26
Her agreement was all it took for her to be in his arms. Steven’s mouth met hers, the soft giving feel of her lips beneath his own pulling him past desire and straight into sweet surrender. Lord help him but she could have told him to rob a bank at that moment, commit high treason or even murder and he would have blindly agreed, his brain no longer capable of coherent thought as primitive need took over.
She sighed in welcome response as he pushed her back into the wall. Opening for him on one soft exhalation she gripped his shoulders for added support. He did not think to be slow or gentle, there wasn’t enough time for that, and even if there had been, he lacked the patience for it. Hell, no other woman had ever made him so hungry for more, and besides, her responses suggested an equal want on her part. He’d not deny either of them on account of some foolish notion that gentlemen ought to hold back, show restraint, be polite.
Not when she was willing and they were merely kissing.
Not merely. No. There was nothing ‘merely’ about this. The taste of her was like tonic, her scent and touch so intoxicating he felt as drugged as when he’d been sick some years ago and the doctor had given him laudanum. Only this was much better, still feverish and slightly lulling, but with the added pleasure of Calista’s warm embrace.
Her fingers dug into his flesh, as if attempting to draw him closer even though he was already pressed against her. He loved it though, the eagerness with which she kissed fanned the flames of his own desire until he longed to remove her gown, the undergarments she wore beneath and…
Panting, he drew back as if the very idea placed a barrier in his path. He stared at her, observing her dazed expression, her kiss-swollen lips, the rapid beat of her pulse at her throat. She arched toward him, offering up the delectable swell of her breasts.
Instinct compelled him to worship that part of her body, to draw her bodice down so he could lick his way across the sensitive flesh he knew he would find there. But he refrained, holding back with the fragile restraint inflicted on him by his conscience.
If he proceeded, he doubted he’d manage to stop. Judging from the look in her eyes, he doubted she’d ask it of him. Which meant they’d end up in her bed, and that was not what tonight was supposed to be about.
A kiss was all he’d intended. Then a much needed conversation on where they stood with each other before they did anything more. And there was still Nigel to think of. He’d told his brother he’d be fifteen minutes at most. The last thing Steven needed was for Nigel to come looking for him.
Clearing his throat, he cupped Calista’s cheek and stroked his thumb across her skin in a soft caress. “I’ve been thinking about us all day. Especially tonight at the theatre. And I’ve made a decision – one I hope you will agree with.”
“I…um…”
She sounded adorably confused, as if forming coherent thought on the heels of the kiss they’d just shared proved a struggle.
He chuckled lightly, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and stepped away from her so they could both think more clearly. “It’s true that I’ve always rejected the prospect of marriage. The examples I’ve seen, not only of my parents’ unsuccessful union but also of Edward’s and some of my friends’, have not made me eager to pledge myself to any woman. But then I met you, and while I feel it’s too soon for me to know whether or not we’d be happy together forever, I want more time in which to figure that out. Because if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that if I let you leave in two days for the sake of becoming another man’s wife, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Steven, I…” Speaking seemed a hardship to her. “You know I cannot remain here. To do so would likely ruin my father, and I simply…”
The tear that rolled down her cheek broke his heart. She swiped it away as if it were a nuisance she didn’t have time for.
“I know,” he said, determined to make things better for her if only in some small way, “which is why I intend to come with you.”
“What?” Wide glistening eyes stared at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes.
“The voyage will take two weeks, which will allow us more time to either form a permanent attachment or decide not to.” Love was extremely important to him, so he could not ask her to be his wife until he knew without doubt he’d find such a deep connection with her.
He suspected he would, that she already owned his heart, but he had to be certain. Not only of his own affection but of hers too.
“What about your business? The new hotel in Bath?”
“I’ll have to let Pontoppidan handle the Imperial to the best of his ability while I put work in Bath on hold until my return. It’s manageable.”
“You’re certain?”
He stepped toward her once more. “If the alternative is to risk losing what might be the best thing in my life, then yes.”
Incredulity swam in her eyes. “Promise me you won’t propose out of pity. Promise you’ll only do so if your heart is truly invested.”
“You have my word, Calista. All I’m trying to do is give us a chance at the love match both of us want in marriage.” He held out his hand and when she clasped it, he drew her closer so he could kiss her again. More slowly this time and with every bit of tenderness she instilled in his heart.
27
When Calista woke the following morning, it was to the sound of Emma’s voice urgently speaking her name. Groggily, Calista squinted up at the woman and tried to make sense of what she was saying.
“…so Mr. Donahue asked me to fetch you. I’m sure you’ll agree he was right to do so.”
Calista closed her eyes on a smile as the memory of his kiss the evening before filled her head.
“Miss Faulkner?”
Calista’s eyes sprang open. She rose up onto her elbows and stared at the maid, only just now realizing how she’d addressed her.
Sensing her confusion and alarm, Emma said, “I’ve been trying to tell you. Your parents are here and eager to see you.”
“Goodness me.” Calista pushed her covers aside and climbed from the bed. Mama and Papa were here? She could scarcely believe it.
Dazed, she readied herself with Emma’s help and made her way to Steven’s office. She paused outside the door and took a steadying breath. Explanations would be in order.
Straightening her back, she gave the door a swift knock and entered the room. Papa and Mama, both wearing looks of concern, turned to stare at her as if not sure they ought to believe their eyes before Mama finally stood and rushed toward her. Arms that had held her so many times before whenever she’d fallen ill or gotten hurt were flung around her in a tight embrace.
“Dear Lord,” Mama’s familiar voice whispered. “We’ve been so incredibly worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Calista told her. “I did write to you of my plans while you were in Washington, but received no response. So I left you a note and then wrote again upon my arrival here, hoping to offer both of you some assurance.”
“We never received your first letter.” Mama leaned back, her anxious gaze studying Calista’s face. “It must have gotten lost. The one we received from London made no mention of marriage, and then Papa learned of Mr. Westchester’s death from the papers and—”