He wouldn’t. Would he? He certainly hoped not. He saved her now, did he not, in scaring her away? He should be scared away by the need coursing through him. He’d slept with women since his injury, but not often. More likely to take himself in hand. No need to bother a woman with his bulk, his wounds. But he suddenly needed her lips against his like he needed water when parched.
He dipped lower, his lips lightly brushing hers. She gave a throaty gasp. A song in that sound. He flicked his gaze to her eyes. They’d closed, thin lids hiding emeralds. Shewaited, her body swaying toward him. For a kiss.
He’d disappointed her once already today. He would not, could not disappoint her in this.
He kissed her. A soft meeting, a gentle press, the merest taste of… apple? A bad omen, that. Back home there was a superstition about apples and true love. And the way she’d rocked forward to lean against his body, the way her full breasts pressed against his chest, and her hands, released from his hold, settled atop his shoulders. Behind his own closed eyes, her every touch illuminated the dark in vibrant explosions of pink and green and red.
Curves and color and apple.
He fell in love with her a third time. First had been for the beauty of her body. Second for the fire of her spirit. And now for the taste of her lips.
Against which he whispered words that shocked him from the core they rose from. “Marry me.”
She’d been like water beneath him, languid and pourable. Now she became stone, hard and stiff. “Pardon me?”
He should retract the nonsensical question, claim she’d misheard him. He’d said something else. He’d said… carry me. Or perhaps parry me. As if they were fencing? Bollocks.
“Marry me,” he repeated, somehow withholding a groan. He was a right nodcock. Felt one as he straightened away from her, tugging at his cravat. “It makes sense.” Perhaps, if one squinted at it. “You need a protector. I can protect you. I have no money, but I have a home, family. A husband can protect you and your child more than an employer could. And I’m—erm.” He tugged harder at the cravat, trying to scratch at the hot red surely creeping up his neck. “I’m considered a hero by many. If I say you’re a good mother to… Alfie, was it? If I say you’re good, they’ll believe me.”
She pressed her back against the door, her eyes slits of blinding green. “And if I’m your wife you can fuck me anytime you wish.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but—” Oh. Oh no. Shouldn’t have said that. Those slits became pools looking for a victim to drown, and they lashed lightning in his direction. He stepped back. “Forget I said that.” Where were his honeyed lyrics now? Where were his sweet love songs?I’ve fallen for you three times today. Please marry me.That’s what he should have said. If he truly wished to marry her. And surely he did not.
Bloody hell.
Her hands curled like claws around the door handle. “Do you know why I married my first husband?”
“Love?” he offered hopefully.
“Convenience. He asked, and my father had recently passed. And he’d always been so nice to me, and yes, I wanted to”—she swallowed hard, spoke through sharp teeth—“fuck him.”
Atlas winced. He’d used the cursed word, and now it seemed to have control of the both of them. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Now here I am, in another desperate situation, being offered much the same solution. Why is it men only want to help a woman if it gets her in his bed?”
He held up his hands, palms first. “No bed required.”Just let me save you.She snorted. “It’s true. I would not force myself on you. Or expect anything from you. Despite what I said earlier.”
Her brow arched a slow path up her forehead. “That’s new. Why then? Why offer marriage but not a position working for your family? If you marry me, it’s till death do us part. A position is temporary. And if there are no benefits to be had in bed… You can see where my confusion lies.”
Hell if he knew. It had been an unconscious offer likely prompted by that daft part of himself that fell in love daily. “All those other reasons I gave. My reputation, my title. They are of more use to you wedded to me than employed by me. In fact, your father-in-law may use your occupation at my family’s estate as a reason to take your son from you. He could claim you’re…” Didn’t want to say it.
“Loose.”
He nodded.
“Mad.”
He gave another nod.
“Immoral.” She sighed, and her gaze floated toward their feet like a leaf in the wind, slow and meandering. “I cannot marry you. I must not expect the same madness to go differently when repeated. Th-thank you for the offer.”
“Mrs. Bronwen.” He stepped toward her.
But she dissolved from the room before he could reach her side, opening the door and slipping through it in one fluid movement. Water spilling between his fingers.
Bollocks.
He clicked the door closed and returned to the fireplace, rubbing the backs of his fingers over his lips. Inexplicably,they missed the warmth of her breath. A narrow escape, that. What a damnably foolish impulse. Marry me, indeed. Perhaps more foolish, his attempt to scare off, to tell her the truth no gentleman spoke to a lady. His body wanted hers. Some truths should never be given sound, some tunes never given lyrics. He’d insulted her, scared her. Good. Her fear had driven her refusal of his inexplicable proposal.
