He tasted the same, of brandy and smoke and that flavor that was his. The same emotions rioted within her, wild and free, and she wanted his hands on her, all over, as they had been before. Her hands tangled in his hair, the pomade strange to her touch.
His lips brushed her collarbone, and her fingers tightened in his hair. "Michael."
He paused, his breath ghosting along her skin.
Sofie closed her eyes. She'd said his name. She'd said his name, and damned herself as a fool. She remembered, just as well as he.
Michael pulled back, his chest heaving, as if he were as affected as her. Resting his forehead against hers, he cradled her face in his hands. "I never forgot you, Sofie. I tried, but I couldn't."
She hadn't forgotten him either. Every day she'd told herself she had, but she'd never succeeded. He was burned into her, so deep she couldn't remove him.
"Why did you not come after me?" It had hurt so much when he hadn't. She knew it had been irrational, knew it was foolish, but she'd been seventeen, and in love. She'd wanted him to be as much in love as she.
He smiled without mirth. "I'm a bastard. What can I say?"
Pain filled her. She made to pull apart, but he caught her to him. "Sofie, you cannot know how I regretted it. I was callow and foolish, and I wish so goddamn much that I had offered for you. Do you know how proud I would be to have you as my wife? But I ..." He swallowed. "I knew you would not be proud of me. How could you? I could not have given you all you have found for yourself. You are-- Do you know how magnificent you are?"
Suddenly, in the midst of all this, humor found her. "Of course. I recite my magnificence to myself often."
A rueful sort of smile took his own expression. "You are magnificent. I always thought so, and I wanted you so much. I was twenty-one, and a fool." His thumb caressed her cheek. "Why did you run?"
A breath shuddered through her. "I ... My parents were so disappointed. My father looked at me with disgust, and my mother wouldn't stop crying, so I, I left. I'd always wanted to travel, and Stephen was in France already, and ..." She met his gaze. "I wasn't supposed to be ruined at seventeen, but if I hadn't been, I never would have become this person. I like her. I like me."
His lips twisted. "So I did you a favor?"
"Perhaps." She fell silent. "It wasn't pleasant."
"No."
"My parents were furious." His thumb stroked her shoulder.
"Yes."
"Are you not going to apologize?" she said, frustrated.
The corner of his lip lifted. "Do you want me to?"
"I don't know! I don't know anymore. I don't know what to think, what to feel. For ten years, I've hated you, Michael. I can't ... I don't ..." Wild emotion rioted within her. She didn't know what to make of this, how she felt.
Oh God, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to haul him close and feel his lips beneath hers. She gave a hiccupping laugh. How could she want such things? How? A mere half an hour ago she'd wanted never to see him again.
"Sof," he said softly. "Why are you still so angry?"
Uncertain, she stared at him. He waited, his gaze never leaving hers.
A harsh sob exploded from her, then another, and another. "Because I love you," she gasped. "Because I never stopped. Because for ten years, I compared every man to you and found them wanting. Because you left me, you left me, Michael, and I ... I ..."
He gathered her in his arms, whispering comfort and of how he was sorry, he was so damned sorry. "I should have come after you. I should have followed you to the Continent and made you listen. I should have done it any time these past ten years. I'm sorry I didn't. Sof, you've not a notion of how sorry I am."
"Fat lot of good sorry does me," she hiccupped, attempting a scowl but certain she failed miserably.
A smile. Finally. "Ah, Sof. How can I resist you when you say things like that?"
Hiding against his chest, she shook her head.
A gentle finger under her chin forced her gaze to his, and her breath caught at what she saw in his gray eyes. "Sof. You know I love you, don't you?"
She bit her lip.