She bent her head. “I…did enjoy them. I read Guy Mannering in but a few hours. I was entirely engrossed and that was…well, it was very nice.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” he insisted, gentling his tone. “I don’t want anything from you.”
She didn’t look like she believed him when she glanced up at him through a hooded gaze.
He shifted and continued, “I understand why trusting me might be difficult on some level. Silas was imperfect, I-I know that. I know he might have done some things that hurt you—”
She skittered backward, her blue-gray eyes wide in the faint light from the house. “What do you mean? What do you know?”
He sucked in a quick breath. So she was hurt by Silas’s affairs. And for a brief moment, he hated his friend for causing that upset. “I know that some men cannot be satisfied only by what they have at home. Even when they should be in every way. Even when what they have is so…so perfect.”
Her mouth dropped open and her gaze flitted to his lips briefly. But then the wall came back down and her expression turned cold. She folded her arms again, rebuilding that shield she so desperately wanted to keep between them.
“You don’t know anything about our relationship, Callum. Know that is a fact that will never change.” She lifted her chin. “You want to interfere with me, I suppose out of either kindness or a masculine need for control over everything. The motive doesn’t really matter, because the outcome will be the same. I have spent a lifetime under the thumb of one man or another and I will never return to that life.”
She moved toward him and she would have looked so strong but for the fact that her lower lip was trembling ever so slightly. He caught his breath at the little hint of her vulnerability.
“I did enjoy the books, but please don’t misconstrue that to mean that I want your…presence. I don’t want anyone’s presence. I don’t want…” Her breath hitched. “I don’t want…”
A tear suddenly trickled from her eye. She gasped and lifted her fingers to it, a look of almost shock on her face. He pulled the clean handkerchief from his pocket and moved toward her, close enough that he could hand her the cloth. Too close, now that he was here and he could feel the faint hint of her body heat. She stared up at him, eyes sparkling in the light. And he wanted her.
Because he’d always wanted her. Bastard that he was.
“Valaria,” he said softly as he took her hand and tried to make it only about comfort.
She wasn’t wearing gloves and neither was he, so when he touched her, it was the first time his skin had ever brushed hers. It was everything he’d ever hoped and dreamed about. Like the softest silk, and she caught her breath as her fingers clenched against his briefly.
“I didn’t mean to cause you pain,” he whispered, moving even closer. Now her skirts brushed against his boots and her breath stirred against his chin as she stared up at him. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at him like she hardly understood those words. Like she’d never heard them before. And perhaps she hadn’t. Silas had never been one for apologies.
“Callum,” she murmured, and then shook her head, as if there were no words.
He found himself lowering his mouth toward her and realized she was tilting hers up. His mind screamed at him to stop. To be prudent and right, but he couldn’t listen. Couldn’t focus on anything except her, only her, always her.
And his mouth took hers and it was everything.
CHAPTER 6
Valaria’s lips were soft beneath Callum’s, so very soft. For a moment he just reveled in the touch of them. But then she made a soft sound at the back of her throat and slightly parted them, which changed everything. He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her against him gently as he traced the crease of her lips. God, she was sweet, like honeyed wine. He never wanted to stop drowning in that flavor.
She placed her hands against his chest, palms flat, and for a moment he thought she might push him away. He felt the flutter of hesitation in the flex of her fingers, but then she tilted her head just a fraction and darted her tongue out to touch his.
He was trying not to lose control. He had already gone way too far, but this woman had been a drug in his system from the first moment he touched her. And he was beginning to be pulled under by the drive to have more and more of her.
He splayed his fingers against her back and took a little more, their tongues dueling in an endless dance of pleasure and desire and heat. She made that soft sigh again, and the sound of her pleasure put his body on edge like it had never been before.
But before the kiss could advance further, before even more imprudence could reign, her hands fisted against his chest and she did push. He immediately released her, stepping back as he panted in heavy breaths. They stared at each other in the dim light that filtered onto the terrace from the house.
She shook her head, her eyes wide and wild. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, like she was seeking something to say. But then she pushed past him and walked back across the terrace, back to the door into the parlor where their friends waited. She never looked back.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and crossed to the terrace wall to look out over the garden below. His entire body shook and he fought to regain some small semblance of control.
Control he had thrown away and now…well, now there would be consequences. Not the least of which was the guilt he felt in taking advantage of a woman in mourning, his late best friend’s wife. What kind of man did that make him?
“The worst kind,” he grumbled, and moved toward the parlor. He looked through the window as he approached. Valaria had gone inside and she now stood with the others. She had a glass of madeira in her hand, she seemed untroubled as she spoke to Theo and the duchesses.
But when he entered the room, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks paled, her pupils dilated, her hands shook ever so slightly. He had done that.
And he hated himself for it.
Valaria had never thanked Silas for much, but tonight she felt in his debt. After years of putting on a mask and pretending not to feel fear or pain or heartbreak or anger, she was very good at it. And so she’d been able to mask her panic…and other feelings…as she shared supper with the group. It hadn’t been easy…but she’d done it.
And now she sat at the table, the empty dessert plates not yet taken away, and she knew her face was unreadable. But her mind was racing, just as it had been for the last hour.
She’d kissed Callum. Well, he’d kissed her? It was hard to recall anything but the feel of his lips against hers, the taste of him when he pressed his tongue to hers, the way his arms had felt around her.
It would have been easier if it had all been distasteful. If she could hate him for taking such liberties. But she didn’t. He had been kind to her, he had touched her and she had…wanted. Wanted the kiss, wanted the touch…wanted him. It had been years since she’d felt that tug of desire. Since the beginning of her marriage, before Silas had revealed all his true colors and made her loathe him. And even then, the wanting had been a faint tug, not this cascading waterfall of need that had thrown her off guard and made her want to run away so that she wouldn’t be so off kilter.