if not like this? He would hardly choose to marry her. There was a world between them, not simply miles. If she wanted kisses from him, they would have to be kisses like this.
She did not try to pull either her arm free, or her bonnet from his hand, she felt calm suddenly. “Give me back my bonnet, Your Grace.
Please?
”
“Say that you wished for it?” There was a cold hard look back in his eyes.
“No.”
“Say it.”
When she did not, his grip firmed on her arm, though it was not painful. “Say it!”
His voice rang with determination.
“
No, John
.”
His hand suddenly left her arm and then it was back at her nape bracing her neck and holding her firm as he pulled her mouth to his.
His kiss was a hard pressure against her lips. She had not imagined kissing to be like this. Her heart raced, and her fingers clawed into the muscle of his arms to steady herself. She felt faint and hot and liquid-boned.
It was brief, barely an instant long, but when he pulled away his pale eyes shone like glass with triumph. “You wished for it,” he whispered over her lips. “Say it.”
“Yes,” she answered, knowing she turned crimson as she did so. She felt the provincial idiot she was, gauche, weak and base born.
He said nothing, his eyes boring deep into her soul.
What must he think of her?
“Here,” he said, letting go of her nape and her bonnet at the same moment. “I’ll give you a lift home.”
She felt disorientated and dizzy. She shook her bonnet to try and get it to recover its shape, while she also tried to recall who and where she was.
Her hands trembled as she tied the ribbons and her legs felt weak, too weak to walk home.
She hadn’t looked at him since he’d let her take her bonnet. She looked at him now and saw questions in his eyes as he lifted his hand to take hers.
She accepted it, to climb up into his curricle, and said nothing. He climbed up beside her once she had slid across the seat.
Her throat was dry.
He released the brake and flicked the reins, setting his fashionable, expensive horses into a trot.
She hated herself.
His gaze turned to her.
She looked at him.
“I’m sorry, Katherine, I should not have kissed you, no matter that you wished for it.”
She felt like crying. Had he not even really wished to do it? Had he only done it because he’d realised he could?
A dark humour suddenly shone in his eyes once more. “But, then again, maybe I am not really sorry.” He looked back at the road.
“You have changed,” she answered, staring at him, not understanding him at all, and yet loving him.
His eyes turned back to her, a look of granite in them. “
Life
has changed me, Katherine. But you are not changed. Perhaps you can make me remember who I was?”
What did she say to that? What did she say to this stranger?
He looked back at the road ahead and flicked the reins again.
She gripped the side of his curricle and hung on.
Chapter Four
John steered his chestnut thoroughbreds through the gates of the courtyard, leading into the stables.
His blood was still boiling with a mix of desire and anger.
He had made Katherine admit she had wanted to kiss him but, nevertheless, she’d accused him of arrogance and being changed.
She was right, of course.
He had not spoken to her for the rest of the drive as bitter thoughts had bounced about his head. It had been wrong to kiss her. But he did not regret it. She made him remember the past, she made him remember what it was like to be warm-blooded and feel. He wanted to feel with her.
His heart thumped as he set the brake. God, he felt better even for having had that one kiss. It had been the way she’d pressed so innocently against him, with tenderness, not with a grabbing, greedy lust. She could wash his soul clean; that was how he felt.
A weight had lifted from his shoulders, when he dropped to the ground.
His grooms rushed forwards to free the horses and put away the carriage.
John strode towards the servants’
She did not try to pull either her arm free, or her bonnet from his hand, she felt calm suddenly. “Give me back my bonnet, Your Grace.
Please?
”
“Say that you wished for it?” There was a cold hard look back in his eyes.
“No.”
“Say it.”
When she did not, his grip firmed on her arm, though it was not painful. “Say it!”
His voice rang with determination.
“
No, John
.”
His hand suddenly left her arm and then it was back at her nape bracing her neck and holding her firm as he pulled her mouth to his.
His kiss was a hard pressure against her lips. She had not imagined kissing to be like this. Her heart raced, and her fingers clawed into the muscle of his arms to steady herself. She felt faint and hot and liquid-boned.
It was brief, barely an instant long, but when he pulled away his pale eyes shone like glass with triumph. “You wished for it,” he whispered over her lips. “Say it.”
“Yes,” she answered, knowing she turned crimson as she did so. She felt the provincial idiot she was, gauche, weak and base born.
He said nothing, his eyes boring deep into her soul.
What must he think of her?
“Here,” he said, letting go of her nape and her bonnet at the same moment. “I’ll give you a lift home.”
She felt disorientated and dizzy. She shook her bonnet to try and get it to recover its shape, while she also tried to recall who and where she was.
Her hands trembled as she tied the ribbons and her legs felt weak, too weak to walk home.
She hadn’t looked at him since he’d let her take her bonnet. She looked at him now and saw questions in his eyes as he lifted his hand to take hers.
She accepted it, to climb up into his curricle, and said nothing. He climbed up beside her once she had slid across the seat.
Her throat was dry.
He released the brake and flicked the reins, setting his fashionable, expensive horses into a trot.
She hated herself.
His gaze turned to her.
She looked at him.
“I’m sorry, Katherine, I should not have kissed you, no matter that you wished for it.”
She felt like crying. Had he not even really wished to do it? Had he only done it because he’d realised he could?
A dark humour suddenly shone in his eyes once more. “But, then again, maybe I am not really sorry.” He looked back at the road.
“You have changed,” she answered, staring at him, not understanding him at all, and yet loving him.
His eyes turned back to her, a look of granite in them. “
Life
has changed me, Katherine. But you are not changed. Perhaps you can make me remember who I was?”
What did she say to that? What did she say to this stranger?
He looked back at the road ahead and flicked the reins again.
She gripped the side of his curricle and hung on.
Chapter Four
John steered his chestnut thoroughbreds through the gates of the courtyard, leading into the stables.
His blood was still boiling with a mix of desire and anger.
He had made Katherine admit she had wanted to kiss him but, nevertheless, she’d accused him of arrogance and being changed.
She was right, of course.
He had not spoken to her for the rest of the drive as bitter thoughts had bounced about his head. It had been wrong to kiss her. But he did not regret it. She made him remember the past, she made him remember what it was like to be warm-blooded and feel. He wanted to feel with her.
His heart thumped as he set the brake. God, he felt better even for having had that one kiss. It had been the way she’d pressed so innocently against him, with tenderness, not with a grabbing, greedy lust. She could wash his soul clean; that was how he felt.
A weight had lifted from his shoulders, when he dropped to the ground.
His grooms rushed forwards to free the horses and put away the carriage.
John strode towards the servants’
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