His hand went automatically to his aching prick, squeezing to alleviate some of the pressure there. He absolutely would not go any further, but fuck, he thirsted for it, and that troubled him. After sixteen years, anyone would be in physical need, and so he didn’t blame himself for that. The problem was that he wanted more than just her body: he wanted her. He wanted this little blossom, lush and brave, and so secretly reckless, so privately turbulent, like a churning river hidden underneath a layer of solid ice. Not that there was anything cold about her.
No, when she was being spoiled as she should be, she was hotter than the fires of hell.
He forced his eyes up to her face, his hand still wrapped tight around himself, and then he let go of his erection, wincing at the throb it gave.
Eleanor, perceptive thing she was, noticed. “Does it hurt?” she asked him.
She as curious as she was coy, and it unraveled his control, his guilt, everything. Was it possible to want someone so much that it could change what he thought he knew about himself? Because right now he could taste her on his lips, recall how the turgid point of her nipple felt on his tongue. The need that frothed and simmered in his blood frightened him—he wanted her so much. He wanted all of this so damn much.
He closed his eyes, knowing he shouldn’t answer. He should cover her nakedness and ask her forgiveness.
That’s what a good man would do.
“Yes,” he answered, opening his eyes.
He wasn’t a good man, unfortunately for them both. “It needs release.”
She reached for him, and he didn’t stop that first tentative brush of her fingertips over his clothed erection.
“Can I help it feel better?” she whispered. “I felt so much better after—” She searched for the words. “After you kissed me there.”
He shuddered as she stroked him again. Even over the silk breeches, her touch scalded him.
“Eleanor,” he said, and he meant to say next: we should not. We should stop right now. But those weren’t the words that left his mouth. “Hold it tighter. Yes, that’s it. Like that.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she watched her hand mold over his shape. She squeezed and released, caressed and explored. He wanted so badly to unfasten the falls of his breeches. To show her how deeply she riled him. To teach her how to attend to his coarsest needs.
After a minute of this torture, he covered her hand with his own and halted her attentions. “Enough,” he said.
She lifted her spring-green eyes to his. “Why?”
It took him a full minute to understand that she was asking why he stopped her. To understand that she didn’t want to stop.
“We shouldn’t, little blossom,” he said, the endearment clearly surprising her—and then, if her renewed flush was any indication, pleasing her. He pushed her hand away.
“But why?” She looked back down to the tumid length between his hips. “I don’t want to stop.”
“It’s been an eventful night for both of us. I don’t want to take advantage of that. Of you.” He closed his eyes, tried to gather his thoughts. When he opened his eyes and spoke, it was more to convince himself than her. “I won’t pretend that your leaving will be unnoticed, and I can’t promise it won’t cause some damage to your reputation. But right or wrong, you know as well as I do that some boundaries mean more than others. Some acts might mean more to a future husband.”
Something moved in her eyes that he couldn’t catch: the moment he noticed it, it was gone. “I see,” she said evenly. Her expression was neutral. “And you don’t wish for that to be the case.”
He didn’t like it when she was serene with him, when she used her equanimity as a shield to keep him at bay. He didn’t like it at all. He wanted her curious and unfettered. He wanted her reckless—although the mere thought of her running away again and putting her life in danger elicited a storm of fury and fear in his blood. “Why would I?” He’d only known her a week, but he felt violently protective of Eleanor and her future. And that extended to protecting her from himself, and also protecting himself from his ravening urge to claim her, to plunder her when he’d already decided his future. It was better for everyone if he stayed away from her and abdicated his title as he’d planned. Right?
Right?
“What choices do I have now, then?” she asked. “At this moment?”
He sensed something else under her questions, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Unhappiness, probably, and she had every right to be unhappy. To her, he must represent the marital captivity that awaited her if she was bought back to Far Hope—and he still hadn’t reassured her that he wasn’t going to bring her back.
He corrected that now. “Firstly, I want you to know that I won’t ask you to change your mind about marrying my nephew.”
Relief filtered through her face before she schooled her expression again. “Thank you. I’m grateful for that.”
He cut her a look. “That doesn’t mean I’m happy about how you decided to break off the betrothal, Eleanor. You could have died tonight.”
Her chin lifted ever so slightly. “But I didn’t.”
“Because I found you. If I hadn’t . . . ”
Her mouth tightened, the only betrayal of her placidity. “I’m grateful that you found me as well and brought me someplace safe. Thank you.”
Very aware of her nakedness—of her tightly beaded nipples and gold-dusted cunt—Jarrell finally handed her the blanket and then sat back. He was still so hard that half the blood in his body had to be filling his cock right now, but he did his best to ignore it.
“Are you truly? Grateful, I mean?” he asked. “Your unhappiness was not a secret to me, and I let myself pretend that your forbearance was consent when I should know better. If I had handled this matter well, you wouldn’t have needed to run away at all.”
Eleanor seemed to consider his words, tilting her head. “I appreciate the admission. I suppose whether or not I’m truly grateful depends on what happens next.”
Yes. That would inform things, wouldn’t it, whether or not he was about to drag her back into the pits of Gilbert-infused hell. He took a deep breath. “The way I see it, you have two paths available to you now. Either I escort you back to Far Hope, and I help you formally break off the betrothal. Or I help you get safely to your final destination and then I return and formally break off the betrothal on your behalf. In either instance, you have my full and free assistance in ending the engagement.”
Or there’s option three, where I drag you to the church myself.
He scraped a hand over his face, as if he could rub away the thought itself. Rub away the keen bolt of longing that struck him in the chest—and elsewhere—whenever he thought of making Eleanor his bride.
She looked away, tucking the blanket more securely around her. “I see,” she said quietly. “So in both of these futures, I am unencumbered by any husband.”
“In both, you will be free to choose whatever you like, because you will not be burdened by Far Hope.”
She kept her face angled away from his. He didn’t like it.
“Eleanor, look at me.”
She did, after a long moment, reluctance stamped all over those pert features.