“Is this about not trusting yourself with me again?”
Dashed man. Stood to reason he would bring up her words from the gazebo. She ducked her head, shame scalding her from the inside out. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I like when you are honest with me.”
“If only you could do the same.”
A rough finger brushed the top of her hand, stroking each of her knuckles, one by one. Sparks shot along her skin, an effervescence skipping along every nerve in her body, making her feel both light and heavy at the same time. Though she couldn’t see him, he was all around her, the scent of him—the outdoors and a faint hint of cigar—surrounding her. The sound of his steady breathing echoed in the small space. By the time he reached her pinky, she had nearly melted on the bench.
He linked their fingers together. “I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know,” he said, his voice like silk.
There was really only one question to ask. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
The single word fell between them like a perfectly placed drop shot over the net. She had no way of catching it, no hope of returning it. Worse, there was no avoiding the consequences. “I cannot break the betrothal.”
“Others have done so and survived. You can, too.”
“This is madness. You ask the impossible.”
His hand held steady, their two fingers intertwined, anchoring her. She wasn’t ready to pull away.
The air grew heavier as her lungs worked, her breath coming fast and shallow. They’d spent so much time alone together over the years, but this was different. Even their interactions on the terrace and in the gazebo hadn’t felt like this, like he was air and water, food and shelter. Absolutely essential, as if they were tethered to each other in some elemental way.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said.
Though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head, not ready to share the emotions roiling inside her just yet. “You are supposed to marry one of the ladies here.”
“I don’t want one of those ladies. I want you.”
Her lower body clenched at the declaration, arousal pulsing between her legs in time with her heartbeat. I shouldn’t, but I want him, too.
She dragged in a deep breath and attempted to remain logical. “You had years to declare an intention. Never once have you hinted at more between us until now, when it is too late.”
“If I ask you a question, do you promise to answer it honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Forget your betrothal. Do you want to kiss me right now?”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because your answer is all that matters.”
“Hardly. There are other people to consider, as well.”
“No one else is here. It’s just the two of us at the moment. So tell me. Do you want to kiss me?”
“You ask the impossible.”
“That is not an answer, Mads.”
The truth lodged in her throat, the words unable to break free. Saying them would change everything, create a scandal and harm those she cared about. How could she act so selfishly?
He must have sensed her hesitation because she heard him shift a brief instant before a large hand settled on her thigh. The heat of his skin scorched her through the layers of cloth between them. It was far more intimate than any other touch they had shared, and the air turned thick, charged with a portentous energy, like right before a thunderstorm rolled in.
The moment stretched, each second crawling by as every nerve in her body concentrated on his hand. Strong fingers moved ever so slightly, testing, teasing. Caressing. Maddie’s own fingers curled into her palms and she trembled, goose bumps racing all along her arms. She wanted to lean into him and beg for more. The idea was madness, but her rational half had clearly fallen back to allow her emotional side to take charge.
“Shall I remove my hand?”
She should have answered affirmatively. The touch was personal and possessive . . . in a place only a husband should access. And yet . . .
“No,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened as if he’d expected a different answer. Without missing a beat, his other hand found her jaw and cupped her face, the touch confident and calming. She grew light-headed, the floor shifting below her while the world fell away, but he held her tethered, safe in a familiar, yet totally unexpected, way. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, the tips pressing into his flesh, and she held very still, unwilling to break the moment by breathing or talking.
His forehead met her temple, his humid breath gusting over her cheek as he whispered, “Do you want to kiss me?”
Unable to stop herself, she nodded . . . and he sucked in air, a gasp of surprise that she felt all the way to her toes.
Just then, the door swung open, casting light into the room and blinding her. She instantly jumped apart from Harrison and shielded her eyes.
“Aha! We found her!”
Chapter Twelve
The ladies trickled into the changing room over the next thirty minutes. The air in the tiny room soon grew stifling from the outside heat and number of bodies. By Harrison’s count, they had two more guests to go before a loser was declared and they could return upstairs. Nellie Young and Alice Lusk were still searching the chateau grounds for Maddie’s hiding place.
During the wait, he was polite, responding when prompted, but his focus remained fixated on the woman next to him in the dark, her sweet curves pressed tight to his right side.
Maddie wanted him.
Victory had streaked through him at her admission, making him dizzy. His body responded swiftly, his cock thickening in his trousers and hunger slithering through his veins. He suspected they would have kissed, if not for the inopportune intrusion.
Soon.
On his other side was Lydia Hartwell, a young woman who spoke her mind, unafraid of expressing her opinions. Much like Maddie, which probably explained why the two were friends. Also, Miss Hartwell was unapologetically interested in unconventional pursuits, similar to Maddie’s love of tennis.
“I cannot believe you’ve never hunted,” Miss Hartwell was saying.
Killing other creatures had never been high on Harrison’s list of relaxing endeavors. Bordellos, salons and cafes were his preferred methods to unwind, at least in the last few years. “I am a city boy, through and through, I suppose. We went to the Adirondacks and Newport, but that was mostly about swimming and sailing.”
He felt Maddie move closer. “Harrison doesn’t even enjoy fishing,” she chimed in. “He insists on throwing his catch back in the water.”
“So do you,” he pointed out.
“Goodness,” Miss Hartwell said. “You are both hopeless. Come to Montana and we’ll go fly fishing. Then we’ll cook what we catch on an open fire.”
That sounded like a punishment, not a vacation. Nevertheless, he said politely, “Thank you. Perhaps one day—”
A gentle brush on his right knee caught him by surprise. He froze, his words dying in his throat as every muscle in his body went on alert.
The fingertips returned, bolder this time as they deliberately slid over his leg. Someone was touching him, groping him, with light fingers. He blinked in the darkness, uncertain what to do. Who would dare? Was Maddie responsible?