His mouth descended gently over hers, with none of the pent-up fury of their previous kiss. His palm ran down the length of her spine, sending flames down her back until he cupped her bottom. Pulling Beatrice more firmly into his arms, Blythe slanted his mouth over hers, tongue licking against her lips, coaxing her to open.
A sigh left her, one full of longing. No one had ever kissed her as Blythe did, with such fiercely restrained passion, as though they would both combust if great care weren’t taken.
“Beatrice,” he murmured against her lips.
She sagged against Blythe, lifting her chin just a fraction to take more of his mouth in hers, loving the sound that came from him as she did so. His palm trailed up her stomach to cup one breast, his thumb brushing along the curve, but going no farther.
Beatrice’s fingers slid up his chest to the base of his skull, threading through the thick gold of his hair, tugging at the ends to pull him closer. Blythe ignited a maelstrom inside her, a mix of physical longing and a delicate pinching of her heart. She’d never thought to be capable of any depth of emotion. It had been deemed unnecessary given the future her parents had laid out for her. But this—she wasfeeling.Deeply. Intensely.
Just as every coherent thought in her head started to ebb away, Blythe ended the kiss, nipping softly at her bottom lip.
Beatrice drew away from him with reluctance, feeling foolish and more than a little desperate. There wasn’t any instance when involvement with Blythe didn’t end badly for her. She twisted from him, embarrassed.
He took her hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her wrist before lacing their fingers together once more.
Beatrice tried to pry their hands apart, but Blythe wouldn’t allow it. After a time, she ceased struggling, accepting his presence. When Beresford Cottage came into sight, he came to a halt and pressed her hand to his chest.
“I want you, Beatrice Howard. I have from the moment I set eyes on you. That’s what all those insults and slurs were. Desire. A terrible way to go about flirtation when I’m usually so bloody good at it. Just not with you.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening once more. “I don’t knowwhyI want you so desperately. I can’t explain it. I definitely don’t like it. But that is how I feel.”
Blythe dropped her hand abruptly, leaving Beatrice open-mouthed and speechless. He sauntered in the direction of his gig, which Mr. Lovington had indeed driven back for him. Climbing inside, he snapped the reins, and gave her one last look, before disappearing down the drive.
Beatrice made her way to the steps leading to her door and sat down, not caring if she dirtied her dress, staring after him.
“Damn you, Blythe,” she whispered. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed in London?”
13
As amusing as it was to see Beatrice struck dumb by his little speech, one he hadn’t meant to give and thought he might regret, if he stayed, there wasn’t any telling what other sort of madness might take him. Questions might be lobbed at him, ones that Ellis surely couldn’t answer. The entire confession had sounded ridiculous given their history. If he’d had the least talent, he could have put those words into a poem instead of inelegantly spewing them out.
There is a fine line between love and hate.
Ellis was wise enough to know that the opposite of love was apathy. Indifference.
He had never once been indifferent to Beatrice.
The seduction of her would not be conducted with the intent of vanquishing an obsession that haunted him. Not any longer. Ellis had a good idea that no matter how often he bedded Beatrice, she would linger in his bones.
“So bloody complicated.” He snapped the reins.
She’s afraid of carriages.
The look on Beatrice’s lovely countenance as he’d escorted her out to his waiting gig flashed through his mind. Ellis had first assumed it was merely a continuation of the general annoyance she felt toward him, but the concern evidenced by Beatrice’s housekeeper and lady’s maid said differently. There was genuine worry stamped clearly on their features—worry for Beatrice. Ellis had to nearly drag her to the waiting vehicle. Once inside, Beatrice had gripped the edge of the gig so tightly it was amazing the wood hadn’t shattered. She’d paled at every sway, turning the color of spoiled cream. A tiny shriek of panic had erupted when Ellis had hit a small rut in the road.
A wave of protectiveness had prompted Ellis to take her hand and recite Keats, comforting Beatrice as he would one of his sisters. He’d nearly stopped the gig to take her into his arms, but her body was so stiff, so tight, Ellis had worried she’d shatter. She hadn’t relaxed until they’d arrived at the church.
Another mysterious revelation had awaited Ellis. Not the sermon of Vicar Farthing, a sanctimonious windbag who’d done everything but toss himself at Ellis like a young lady in her first season, but the reaction of Chiddon at having Beatrice in their midst.
Beatrice Howard, snobby, superior,destroyed-reputations-for-sportBeatrice Howard, wasbelovedin Chiddon. Adored. Worshipped. Close to legendary. Gates hadn’t exaggerated in the least when he’d referred to Beatrice asourduchess.
Could Ellis seduce and discard a bloody saint? The villagers of Chiddon would chase him back to London with pitchforks if he hurt their beloved duchess. He’d marveled at the children who waved at Beatrice. The smiles sent in her direction. An older woman had thrust a pie at her.
Desiring the horrible Beatrice Howard, wanting to bed her until she cried for mercy, had been one thing. Distasteful, but acceptable. Lust and nothing more.
But liking her—wanting to protect her.Comforther.
God help him, based on what Ellis had seen today, Beatrice had become admirable.
Admirable.
