Excitement rushed through her, prompting her to jump back a few steps, laughing with joy as she straightened and turned and…
A steadying hand came around her waist. Her hands rose to press against solid muscle. Mr. Donahue chuckled and Calista gasped. “I must stop bumping into you.”
He could have released her then – he probably should have – but he didn’t. Instead, he drew her slightly closer. His gaze dipped to her lips, darkening when she instinctively licked them. “I can’t say I mind.”
The rough murmur prompted a series of sparks to scatter across her skin. A fluttery feeling erupted against her breast, and she quickly swallowed, unsure of what else to say or what to do next. His overall masculinity, that enticing scent he wore and the heat radiating from his person, the dark gleam in his eyes and the strength with which he held her, called for her to surrender to something she had no experience with.
Feeling completely out of her element, Calista needed to know his intentions before she did something foolish like kiss him. So she said the first thing she could think of. “What do you want from me, Mr. Donahue?”
He blinked and set her aside with impressive swiftness, allowing a chill to set in where his body connected with hers a mere second before. “Nothing besides your company. Well done on your hit, Miss Smith. Let’s finish the game.”
Disappointment slammed against her. She wished she’d held silent but something told her a kiss would not be enough for a man like him. So she should be grateful to him for ending things rather than pressing advances.
And yet, when he bid her good night in front of her bedchamber door one hour later, she failed to convince herself she didn’t secretly yearn for more than the friendship he offered. Indeed, with Mr. Thorkilson waiting upon her horizon, she rather believed she owed herself at least one night of pleasure – the sort she was sure she would find in the arms of the man who’d saved her.
Steven was an ass. He knew this because he was keenly aware that he’d hurt her. The evidence had been there in her eyes, which had dimmed when he’d told her what he wanted from her.
He’d lied, and that had been a mistake. What he should have said was, “Let’s start with a kiss and take it from there.”
The gaming room had been empty by then. Nobody would have seen. And damn him if he hadn’t wanted to experience the soft press of her lips against his. But he also didn’t want her to feel indebted, to kiss him out of obligation. He’d taken her out of the kitchen, set her up in the best guest suite the hotel had to offer right next to his own, and covered the expense of her new clothes. She’d already claimed it was too much for her to accept – that she owed him.
Well, he’d be damned if he would let her feel like she should repay him by hopping into his bed. That would make him no better than Mr. Grant. In some ways it would make him worse since he’d essentially be turning Miss Smith into a whore.
No. If she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she’d have to come to him of her own volition. Not because he overpowered her ability to think straight or because he made her believe she had no choice.
With this in mind and because he’d also glimpsed a hint of uncertainty in her eyes as she’d posed her question, he’d ended what could have turned into an even more spectacular evening. He’d not lingered outside her bedchamber door when he’d told her good night, but had taken swift leave, quitting her company before some foolish notion could prompt him to change his mind.
It was for the best, he decided once he was safely inside his own suite of rooms. Moreover, it had been the right thing to do.
14
A sliver of trepidation wound its way around Calista the following morning when she went to meet Mr. Donahue in the foyer. But her concern that things would be strained between them after the tension she’d sensed the previous evening both prior to and after his rejection of her was apparently unfounded.
He stood in conversation with Mr. Pontoppidan, breaking eye contact with him only briefly when he registered her approach, before swiftly ending his discourse so he could give her his full attention. With his characteristically unflappable features, he faced her as she imagined he would any one of his many guests: with polite solemnity.
Gone was the heat she’d seen in his eyes the previous evening. So too was the smile he’d allowed while he’d entertained her. Now, by the light of a new day, it was as if she’d imagined any form of attraction between them, or even the beginnings of what she had believed could be true friendship.
Instead, there was distance. And yet when she placed her hand on the arm he offered, she felt the same electrical spark as before. But when she glanced up at him from under her lashes to gauge his reaction, his expression remained as if set in stone. Indifferent.
Shaking off her foolish yearning for a reciprocal show of awareness on his part, she let him guide her into the breakfast room where they were to meet the Kernoffs. To wish Mr. Donahue might show more interest in her than what was expected of him was foolish anyway. She would be leaving England soon while he would be staying here, in London, which happened to be very far from New York. So what exactly did she hope for?
The impossible, if she believed a man who’d only recently met her, who did not know her true identity and who was in a position to have nearly any woman he wanted, would swoop in and save her from Thorkilson’s clutches.
It was ludicrous for her to even consider.
No. This was a mess from which there was no longer any escape. Her one hope had been crushed, which meant there was nothing for it but to return home with her head held high and do what was required of her. At least she could find some solace, however small, in knowing she’d tried to control her own fate.
Unfortunately, luck had not been on her side.
Mr. Donahue led her toward an older couple who sat at a table for four. They stood in greeting, allowing Calista a better look. The woman was shorter than she and plump, with greying hair piled into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. Her husband was of Calista’s height and a great deal slimmer than his wife, with white hair raked back and a moustache to match. Both wore kind and welcoming expressions though not without a hint of deep curiosity.
“Mr. Donahue tells us you came to England hoping to make a fresh start for yourself but that things didn’t turn out as you expected,” Mr. Kernoff said once introductions had been completed and they’d all been served either coffee or tea.
“Indeed, my intended was dead by the time I arrived,” Calista informed the couple since she saw no point in hiding the fact, “leaving me with little choice but to return home.”
“Oh, my poor girl,” Mrs. Kernoff exclaimed while Mr. Donahue placed breakfast orders on everyone’s behalf.
“What a shock that must have been for you,” Mr. Kernoff said. “To travel so far and have your hopes so cruelly dashed.”
“It was difficult to come to terms with,” Calista admitted.
“Miss Smith showed remarkable strength in the face of such grave adversity,” Mr. Donahue murmured once the waiter had walked away. “Especially for someone so young. She did not let herself be defeated, for which she has earned my admiration.”
The compliment was so unexpected and so full of praise, Calista’s cheeks warmed with self-awareness. She cast Mr. Donahue a discreet look, her stomach instantly starting to bounce when she caught his gaze and he sent her a wink.