“You may tell me about Mr Holland on our walk back to the house. Now I wish to return to our earlier topic.” She stepped closer. “Tell me about your wildest fantasy, Mr St Clair.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“A gentleman does not discuss his intimate thoughts with a lady,” he said, dropping the portcullis to place a sturdy barrier between them. “If ours is to be a working relationship, Miss Langley, I doubt you want to hear—”
“Is that your new mask, sir?”
“Mask?”
“The one you hide behind.” Indeed, she was beginning to notice a pattern. “Having admitted you don’t see me as kin, you need another reason for remaining aloof. You mean to keep an emotional distance between us. Why is that?”
He gave a mocking snort. “You must have had too much wine at dinner. It’s the only way to account for your fanciful musings.”
Lady Brompton had insisted the ladies took port, too. Perhaps the fortified wine had given her the courage to take a risk.
“If you’re too afraid to tell me what you dream about, Nicholas, let me reveal the whimsical nature of my thoughts.” She stepped closer, forcing him to retreat until his back hit the wall. “I want to imagine you brought me here to kiss me. Imagine your strong hands roaming over my body, your mouth moving—”
“Stop!” He touched a shaky finger to her lips as his breathing quickened. “Please, Helen. We’re supposed to act like siblings.”
She brushed his hand away. “No, we are not. I see an attractive man. A man whose mouth I want to feel on mine.”
“Miss Langley—”
“Surely you’ll not deny me one small pleasure.” She laid a hand on his chest and the hard muscle flexed beneath her fingers. “At least then we will know if an attraction exists between us. Maybe we might blame it on our brush with death. As a man who always cares for my needs, you cannot let me die without ever being kissed.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.” She moistened her lips. “The first time may have been a warning. The villain may be tampering with the carriage wheels as we speak.” Soft beams of moonlight slipped through the glassless window, the silver stream touching his lips as if they were a divine gift from God. “There is something tangible between us, Nicholas.” The time they had spent together in his bedchamber this morning confirmed that.
When she leant closer, he whispered, “Don’t.”
“Why, will you push me away? Will you inform my brother? Tell me, Nicholas. What would you do if I pressed my mouth to yours?”
A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Devour you.”
In the breathless seconds that followed, every interaction with him flashed into her mind. The gentle way he’d swept his thumbs over her cheeks at her mother’s funeral. The comforting words whispered against her ear. His sharp intake of breath when their knees touched during the bumpy carriage ride to Grayswood.
“The second our mouths meet, I’ll be lost,” he breathed, confirming he felt this undeniable attraction, too. “Don’t make me break a vow. Don’t make me ruin your prospects of marrying well.” His voice turned dark and husky. “Because I will ruin you, Helen. Trust me. Should the barricade between us fall, I shan’t stop until you are writhing naked beneath me in bed.”
Nicholas!
It took little effort to imagine him pushing inside her. Her heart was his, and she would give her body freely. The thought left her sex pulsing, her nipples hard against the thin cotton nightgown. The urge to unbutton her pelisse and let Nicholas St Clair ravage her senseless was almost impossible to deny.
“You say the words like a threat, yet they offer every enticement.”
Her comment did not make him set his lips to hers and make good on his promise. The groan that escaped him was not the sound of pleasure, but frustration.
“Then you must forget what I said. Sebastian wants you to marry a lord with an impeccable lineage. Chadderton is to inherit a baronetcy while I shall always be a mister. A man whose good name is about to be dragged through the mire.”
“It’s not up to Sebastian,” she began, but Nicholas captured her hand and marched out of the tiny tower, pulling her with him. “I wouldn’t care if you sold fish at Billingsgate Market.”
“Forget I said anything,” he repeated as he led her along the woodland path. “Forget we were here tonight. It was an error of judgement on my part and won’t happen again.”
Her heart constricted as if being crushed in a vice. “I cannot ignore my feelings, Nicholas. You want to kiss me. I cannot forget that.”
“I am not the right man for you.”
No matter what she said, he proved as stubborn as a mule. Indeed, he stopped responding to her provoking comments and did not speak another word until they had climbed the servants’ stairs and reached the first-floor landing.