Elsie became increasingly aware of how close his head was to grazing the top of hers, nestled as they were together, if he leant down another inch, their hair would be touching. Suddenly she desperately wished he would, it wasn’t enough to merely have his hand resting lightly on her knee and the other around her shoulders, she wanted more contact. Wanted to lose herself in his touch. “My father was the last son of his parents, and my mother was orphaned young.” Kit sighed. “I suppose if they would have been like your grandmother it is just as well, I didn’t have that particular experience.”
“If I ever have children, it pleases me to think my father and mother will be most excellent in the role of grandparents,” Elsie said without really thinking. After all, she knew she would be highly unlikely to marry. Besides which, she should never discuss such matters with a gentleman—the idea of children, implied or at least alluded to, thus hinted at the begetting of them, and that a lady should never admit to knowing a thing about. It just seemed perhaps because they were intertwined together, that the formality of society existed far away from them. Which of course was ridiculous because, provided they survived this day, all the rules would immediately reinsert themselves all too quickly as soon as they left this cave.
Before Elsie could think of a suitable way of moving the topic of conversation on, little Lancelot came snuffling over to them, sinking down next to her feet with a whimper.
“You named the dog Lancelot?” Kit asked.
“That’s right.” Elsie ruffled the pup’s head, and the slight whine ceased. “I already had an Arthur in my life.”
“Oh,” he said. There seemed to be depth to hisoh, but she could not pinpoint quite why.
“My father is called Arthur. He is a vicar. I thought the dog could aspire to the great knight,” Elsie joked. It was easier to ignore the magnetic pull of the man beside her if she focused on the puppy.
“I believe, although I am not an expert on dogs,” Kit said, “that Lancelot is a spaniel.”
“I would have rescued him regardless.”
“I know.” Kit’s voice dropped, and it was then that their hands met as they stroked Lancelot. She dared a glance at him, and to her surprise their eyes met and held. There was an awareness there, a bright spark, which cartwheeled and cascaded through Elsie’s chest, with a growing suspicion that Kit wanted to kiss her. When his unnerving perceptive gaze dropped to her mouth, Elsie felt herself rewarded with the knowledge she had been right—he did.
But that was not all. She wondered if she wanted him too—to lean down in this quiet, cool cave and to press his lips against her. What it would feel like to kiss a relative stranger. Oh, she had known men who’d wanted to kiss or even go a step further, but she had never truly questioned whether she wanted to kiss them. Her motivation had been curiosity, at least for kisses.
Now she felt certain she did.
I wish to kiss him, even if he is a stranger, I want to know what his mouth would feel like pressed to mine. What it would be like to part my lips and have our tongues touch…
Elsie knew that despite the chill in the air surrounding and engulfing them, her cheeks were colouring with the heated idea. Slipping its trickster way beneath her senses and heating her blood, blooming in her rib cage, stomach, hips and finding its way to twist deep within her… It occurred to her that this sensation had to be desire. How like the wanton her grandmother always warned her about, how close she was to…
How bloody inconvenient.
Cautiously she looked up. Had Kit moved closer, had he been able to read or know what she was feeling? A previous summer had left a handful of freckles on his high cheekbones, which gave him a slightly boyish air at odds with his former formality.
His hand tightened, their fingers still touching on top of Lancelot’s head. Elsie wondered if she should close her eyes, unbidden her tongue darted out to wet her lips. There was a tightening of Kit’s jawline and Elsie braced herself.
Lancelot shifted, and Elsie saw the moment that Kit remembered himself, his fingers flexed and suddenly he was on his feet.
“I should check…” He gestured towards the cove and presumably the water. He stood, moved away, and started to rub a hand over his chest as if in great discomfort. Clearly, he had felt none of the same pull as she had.
Unwillingly Elsie nodded, surprised at how disappointed she was that he had stepped away.
CHAPTER 8
It was just as well that distraction came when it did. He had been tempted, tempted beyond belief to close the distance that separated them, and taste the sweetest mouth he could ever remember seeing.
Where had such an odd and inappropriate thought sprung from? It had to be a form of madness, was the only logic that Kit could ascribe to it. But if he did so, he could hardly call himself a gentleman—they were trapped, she had no option of leaving, and all around them was danger. He would be the worst sort of man imaginable.
So, he had moved as quickly as he could, his ribcage plaguing him. Now he stared down at the waters far below. The tides did seem to be calming, but there was no sign that they were retreating. It could be hours before they did, and in this narrow, damp cave with the partially dressed Miss Keating—no, Elsie, that was what she asked him to call her.
With another check of the view below, Kit stepped back away from the edge. If he was going to resist giving into the strangely beguiling or bedraggled allure of Elsie, he was going to have to find something to fill up the space that burnt between them.
Moving back to sink down beside her, Kit positioned his legs carefully, out in front of him, providing what he considered a barrier. Adding to this, he folded his arms one on top of another, further adding a layer of a shield. It was important she did not receive the wrong impression about him, as much for his own sanity as anything else.
When he finally looked at Elsie, he was a little disappointed to see she was paying him no heed, but all her focus was on her little spaniel, who cuddled close to her. Well, she could be warmed by Lancelot. The most optimistically named dog that Kit had ever met.
“I offer my apologies if there was a reason…” Elsie finally glanced up, her brown eyes bright in the cave. “If I made anything awkward, I am sure it is due to my country ways.”
Unable to countenance that he wouldn’t be classed in the same way by thebeau mondethat he’d met, Kit laughed. Amusement welcomed in such a grimy little cave. By society’s standards, he was classed a lofty duke now, supposedly the head of one of England’s ancient and noble families, but gaining the title had never truly occurred to Kit as a possibility, certainly not one he wanted or pursued. But from the way Elsie was regarding him, suddenly he wanted to explain to this young woman the truth. Or at least part of it—he doubted he could fully explain all of it, after all he had already told her about the curse and that hadn’t been believed.
“Since we’ve already moved past the more obvious revelations, there is something I can tell you that might be worthwhile knowing about my family.”
