”

She started at the familiar use of her name.

“I meant my every word. I do not speak lightly. I am not a flirt by nature. I was admiring your silhouette.”

She inhaled. “I do not know what to say…thank you.” She glanced away, but she was smiling. “This is silly, for I am flattered all the time.” She looked up. “I truly appreciate your admiration, Sir Rex.”

He hoped so. “I am going to be incredibly bold.” He did not pause, even though her eyes widened. “I did not quite understand your meaning earlier. You said you had never known such a kiss. I cannot imagine what you meant.”

She glanced away, toying with the strands of her hair. “Do you really wish to discuss this subject?” She asked, her voice low.

“Yes, I do. We are both adults, and obviously we are rather fond of one another. There is nothing wrong with our sharing a kiss—even a heated one.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Sharing a kiss, and discussing it, are two distinct matters.”

She was right; he was wrong. The topic was sensitive and intimate. But he wanted to know if she had meant that she had felt more for him than any other man. “I have admired you for a very long time. I have wanted to kiss you for a very long time,” he said bluntly.

“Oh…I didn't know.” She sat down on the edge of the stone hedge, seeming stunned. “Really?”

He limped closer. “May I?”

She nodded and he sat beside her. “Really.”

She glanced at him with confusion. “But we rarely spoke, and then so briefly.”

“By now, you know I do not get on in society. And the truth is, the gossips are right. I have no charm…I am boorish.”

“They are wrong!” she cried passionately. “You have been charming to
me.
”

He did smile. “It is easy to be charming around you. Your grace makes it so.”

“I wish,” she said slowly, “that you thought better of yourself.”

He started.

She stared at him very directly now. “I wish whoever broke your heart, that she had never done so.”

He flinched, aghast. It took him a moment to rearrange his expression, and in doing so, he looked away. “I beg your pardon. I hardly have a broken heart.”

“The way you spoke of love that night,” she said, her voice low and husky, “makes me firmly disagree.”

He felt breathless. How could she know, when no one did, not even Ty, that Julia had hurt him all those years ago? But the blow had not been inflicted solely by her, it had been equally inflicted by Tom Mowbray, now Clarewood. And with the passage of a decade, he wasn't sure either one of them had done more than wound him deeply. If his heart was broken, it was because of young Stephen.

He spoke slowly, and with great care. “I cared for someone once, long ago. She betrayed me. But it has been over for years. I do not recall how I spoke that night, but I do know that my heart is not broken.” He looked at her for emphasis.

“You said love was grossly overrated.”

“I don't recall,” he said firmly, but now, he recalled his exact words.

She looked at her lap. “Well, as I am prying, that is convenient. But it seems obvious to me that is why you linger at the end of the world.”

He was incredulous. “I am the earl's second son! My choice was to join Her Majesty's forces. I was awarded this estate, Lady Blanche, as you know. Of course I linger here. I have lingered here to make Land's End thrive.”

She flushed and he saw the glint of tenacity in her eyes. “You could come to town more often, do not deny it.”

He sighed. “I concede defeat. I could come to town more often, but the truth is, I do not care for polite society, outside that of my family. I am sorry. And that,” he spoke with a triumphant edge, “is why they call me a boor.”

“Yes, they know you do not like them, that you scorn them, and they throw stones in return,” she said calmly.

He had to smile. But he was relieved they had gotten past the loathsome subject of his possibly broken heart. “Is it so terrible, for me to linger here at the end of the realm and make a modest living for myself?”

She clasped his forearm and he stiffened. “In many ways, it is admirable.” She looked at her palm on his jacket sleeve for one moment and then removed it.

It was a matter of great control not to touch her. And he gave up. He laid his fingertips on her cheek. Their gazes flew together and held. “Tell me what you meant. I think I have misunderstood.”

Her mouth opened and there was no mistaking the throbbing tension between them. It thickened the air; it thickened him. It made him savagely satisfied.

“I am afraid I do not recall the topic.”

Oh, he did like this tangent. He leaned toward her. “Shall I help you remember?” He took a good long look at her mouth and then, unable to help himself, at the hint of cleavage exposed by her very modest bodice.

She trembled and lifted her gaze, her regard beseeching and dazed.

He slid his hand around to her nape, clasping her firmly, and as he lowered his mouth to hers, so much desire swelled, he could not bear it. He exhaled harshly, pulled her closer and touched her lips with his own. A savage need to possess began and he gave in, claiming them fiercely, opening them wide and pressing deeply inside her with his tongue, and all the while, with the back of his mind, knowing what it would be like to have his male body pushing deep within hers, again and again.

She gasped, and then she kissed him back, using her tongue.

He told himself to stay in control, no simple task, because he saw red, and he was terribly close to giving up and allowing himself a frenzy of desire. He could not stand the pressure of his breeches now. Gasping, he somehow pulled her closer, somehow went deeper into her mouth, until she was shaking and gasping in his arms. He pulled back, dazed and dizzy, yet he murmured her name. “Blanche.”

Her blue-green eyes met his.

He wanted more. He was a man, he admired her so; he could not help it. But he breathed and murmured, “Have I refreshed your memory at all?” And because he could not keep his hands to himself, he rubbed his knuckles against her jaw.

“I didn't know,” she said, tears shimmering in her eyes.

He started, for she began to cry yet again.

She touched her lips, as if stunned.

“Why are you crying? Have I hurt you?”

She shook her head, breathing hard, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “How could you hurt me with a kiss? Even a kiss like that?”

He felt like telling her that kiss was a bare shadow of the kind of kiss he wished to give her. He felt like also telling her that, given the opportunity, he would put his mouth everywhere he could on her slender body, savoring every possible inch of her flesh. Given that opportunity, he would worship her until she begged for mercy. And then maybe he would continue, anyway.

“I have only been kissed two times,” she said breathlessly. “And those kisses were chaste and dutiful. I had no idea!”

He was stunned.
“What?”

She shrugged, glancing aside and briefly closing her eyes. “Do you really wish to know?” she cried breathlessly.

“You have only been kissed twice?” His mind raced furiously. If she had only been kissed twice,
two single times,
she had never been with a man. He stared at her in disbelief.