“It seems I cannot stay away, not after any disagreement there has ever been between us. So, do not imagine for one minute that I dislike you, Dorothy. Please, do not think that.”
“But…” Dorothy wished to remind him of what he had said when Allan had arrived, about how the only reason he had come this close to her before was that he had been hit across the head. “You cannot mean this. I embarrass you.”
“To hell with being embarrassed, Dorothy. Don’t despair of the ton’s whispers. Not for anything.” He leaned toward her even further.
“Stephen…” She moved one of her hands to the center of his waistcoat. “The last time you came this close to me, you called it a mistake.”
“Hang mistakes.”
His movement was so swift that she staggered back on her feet yet clung to his frock coat even harder than before as his lips crashed onto hers.
It was the first kiss Dorothy had ever known and beyond what she could have imagined. It was no small thing, not gentle either, but a clattering of lips as they kissed the way they argued—with fervor.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Stephen was lost in that kiss. The press of his lips against Dorothy’s was like nothing he had ever experienced before. He was all too aware of the way her hands clung to the lapels of his coat, and how his hand was now wandering, moving from the top of her arm to the back of her head, urging her to arch into him a little more and part her lips.
For a minute, he shut down all other thoughts. He blocked out that Dorothy was Allan’s sister, that out here in the middle of the night, what they were doing was no doubt scandalous, just as he blocked out how Dorothy was not a woman who would gladly take on the role of being a duchess.
For a wild minute, he pictured that woman he had so often seen, the woman who walked down the aisle toward him, her face covered in a thick veil. He lifted that veil and saw Dorothy before him, but she wasn’t smiling. She was fidgeting with her bouquet, her green eyes wide, before she glanced back at the congregation.
In the pews, he saw everyone his Duchess would be responsible for. He saw his tenants and housekeeper, not to mention all the other servants who stared at him expectantly. In his mind’s eye, Dorothy glared back at them.
She is a free spirit.
With sudden realization, as if he had been struck by lightning, he pulled back from her. One of his hands was still on her arm, and the other moved back down and rested softly on the curve of her waist. He struggled to let go of this intimacy, this warmth, even as he knew he must.
Dorothy would hate being a duchess. It’s a life of responsibility and propriety, every second of every day. She longs for freedom! A partner in crime! And… I cannot be that.
Yet, she clearly knew nothing of his thoughts. She was smiling up at him, her smile so broad that he was tempted to forget his thoughts and beg for another kiss. But he could not.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly. “I was weak.”
Her smile faded at once. She tilted her head to the side in confusion, her wild hair even madder now as he realized that he was the one who had messed it up as he’d angled her head for their kiss, indulging in a fantasy of toying with her wild tendrils.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
He was shaking his head already, struggling to put his thoughts into words. He released her and stepped back, turning on the spot and thrusting his hands into his hair in distress.
What have I done?
“Stephen?” Dorothy murmured, her voice soft. “Did you just say that you were weak?”
“I was.”
He sharply turned back to face her, lowering his hands from his face. He had to stop this, had to make her turn away from him. If he told her the truth, the knowledge that if he asked her to marry him now, she would be trapped, she would not accept it. He knew that.
I need to take control of the situation.
“Stephen.” She stepped toward him and took hold of the lapels of his coat again, tugging softly on them. “Why do you look as if you are about to run away from me after a kiss like this? You cannot kiss me in this manner and not mean it—”
“It was a weakness.”
“What does that even mean?” she asked, her voice growing louder.
“I… I cannot marry you, Dorothy,” he stuttered. Tongue-tied, he stared at her. She abruptly released his coat, though she didn’t step back. Not yet.
“Strange,” she muttered, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I do not remember asking you to.”
