“Healed you?” She felt as if her brain were drowning in a river of sweet honey. She could see why lust was addictive. An anxious voice had popped up in the back of her mind, reminding her that lust had to be addictive.
Otherwise, her mother never would have abandoned her babies, would she? It wasn’t as if Betsy’s father was abusive, or even intrusive. The way Aunt Knowe told her, the duke had remained in the castle at the same time her mother was in London, conducting an affaire.
Her younger sister Joan was conceived that year: born at the castle, but conceived in London.
“Cured you of what?” she clarified.
“Disinterest,” he said. His smile widened. “War knocked it out of me, but by God, one kiss from you . . . no wonder all those suitors are lined up to ask for your hand in marriage!”
“I don’t suppose you’ll be joining them,” she said, a shrewish note leaking into her voice because . . . honestly? She felt shaken to the bone by that kiss. It did something to her. She had loved it.
Jeremy was ranging about the room, grinning with the sort of cheer that she pulled over herself like a coverlet when she was in society.
On him, it was real.
She put a hand to her lips and they pulsed at her touch. She wanted to slide from the table and leap into his arms. Paste her lips to his and welcome whatever kiss he’d give her. The only thing stopping her was the certain knowledge that lust was irrational. Wicked.
“I must go to bed,” she said, sliding off the edge of the table and coming to her feet. Her knees felt weak.
Thankfully, Jeremy was gentleman enough not to make a joke or even leer at her. Kisses were nothing; she knew that from other girls. But she didn’t know anyone who’d kissed a man in the middle of the night, in a deserted room.
She dropped into a curtsy. “Lord Jeremy.”
“Here,” he said, visibly alarmed. “Are you angry? Did you not wish to kiss me?”
She met his eyes and grimaced, something like a smile. “Of course I did.”
“Then why are you giving me such an odd look?” he asked. “That’s one of those smiles that you don’t mean, where your mouth curls up, but your eyes stay flat. Look, if you didn’t want me to kiss you, I am truly sorry. I misinterpreted.”
“I kissed you first, remember? It was a surprising experience, that’s all.” She shook out her skirts so she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I’ve been kissed before, as you surmised. This was one of many.”
“I knew that. No man proposes marriage these days without at least claiming a woman’s lips first. What if you found out that she had false teeth?”
“Shocking,” Betsy said, walking to the door. “Are you retiring as well?”
“You know, I believe I shall,” he said, looking absurdly jolly. “I haven’t been sleeping more than a few hours a night, but at the moment I feel as if I could lie down and sleep.”
“That’s what you meant by being ‘cured’? By a kiss, like a frog who used to be a prince?”
“No. But I’ve learned to be thankful for small gifts. You have given me something, but I can’t elaborate because you’re a young lady.”
She stopped.
The castle echoed with silence around them. The sound of their feet on stone pavement had been swallowed up by the long corridors that ran before and behind them.
“I want to know. It was my kiss, after all.”
“You’ve given me a cockstand,” he said, tilting his head and watching her as if she were a chess problem. “The first in months.”
“A—oh.”
Well, that made sense. Fallen women, loose women, inspired that sort of thing in men. Her mother surely had. It made sense that Betsy inherited the ability.
“We shall not ever do that again,” she said, meeting his eyes to make certain that he completely understood.
“Of course not. I expect you have a quota.”
“A what?”
“One kiss per man? One to confound his senses, and then he is supposed to flop down on his knees and blurt out a proposal? You already know that I’m not going to do that, so I’ll take my allotted kiss and head back to London before I lose my head and propose.”
“You may do as you wish,” Betsy said, feeling nauseated. She put a hand on her stomach to steady herself and walked faster.
A large hand clamped on her shoulder. “Bess.”
She pulled away. “I have to be up early in the morning.”
“What’s the matter?”
She kept silent until they reached the end of the corridor.
“It wasn’t a deep metaphysical question,” Jeremy observed.
“Why would anything be the matter with me?” She looked up at him, certain that her face was composed.
“Damned if I know.”
They walked up a half flight of steps. They were heading toward the family wing, in the North Tower, by a shortcut that hopefully avoided servants.
Jeremy felt a sudden conviction that whatever Bess was feeling, he should not allow her to retire to her room without discussion. Everything wouldn’t be better in the morning, as when they had had a squabble, and then met again the next day with a silent agreement to let bygones be bygones.
This was something else. Their kiss might have ruined the only connection he had that amused him.
“You tell me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was steady. But he heard a thread of tension there. Something was wrong.
Damn it, he shouldn’t have kissed her. But hadn’t she done the kissing? He couldn’t remember clearly, because of the burst of pure desire that went down his spine when their lips met.
“I’ll answer your question,” he said, “the one you posed to me back in the billiard room, and then you answer mine.”
He was appealing to her curiosity. Over the last two months he’d noticed that mysteries were anathema to this particular Wilde. She wanted to know where people were and what they were thinking.
“There’s nothing for me to tell. I’m merely tired. And I don’t remember what it was I asked you.”
That was untrue, or he’d eat his hat. He’d seen her save up a question and ask one of her brothers weeks later for the answer.
“I haven’t had a cockstand in months,” he told her, conversationally. “No interest. Not in Lady Tallow or anyone else. But you, with the way you glare at me, and then bite your lower lip, you brought me back to life, or at least the part of me below my waist. You do have a delicious lower lip, Bess.”
She shuddered visibly. He saw it.
“All right, I told you what I meant by that comment about being healed. I did something wrong in our kiss,” he said. “You have to tell me, Bess.”
“Nothing was wrong,” she said stonily.
He felt a prickle of anger, so he stepped in front of her. “There were two of us in the room. We kissed, and now you’ve got a desperate look about you, as if I took you by force, or lured you into something indecent, and we both know that didn’t happen. So what in the hell is going on?”
His stomach clenched as he saw a tear running down one of her cheeks.
“It was just a kiss,” he said, about to reach for her and stopping himself.