His thumb brushed over the curve of her wrist, while his lips traveled higher. He pressed a kiss to the crook of her elbow. Her breathing had shifted, uneven now, shallow, and he drew back just enough to look at her. Lips parted, eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows across her skin.
He lifted her hand once more, uncurling her fingers and pressing his lips to her palm.“You’re not telling me to stop,” he said against her skin, his voice huskier now, rough around the edges. “Should I take that to mean you’re unaffected?”
She opened her eyes slowly. They were darker now, pupils blown wide. “Naturally,” she answered, though the breathy tremor in her voice betrayed her.
He smiled against her palm, gaze still holding hers. “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest, Lady Mariselle.”
“And I—” Her voice broke on the word. She swallowed. “I think you place far too much confidence in your abilities.”
His smile stretched wider. Oh how he adored this game. He lowered her hand, though his thumb still traced lazy circles across the staccato of her pulse. His other hand slipped to the small of her back, splayed possessively against the curve of her spine as he drew her closer, until there was no more air between them, only shared breath and molten awareness.
Her chest rose and fell faster now, lips parted, and the dimming faelight had turned her skin to gold. Her lashes fluttered—half-lowered, dazed.
“Nothing?” Evryn asked, his voice a low, rough rumble as he lowered his lips to the bare skin between her neck and shoulder.
She exhaled a shuddering breath. “Nothing. I have yet to see … evidence of this … legendary Rowanwood charm. You’ll have to try harder.”
He let out a quiet laugh, low and unsteady against her shoulder. “Oh, darling,” he whispered, the words threading between them like silk, “I can definitely do that.”
His fingers rose to the delicate twists at the back of her head and felt for the pins that anchored the arrangement of her hair. He slowly eased one free, then the other. A cascade of soft blue curls slipped loose, tumbling over her shoulders. He dropped the pins onto the sofa behind her, leaving the tiny pegasus secured within the waterfall of waves that now framed her face.
“Have I mentioned,” he murmured, reaching up to gently slide his fingers through her hair, “how exquisite you look in blue?”
Her eyelids wavered and closed again, a tremulous breath escaping her parted lips like a secret surrendered to the night.
He slowly swept her hair aside in a languid motion with one hand, while his other gently tilted her head just enough to bare the curve of her throat to him once more. “Tell me,” he whispered again, brushing a kiss against the pulse point at her throat, “when to stop.”
But she didn’t say a word.
And he didn’t stop.
His fingers slipped into the silken waves at the nape of her neck, tightening ever so slightly as his lips began a slow, deliberate trail upward. His other hand traced from the curve of her shoulder down the length of her arm, fingers gliding over silk and skin until he found her hand and laced his fingers through hers. She tightened her grip—fierce, unyielding—as though this were the only thing tethering her to the world while the rest of her threatened to unravel.
With each kiss, he felt her breath catch. He traced the line of her jaw, each press of his lips against her skin drawing increasingly ragged breaths from her the closer he moved to her mouth.
“Stop,” she breathed suddenly on a sharp exhale.
She tugged her hand free and pushed him away, scrambling past him and standing. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair disheveled. “I believe,” she said, attempting to smooth her wrinkled skirts and adjust her bodice while determinedly avoiding his gaze, “you’ve made your point. This game is over. I should return home before the hour grows any later.”
“Mariselle,” he began, rising to his feet, apology already forming on his lips. “I’m?—”
“I bid you goodnight,” she interrupted, already moving toward the door.
“Wait,” he protested, following after her. “How do you propose to return home?”
She paused at the door, still not looking at him. “Cobalt is rather fond of me. I’m sure he won’t object to bearing me home. I shall send him back for you once I arrive.”
And before Evryn could say another word, she was gone, the door banging shut in his face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mariselle slippedthrough her bedroom window, her movements as silent as she could manage despite the thundering of her heart. The cool night air clung to her skin as she carefully closed the glass pane behind her, fingers trembling so fiercely she nearly fumbled the latch.
She pressed her back against the wall, waiting for her pulse to settle, for her breath to even out, for the heat in her cheeks to subside. None of these things happened.
Her bedchamber was dark and empty. No Tilly waiting with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile, ready to help her out of her gown and into a nightdress. Mariselle had insisted her lady’s maid not wait up for her these past weeks, as her visits to Windsong Cottage stretched later and later into the night. Instead, Tilly would artfully arrange pillows beneath the coverlet to create the illusion of a sleeping form before ensuring her parents had retired to their chambers and then seeking her own bed, leaving Mariselle free to slip in unnoticed.
She had never been more grateful for the solitude than tonight.
