“Are you drunk?” Rose challenged.
“A little,” Will grinned. “But I am certainly not incapable.” Rose averted her gaze, not willing to engage with his innuendo. “Not like your intended.”
“I thought you had left already.”
“I did leave the table before surrendering to the temptation of smashing it. I may have done it had you not looked at me when you did.”
It was obvious Will was not going to leave of his own accord. Rose moved back towards the fire, very aware they were standing in the half-light, with the flickering patterns all around them. They were far too close to the bed.
She wondered how she would ever sleep easily in this room again after watching him imprint himself on her furnishings and bed covering. It had been bad enough when he had only been there in her imagination. He was advancing on her as she stood by the chair, and he was right; the room did indeed feel very warm.
“Look!” Rose put out a hand to keep him at bay. She desperately needed to take control of this situation. “As much as I appreciate your chivalry, this is my problem. I do not need the cavalry.”
“You don’t?”
Rose shook her head, but not as emphatically as she intended. He reached out one hand, and she ducked to avoid his touch, but his hand followed her and came to rest against the side of her chin. Rose blushed as he brought his other hand to frame her face and hold her just inches from him.
“Will. We can’t—"
“Ssssh,” Will caressed her lips with both thumbs, stroking them back and forth very gently. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. She knew how improper this was. She knew if they were found together, she would be ruined. Ernest would call off the wedding, and no one would ever look twice at her again. But with his hands on her, his touch as light as gossamer, there was a part of her that didn't care. He was so close she could smell the scent of sandalwood and musk on his skin. She wanted to untie his cravat, then unbutton his vest and every button on his tight-fitting shirt. She imagined herself pulling it wide and pressing up against him. She wanted to have real love with him, with him penetrating her body in ways he had never done before, in ways she had long imagined.
Knowing how easily she could give in to these feelings, Rose stood with her arms pinned to her sides. It took every ounce of her resolve to not move closer to him as she imagined him wrapping her in his arms, scooping her up, and carrying her to the bed before pressing her down and covering her body with his own.
She was lost in her reverie as Will began to slide his hands back into her hair, closing the space between them as he did so, burying his fingers in her curls where they met at the nape of her neck. Their bodies were less than an inch apart.
Will released the barrette holding her hair on the top of her head, allowing it to cascade down through his fingers. Then, very gently, he reached for the tiara and removed that too. The diamonds sparkled in the firelight. She watched him put it down on the chair and then turn back to her. The weight of her trailing, long blonde hair had straightened the teased curls now.
He framed her face again with his palms, pushing her hair gently back, and said softly, “Better.” It was a statement, not a question, but Rose found herself nodding as he slid his hands down her neck to her shoulders.
She expected him to kiss her then, knowing she would let him. Every part of her body was yearning for his, but instead, he turned and looked towards the flames.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“Yes?” Rose replied equally softly, entranced his closeness.
“Why do you have a fire? In mid-summer?”
She laughed, taken off guard.
“These walls are thick, and summer evenings can still be cool.”
He turned back to look at her.
“How thick?” He murmured something devilish, and then his lips finally covered hers, so gently, so lightly, as if he had just brushed them against her and then pulled away. He let go of her shoulders and walked around behind her, across the room to the window with a view of the inner courtyard. Her heart was still pumping blood far too quickly around her veins, and she took a few moments to gather herself before looking at him, perplexed.
“Why did you do that?” She asked.
“I heard a carriage,” he replied, deliberately misunderstanding her question.
“You need to move away from the window, or someone will see you.”
“It’s fine.” He waved his hand at her. “There is nobody out there. Everyone is still inside enjoying their inane conversations and ridiculous rivalry, as only the ton can.”
“You didn’t seem to be finding the conversations of your dinner companions inane,” she said tartly and watched his expression transform into a laconic smile.
“They were harmless enough.”
“Rather pretty too.”