“I should ask your permission, but I fear you will say no.” With that warning, he bent low and claimed her mouth.
Hot sparks of desire shot through her. As Henry’s broad hands roamed up her spine, every part of her body sizzled and trembled. Something deep inside seemed to become molten heat at his touch. Her fingers feathered into his hair and held his mouth against hers.
With her heart pounding, Amity let him slide his hands into her hair and dislodge the casual bun she’d created that morning. Pins went everywhere although many stayed put, liable, she feared, to poke one of Henry’s eyes out.
“Amity,” he murmured against her lips, and she forgot the hairpins.
Moaning slightly, she let his hot tongue slide into her open mouth. Gasping at the sensation drew him in farther. With a wildness she’d never imagined, she sucked on his tongue, making him groan in turn.
She was on fire and began to yank at the buttons on the front of her gown, thinking of nothing except wanting to feel his touch upon her heated skin. Finding it too difficult with shaking fingers, she switched to yanking at his clothing, desperate to touch him.
Contrary to every impulse of her body, she felt Henry freeze. He ceased kissing her and rested his forehead against her own. Then, he grasped hold of her hands to stall their frantic movements.
HENRY WAS AMAZED AT how this proper young woman, who was so determined to honor her engagement, could ignite in his arms with such rapidity. His own body was also in flames, and his manhood was like a flagpole.
He could simply tell her how much he loved her, but that seemed particularly manipulative at this juncture. Either she would feel compelled to return the sentiment — whether she felt it or not — using words she’d probably recently said to her fiancé, or she would not say them. Far worse, as far as he was concerned.
If she didn’t say them back, he would seem a groveling fool, and if she was determined to marry Mr. Cole, Henry would be exactly that — a fool.
He wanted her to give him some sign she preferred marriage to him over that damned lawyer. Drawing back, he looked at her flushed face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and she was breathing heavily, as was he. He took her pretty chin between his fingers.
“Amity,” he commanded.
She shook her head slightly to dislodge his hand.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Henry ordered as she retreated from him.
“That I could not possibly go to the workroom of Rare Confectionery and make chocolates if I were a duchess.”
However, when she opened her eyes and quickly looked away from him, he knew other thoughts were flitting in her brain. Thoughts of him, perhaps, and not of chocolate.
He sighed. “Can we put that aside for the time being? I cannot imagine chocolate is more important than...,” he trailed off. How pathetic to say he wanted to come before her love of making chocolate!
He paced the room to give her space to think and, hopefully, to say something more intimate, but he kept his gaze on her. She curled her delicate yet capable hands into fists at her sides. She glanced up at the ceiling and down at the floor. Finally, she looked directly at him.
“Would you give up your seat in Parliament or leave your townhouse to live with me in a middle-class house in the southwest outskirts of London?”
His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that question. Give up the trappings of his inheritance? Absurd!
“But there would be no need,” he began.
She held up a hand to stop him. “What if marrying me meant giving up your fine house and your valet, as well as membership to your clubs and...?” She hesitated and frowned.
Her lovely face, even when frowning, made his heart ache. He knew this wasn’t going the way he had hoped.
“And what if you even had to give up your luxury coach?” she finished and sunk her teeth into her lower lip, appearing distraught.
Amity could not see herself as his duchess, and that hurt. If she loved him, she would leave Mr. Cole and enter his world with pleasure and gratitude. She would worry later about being a chocolatier.
With his heart squeezing painfully, all he could do was turn her words into a jest.
“That is unfair. Anything but my luxury coach. Definitely, I would rather have my Italian leather squabs than you for a wife.”
They stared at each other, and then she smiled, while tears filled her eyes. He could tell she was not going to acquiesce. She did not love him, or at least, not enough.
“I had best be on my way,” he said, feeling suddenly chilled and empty, “before I am discovered in your room.”
She nodded, crushing his hopes for a life with this warm and witty woman.
He nearly took her in his arms again. Who was to stop him? They both undeniably enjoyed it. But it seemed a shallow, lusty game, and he didn’t play those types of games, not with respectable young women.
With a bow of farewell, Henry slipped out of her room and headed back along the hallway to his own. It had never occurred to him that she would choose the lawyer and chocolate over him. Who wanted to be a regular missus instead of a duchess?
A part of him admired her for her loyalty. A very small part! The rest of him felt annoyed, confused, worried, uncharacteristically insecure, and above all, miserable.
As he undressed, missing his valet, he decided to depart at first light with a note left for the family. He was not one to flog a dead horse, nor to face humiliation at the hands of the victorious Mr. Cole.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next day, Amity knew it would not be easy to tell Jeremy she’d had a change of heart, but at the very least, it would be a relief. Awakening to learn of the Duke of Pelham’s departure, her heart felt like solid stone in her chest, and she could think of no remedy. She could not marry Henry and throw away her passion for confectionery, nor give up working with her sisters.
She also could not marry Jeremy, not after experiencing such intense, heady desire in Henry’s arms. Jeremy deserved a woman who felt such passion for him, not one who would spend the rest of her life thinking of another man’s kiss.
Before breakfast, she invited Jeremy to walk with her. They made it as far as the field of wildflowers behind the house when she turned to him, not wanting to drag it out.
“I’m so sorry,” she began.
“But you cannot marry me,” Jeremy finished.
She lowered her head, hating to hurt him although she’d made her decision in the long, sleepless hours of the night.
“You are marrying the Duke of Pelham,” he concluded, “and I cannot compete with him.”
“You do not need to compete with His Grace, nor am I marrying him.”
“Then why?” he asked.
“I have searched my heart, and while I have affection for you, I am not in love with you,” she said as kindly as she could. She now understood true love, knowing it must be the reason for her ardent emotions whenever she was with Henry. And being with Jeremy was nothing like it.
His expression became perplexed. “The duke hasn’t asked you to marry him.” He cocked his head. “And yet you’re not marrying me ... because of love?”
She decided not to delve into Henry’s proposal or even confess there had been one as that was not Jeremy’s business.