“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
He doled out the watery soup into two clay bowls, and they set about eating. Her surprise couldn’t be contained on her first bite. “This is not nearly as bad as I expected. Where did you learn to cook? From your mother?”
“At the orphanage. All the boys rotated through a set of chores. One week was kitchen duty. One week was caring for the gardens. Another week was spent cleaning and maintaining the house. I’m quite handy.” He’d had to be or risk getting beaten.
“You have skills I could never dream of.” She shot him a teasing smile, harkening back to their conversation that morning outside Sir Hawkins’s study door. It seemed a lifetime ago.
They finished the soup. Garrick cleaned the pot and bowls in the brook and gathered clean water to heat for their ablutions. Flakes drifted like stars from the slice of black sky visible through the treetops. The snow had been a piece of good fortune. Several inches had accumulated to cover their tracks, but the rate was slowing. Was it wrong to wish to be buried in the cottage with Victoria for weeks?
Foolishness is what it was. He was bound to protect her and return her unhurt and untouched to Sir Hawkins.
Victoria was stoking the fire when he returned. There was enough wood to keep them warm until morning. She stood and swayed slightly. Her dress hung like a sack, and he spotted the bundle of padding she had worn underneath across the foot of the bed.
“Go on and lie down while the water heats.” He settled himself in one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs and tried not to think about how much more comfortable the bed would be, especially with Victoria in it.
The rustle of clothing sounded, and this time he kept his gaze fixed on the fire. One lapse was one too many.
“Might I beg a favor?” Her voice was soft and hesitant. “Without my maid, I can’t quite…”
He mouthed a curse to the gods of temptation and went to her. She presented the column of buttons up her spine and neck. He worked the top button free of its loop. His intention to make quick work of the task was forgotten. His fingers trembled and fumbled with each button.
The unveiling of her graceful neck was slow and sensuous and utter torture. By the time he reached the top of her shift and the laces of her stays, he was fighting the urge to lay a kiss where her neck and shoulder met.
Onward he worked until all the buttons were finally freed and he was trapped in a fever dream. He’d imagined undressing Victoria many times over the years; he’d just never expected to be in this position and unable to touch her.
“There. All done.” He took a step back and clenched his hands behind his back.
“I can’t sleep in my stays. Would you mind loosening the laces?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes glittered in the firelight.
He hesitated, gathering his self-control like a shield.
A half smile tipped her lips as she shrugged the bodice off her shoulders. “Come now. You’ve seen me in less. Much less.”
Embarrassment burned through him. He pulled at his collar and wondered if steam was rising off his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry about this morning. I’m not sure what happened. I should have—”
“Stop!” Her smile vanished, and she glared at him a moment before turning her face away. In a less vehement tone, she continued, “I could have screamed or swooned or simply closed the curtain all the way. I didn’t. I harbor no regrets and hope you don’t either.”
“Victoria.” He was at a loss for anything else to say. Neither of them moved.
“Do you ever think about it?” she whispered.
“About what?”
“The kiss.”
The kiss. He was an expert liar when his life was in peril, and this moment certainly felt charged with danger. Yet… “Every time I see you. Every bloody day and night.”
The telltale movement of her shoulders signaled her increased rate of breathing. He, on the other hand, was frozen and light-headed from lack of air.
“My stays?” Her voice was remarkably calm, and he didn’t speak for fear of betraying how deeply she affected him.
He did his duty, no matter how much it pained him, and loosened her stays, making sure his fingertips didn’t stray to her skin. A single touch would be his undoing. Without waiting for his retreat or asking him to avert his gaze, Victoria pushed her dress and stays to the floor in one fluid motion and whirled around.
He reeled backward but didn’t get far in the tiny cottage. His arse hit the table, and he clutched the edges, grateful for the support when she stepped out of her clothes toward him. Firelight danced off her skin, the thin cotton doing little to conceal her lush form.
He opened his mouth to protest, but only a rumbling groan of surrender emerged.
“I might have died tonight if it weren’t for you.” She pulled the pink ribbon at the neck of the garment. Excruciatingly slowly, the ribbon unfurled, and the fabric parted.
The shadowy valley between her breasts drew his gaze, and he swallowed. The curves of her breasts were tempting him toward another bout of insanity. Her chemise slipped off one shoulder and sagged low enough for one nipple to peek over.
“I don’t expect a reward. Especially not this,” he said roughly.
“You don’t want me?” Any boldness she projected fell away in a blast of insecurity that had her biting her lip and looking away. “You kissed me in the alley. Why?”
As smart and defiant and reckless as Victoria might be, she was still an innocent with tender feelings. Would it be so terrible to reassure her of her attractions without compromising her?
His conscience mocked the weak justification even as he stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. Her nearly naked body molded itself against him like molten metal.
She trailed her hands up his arms to loop around his neck and tipped her head back, her request as clear as an engraved invitation. The moment he’d dreamed about was upon him, but his imagination hadn’t done it justice.
He cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb glancing over her cheekbone, and lowered his mouth to hers, the touch gentle yet packing a punch that stole his breath. Her lips were soft and parted on a sigh.
Time wrinkled, and they were back in her father’s study, picking up where they’d left off two years earlier. Except with fewer clothes and complete privacy and one bed beckoning from the corner.
The kiss metamorphized from gentle to wild like the progression of a storm. She grabbed his lapels and shoved his jacket off his shoulders without breaking their connection. He clawed at his sleeves until he was free and tossed his jacket to the floor.
Their tongues danced. The give and take was painfully erotic and evocative in ways that made his cock throb. He firmed his hold around her waist, picked her up, and reversed their positions, setting her on the table.
She let out a breathy exclamation, her nails gripping his shoulders. He worked his hips between her knees and maneuvered her to the edge of the table. She bit her lip and worked her body even closer, until her legs were wrapped around his hips and the thick length of his cock was pressed against the juncture of her thighs.
“So you do want me. Your cock is hard,” she said in a husky, playful voice that made him even harder.