In five strides, he was at the door and, as it clicked shut behind him, a terrible wave of emptiness flooded through her.
Chapter 14
Late evening…
Curled on the chair by her fire, Cornelia looked up from The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful and sighed. There were numerous intriguingly titled chapters but she’d been attempting to read the same paragraph for several minutes, without the faintest luck.
All she could think of was Burnell, and the situation in which she now found herself.
He’d tell the duke and duchess she supposed, and the news that the understanding between them was over would soon reach the ears of the other guests. When Burnell had first proposed the scheme, she’d known this would be disagreeable, but she’d intended to maintain the charade until their day of departure. At least, then, she’d have had the chance to escape the immediate speculation within the house and, by the time she’d re-entered London Society, the story would have gained an air of mystery—of glamour even—the great explorer having returned across the Atlantic.
Now, there was a full day tomorrow before Christmas itself, and who knew when the snow would melt sufficiently to allow them to return to the station. Were the trains even running? She’d heard more flurries were expected overnight and, if that were the case, the tracks would surely need digging out again. It seemed she was stuck, and in the most awkward of circumstances—for the gossip would be not just of their broken engagement but of the state of her honour.
The words from her own lips had been sufficient to damn her but, no doubt, Mrs. Bongorge would find ways to embellish, making the story even more colourful.
There would be no choice at all. Though her ankle was markedly improved, she would have to pretend otherwise as an excuse to remain in her room, asking not to be disturbed by anyone other than her aunts, and the duchess herself.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t escape her memories of Burnell’s kisses. Not once but twice, she’d allowed him to press his lips to hers.
Balderdash!
She hadn’t allowed him anything of the sort.
In truth, she’d been the one to instigate both embraces. And she’d enjoyed every heated, wicked moment.
He had such tempting lips, firm and soft at the same time; and the way he pulled her into the hunger of his kisses—not just passionately but as if he would keep her safe from anyone or anything that might dare to harm her.
When he wasn’t being an utter arse he was really quite wonderful. Clever of course, but comical too; even though she’d hated him making up those ridiculous stories, part of her had wanted to laugh. He was handsome and strong, and courageous. Goodness only knew what he’d overcome during his time in the jungle, and Lady Studborne had hinted at the unhappiness of his past.
To have achieved all he had, he must have a will of iron, and she admired him more than she could say—except that wasn’t what she’d told him. Instead, she’d called him cowardly, and berated him for being hollow inside. She’d pressed him to share the secret places of his heart when he was clearly still in pain. She, of all people, ought to have compassion for how that felt.
Blinking back her tears, she gave her nose a good blow.
She wasn’t in love, of course. An infatuation perhaps.
To love a man set upon returning to the jungles of Central America would be foolish. To love a man who categorically stated that he had no intention of marrying would be more foolish still.
But, they might have parted friends. She’d never see the wonders of Palekmul but he might have agreed to correspond. She could have partaken in the excitement of the discoveries yet to come via the exchange of letters. She might have shared that part of his life, at least.
“I suppose we ought to go to bed, Minnie.” Cornelia rose to add a last log to the fire while the terrier made a circuit of the room, indulging in final sniffs before turning in.
With a sudden bark, Minnie headed to the panelling and scrabbled with both paws.
“Stop that, naughty dog! Come away!”
It wouldn’t be the first time Minnie had scented a rat inside the walls of a house but Cornelia could hardly allow her to carry on in this manner. Those sharp claws of hers would leave scratches, and they mightn’t be so easy to polish out. Minnie did as she was told but not without a look of reproachful longing.
Cornelia was just placing the guard around the fire when a quiet knock came upon the door.
Oh bother. Not more hot milk! As thoughtful as it was of Nancy to keep bringing her drinks, she really didn’t want another or she’d be obliged to make use of the chamber pot in an hour.
However, there was no hot milk—nor chocolate, and it was not Nancy who pushed open the door.
Ethan swallowed.
She wore nothing but a gossamer silk gown and robe. Her long hair, lit to a honey hue and curling over her shoulder, hung almost to her waist.
With the firelight’s glow, the material was rendered transparent, revealing her body’s every lush curve—from the fullness of her hip to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples, rosy beneath the silk, were barely concealed—soft buds made for a man’s mouth. She was evidently unaware, for she did nothing to cover herself.
Ethan’s blood ran hot.
He wanted nothing more than to close the distance and sink his face in her hair, to plead that he was sorry and beg her forgiveness. He wasn’t vexed with her—only with himself, and he would find no rest until he’d kissed away the anger between them.
He stepped closer. “I need you something terrible and I think you need me.” His voice caught. “I can’t walk away, Nellie.”
He got no further, for she flew into his arms.
As he encircled her waist, her body curved into his and she tipped back her head to meet his kiss.
After these days of pretending not to care, of telling himself he was in control, he was here, and she was warm in his embrace, responding with breathtaking passion.
The knowledge that she wanted him swept away his uncertainty. There was so much he wanted to say, and he’d been planning to confide in her—tonight, if she would listen but, for now, he’d prove his feelings in other ways. He wanted to touch and taste, to worship her as she deserved.
Talking could wait.
He kissed her again, long and hard, while his hands moved over the sheer fabric, stroking the arch of her spine and the dimples above the curve of her bottom, then taking her breasts full in his hands.
She gave a small whimper as he grazed her nipples with his thumbs, teasing them taut. Drawing back, he pulled the ribbon of her robe, parting the garment to reveal the flimsy nightgown beneath.
“Cornelia.” Groaning her name, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing through the silk, gently at first but then harder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth.
She gasped. “This is madness. We can’t—”
In one fluid motion, he scooped beneath her knees, lifting her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” But she knew, of course, looping her hands about his neck, letting him carry her.
Reaching the chaise, he laid her carefully upon it and her hair, unbound, tumbled against the cushions. He’d never seen her more beautiful—in the firelight, looking back at him so fixedly, and her lips parted, awaiting more of his kisses.