A small awkward grimace appeared on his face, which Elsie thought resembled an attempt at a smile, but one which could not entirely be arranged by Ashmore.
“It is not inscrutability I wished to project.” There was a pained look on Ashmore's face as he spoke, almost like the words themselves were a burden to him, “but you Miss Keating…”
“Me?” For one brief, bright moment Elsie glowed under what she hoped would be praise. She had brought this irascible, difficult duke out of his shell, and he was about to praise her. Then he moved slightly nearer, and Elsie saw his expression more clearly, but she had no time before his barrage began.
“I have tried my damnedest to be polite. Hell, I have risked my life to ensure your safety, but you continue to be… a plague.” Hewaved his hand towards the dresses. “You leave clothing dotted around my house, and whilst I know my sister appreciates your presence, my servants do not.”
Elsie wanted to break in and point out she had been making a dress for his sister, but Ashmore was not giving her enough time to form, let alone make, a reply. Besides, he was towering over her, and his presence was robbing her of all common sense. Darn this blasted infatuation with him.
“But like all unwelcome guests, I am certain of some good intentions on your part—despite how it has manifested. And as for your dog?—”
It was enough. Quite enough. Especially after everything Elsie had tried to do. How frequently she had been thwarted and all to end being insulted? A burst of anger swelled with Elsie, an unfamiliar emotion but one she felt quite entitled in this moment. All thoughts of how this man—this duke—was the one who was supposed to help her sister, fled from her mind as she closed the remaining distance between the two of them, jabbing a finger into his chest.Hard.
“I disagree with your assumptions. I have seen neglect and poor parental decisions before, known all too well the cruelty of a harsh word and hardship that comes from a tight budget.” This was true. Not from her parents, but from her grandmother, Elsie was all too aware of the consequences of unpleasant behaviour. She had suffered from it first-hand, yet it would not see her bury herself away from the world, too frightened to experience a few little wonders. “I do not believe we should let the words and actions of others bother us.”
A small twist of guilt ran through her when she said this, after all she still recalled with vivid clarity the vile words her grandmother had thrown at her, and it seemed not entirely able to be discarded. Was she being a hypocrite as part of her would be forever humiliated by her grandmother's words? Still, she was trying her best to battle these memories, what was Ashmoredoing? When he had all the advantages with which to fight—sex, wealth, position—how dare he back down and hide away?
With a scoffing sound at the back of her throat, Elsie gazed up into Ashmore’s face hoping to read something beyond cold disinterest in those hardened features. A small twitch in his jawline was all she saw. She had tried her best for weeks in the manor, even making some progress with Lady Flora, but he would not bend an inch for her or let her further in.
Or whenever he did give her something, say when they’d danced together, he’d immediately withdrawn—it was infuriating. “But that is all I am left with—rank speculation. Which festers and rots and I do believe half of the stories that run through the house. No, there are no such things as ghosts. Let me tell you this talk does not make for good bedfellows.”
A flash around his eyes at the mention of bedfellows was the only indication that Ashmore had heard what she’d said. Boosted by fear of what he might reply, Elsie continued, although she felt less confident, “I’m not the coward here. I know what your family is like—for goodness’ sake there was a murderer in your uncle’s home the night we arrived—my sister had to chase the braggart off while I…”
To this revelation Ashmore responded by clasping her arms roughly in his grip, his fingers nipping at her shoulders through Elsie’s gown. “Why the hell didn’t you mention this earlier? Were you in danger?” The force of questions and the profanity further stirred Elsie, not to mention the fact that Ashmore had lifted her off her feet to press her frame against his body as he looked furiously down at her. He was so tall she thought in girlish fascination. It was too much, from what she’d witnessed in the hallway, to her own fevered touch earlier against her innards, to all her colourful imaginings of him. So, her desire got the better of her again. Elsie raised her own hands, cupping his face so he could not escape, and pressed her lips against his in one quick heady move.
In part, she realised as she held her mouth there, it had beendone to shock Ashmore. In part because of her own desire. But the latter was taking over, running rampant over the initial ideas, as a yearning built within her, fed as he responded hungrily to her kiss.
It wasn’t Elsie’s first kiss.
In fact, in Edinburgh, she had kissed five different young men, three of them officers. Which in her opinion meant there could be no surprises saved up for when she kissed Ashmore. That was her theory.
How wrong she was.
She was surprised when one of his hands dropped from her arms to wrap around her waist, curling her closer. The other hand lifted to her own face, tilting her chin for better access, and it was then, as his mouth pressed more fully against her lips, Elsie started to think her experience had not prepared her for the taste and feel of him.
When his tongue pushed her lips open, it wasn’t a curious touch but more like possession—there was no hesitation in Ashmore as he backed her up against the wall whilst continuing to rob her of her wits. His mouth was all-consuming, molten temptation moving from greedy kisses to lighter ones, hardly giving her time to catch her breath. Let alone gather her senses.
Ashmore could kiss, kiss better than she ever imagined possible. Surely a grumpy, isolated recluse could not be this practised or skilled at kissing? But it seemed that he could in fact, leaving her breathless, alert, and keen. The touch of his tongue inside her mouth drove her wilder while his hand on her chin feathering out over her skin as they kissed before moving up to tangle in her hair, sent sensations racing through her body pooling between her legs. With all her prior experience forgotten, Elsie leant into the rush of feeling he created in her, of those boundless, pulsing tingles that made her want to scream and rub her body closer to his. If she thought she wanted him before this kiss, it was nothing to how she felt now.
Ashmore pulled back away from her, and Elsie hoped he would admit something of a mutual longing that was burning between them.
Instead, he simply stared down at her, his expression forbidding before whispering, “Never again.”
CHAPTER 14
Kit forced himself away from her bedroom, his feet uneven and his mind more so. There was one advantage to this house, and that was the size of it. It was entirely possible to lose himself down one of the numerous passageways and corridors. If only it was so easy to forget or preferably bury the memory of kissing her.
Elsie. Miss Keating. He should repeat the latter until he stopped slipping into informality…
You imbecile, he cursed himself, the use of her name is not the problem. Returning her kiss with the enthusiasm you just demonstrated is the far bigger issue. He should never have even entered her chamber and followed the sounds he’d heard because…
Casting his mind back to what he’d seen, he was clouded in uncertainty despite it being just a few minutes ago. Surely it was just his own desire that he’d witnessed her touching herself. The likelihood that a gentry woman, the daughter of a clergyman…
But she started the kiss… whilst he most definitely ended it. Why would she do that? That was a question that cascaded through him, battling away more erotic thoughts.
Kit forced his feet to stop moving. He stood in the middle ofa long portrait gallery, one which was dusty and thankfully unoccupied save for himself. God, he finally acknowledged how much he wanted her. How he’d wanted her for weeks and been avoiding her in an attempt to deny this. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her skin, to run his hands over her slim frame, recapturing the willingness of her mouth. Better yet to lead her away from the middle of the room and over to her bed. He was certain he could fuck her for hours until her mouth was swollen with his kisses, their naked bodies spent. How he wanted the daintiness of her beauty, the quickness of her wit, the generosity of her spirit…
He had thought or perhaps hoped that avoiding her would cure him of his interest. That was what he knew was too mild a word.
