His age did not seem to faze her; she nodded instead. “The beard makes you appear older than your years. Our ages are not too dissimilar in that case.”
“Indeed.” He would have disliked marrying Miss Walsh had she been the age of a debutante. The task of wedding someone, knowing it would be over soon and she would be left alone, was a brutal one. If she had been young, naïve, or flighty, it would have been even more unfair. And his offer was already a burden.
“I’d have thought your mother would have had a suitable candidate lined up,” Miss Walsh said as she pressed herself more comfortably against his chest. “I am a little less cold now.”
Despite this, he wrapped his arms around her, not allowing himself to dwell on the fact that he was enjoying the close contact.
Do not allow yourself to be too comfortable, too secure with her, it wouldn’t be fair.
Still, he could at least warm the girl up a bit. “My mother is not like other ladies. You noticed I did not think it wise to introduce you to her?”
“I thought that was because she was a snob,” Miss Walsh said. “After all, I am in many ways not a suitable bride for one such as you.”
Unable to help himself, Silverton laughed. It echoed in his throat in a strange way, and he realised how unaccustomed he was to the noise. He could not entirely explain why Miss Walsh kept making him laugh; perhaps because she said the unexpected. Hastily, he forced himself to speak. “I would not hold to that opinion in any way. But in answer to your question, my mother is a snob, although I have never given it much thought before. That isn’t why I didn’t introduce you. You see, I… I don’t know how much I trust my mother.”
“She is likely to break your rules?”
Weighing his options carefully, Silverton decided that since Miss Walsh was determined to risk her reputation to be here with him, she had earned the right to know as much of the story as he could share with her. After all, they had a certain number of hours before they would reach the capital, and she might as well hear some of the sordid tales of his family.
“A little,” Silverton said. “I believe she has suffered since my father died.”
“How old were you when he passed away?”
“Eighteen.” It had to be the liberty granted by the darkness in the carriage that made Silverton speak so, voicing his thoughts on his father. A man he never let himself consider because his death had changed everything for the worst. To dwell on it felt pointless and needlessly unpleasant. “His death destroyed my mother’s rationale. He was very much in love with her, despite how unfashionable that state may be.”
“I am sorry. My father was also devoted to my mother. It must be a burden to him—” Miss Walsh cut herself off. “Perhaps it is not my place to say so much about my father.”
“My preference is that you tell me your honest opinion,” Silverton said. He was becoming uncomfortable with how much Miss Walsh was able, in just a few short words, to cut beneath his defences. How could she open him up in a way no other person had? It must be because he had no choice but to trust her. “We are not to have a traditional courtship, nor marriage, but at least we may remain honest with each other.” He knew all the while that the words he uttered were a half-truth since he was keeping the reality of Charles a secret.
“It must have been a great pain, to lose your father and to gain his title,” Miss Walsh said, pulling back to look up at him more fully. “As if you were stepping into his shoes.”
Silverton gave her a brisk nod, having no desire to say any more. To his surprise, Miss Walsh waited for him to speak, prompting him with her patient silence. “I don’t think I know anyone else like you,” he said truthfully.
“No, most women would not have agreed to your proposal. But that is not what you mean, is it? Your comment is meant to set me in my place, I suppose.”
“No, indeed.” Silverton stopped short. Why was he feeling the need to explain himself? It wasn’t necessary. This was a business arrangement that the pair of them had agreed to, and whilst there would be a physical element to it, confusing that with anything deeper would not help either of them. Any sort of romantic inclinations would make their inevitable parting too painful. So, he did not expand on his comment despite being tempted to do so.
Miss Walsh lifted her face up, and he was again struck by how close her mouth was to his. Even in the night-time, the occasional flash of starlight illuminated her. Silverton realised it had been years since he’d been so close to a woman. His eyes moved over her upturned face, noticed the querying look before he lowered his lips, the desire yawning within him to close the distance between their mouths, and kiss her.
He wanted it, damn him, and the tension of that desire was consuming him now. This wasn’t about business. Or about besting his brother. Or begetting an heir. It was about the great, yawning chasm of curiosity that burnt bright within his body, to know what Maeve would taste like.
CHAPTER6
Maeve was not entirely sure when she realised she was about to be kissed. There had been the beginning of some friendly intimacy between Silverton and herself, but nothing that would indicate anything more romantic.
Here was a bearded stranger, and yet, she had allowed him to wrap his arm over her shoulder, to rest her head on his chest, the warm sensation of his breath on her hair. It had been an experience unlike anything she had ever known, and she was greedy for more of it.
When the carriage had bumped her slightly, lifting her face away from the safety of his chest, she had studied Silverton’s face and been struck by the sheer masculinity of it. The straight stab of his nose, the thick dark beard, the well-lashed eyes that watched her intently.
The look he gave her heated Maeve’s stomach, and then the sensation dropped lower into her anatomy to spread and luxuriate there, in a way that no spinster should know anything about. But since Maeve had never deprived herself of learning as much as she could on any topic, she had devoured whatever books she could find. Whilst feminine desire was barely touched upon within those heavy tomes, there were one or two indications of what women might feel when men touched them.
She was feeling those sensations now, ungovernable and a complete thrill for her. It was as if there was a lightness that persisted throughout her body, as if her innards were being lit by a match. It made her want to wriggle, to curl closer, to press her body right next to Silverton’s. She wanted him to kiss her, with a curiosity that cried out to feel his mouth on hers in such a wanton, desirous way. It was almost scalding in its intensity.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. It was barely a mumble, and then his mouth was on hers, with no time for Maeve to reassure him that there was no need to apologise. His mouth was warm, drowning out whatever she had been about to say. The press of his lips as he took hold of her mouth was all consuming and sealed their lips together utterly. Despite the scratch of his beard on her cold skin, the taste of his lips started gently before he pulled her more closely against his body. His lips were soft in contrast to the fullness of his beard, as if Silverton were kissing her with as much care as he could, keeping whatever furious emotions lay beneath the surface in check. But Maeve knew they were there, and it stirred her, alighting her skin, body, and mind with a passionate flame.
His careful hand moved teasingly through her hair. Silverton framed and held her face between his hands. His touch was light but cradling as he angled her up towards him, with a skill that robbed Maeve of her thoughts. As his tongue rubbed its way against the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth a fraction, and he let out a groan that seemed to rock his body. With her permission demonstrated, Silverton pressed on, his tongue darting out to tease and encourage her own tongue to explore him too.
It felt worshipping, this type of kiss, she thought distantly. Although stringing together those thoughts was a jumble. Perhaps it was the magic of his hands or the taste of his lips that gave him such an unfair advantage it made Maeve want to swoon. And she was not the swooning type.
