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Authors: Ashlyn Macnamara
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tingling.
“Do not take liberties with me.” That was all this was—a liberty. Other men had tried something similar in the past. The moment they suspected she was on the shelf, they reckoned she might be interested in indulging their baser needs. She would not, and most certainly not with Alexander.
“That was no liberty.” His cheeks took on a familiar ruddy tone. She’d seen it before, after they’d kissed—and more—and when he was overset. “It was remembering. God. Do you not feel what we’ve left unfinished between us?”
Oh, this was too much when he still wore an armband to commemorate his first wife. When at breakfast, he’d insisted on respecting her memory. “Do you still think me the naïve little miss you left behind? I am no longer eighteen and wet behind the ears.”
He shook his head. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me … Has some man ruined—”
“Nothing of the kind, and how dare you make such an assumption? Neither can you assume that I’d let you come back after eight years and pick up where you left off. I will not have it, do you understand?” Heart thumping, she paused for breath. Allowing anger to overcome her was hardly any better than letting passion take her.
“But we
could
pick up where we left off. Do you not see?”
She would not let him protest. “Might I remind you we were betrothed? You made a promise to me, and you broke it.”
“I would still honor it if I could.” That statement emerged ragged, tattered like the sails of his sunken ship. “I cannot put into words what it’s done to me … What I’ve done to you … What I was forced into.”
“It is done now, and it’s for the best if we leave things buried.” She waved a hand vaguely as if that would push away the kiss they’d just shared, one that left her lips tingling andher knees shaky. As if that would push away the feelings he’d unearthed in her. “We cannot make up for it.”
“But we can. Don’t you see? If you were to marry me, as we’d planned.”
“Marry you?”
What on God’s green earth? He could not be serious. Not after everything he’d said to his aunt. Not after everything that had come between them. “You want to marry me
now
?”
A smile ghosted across his features. “It is what we planned.”
“Clearly plans can change.” She resisted the urge to tap her foot. How could the man be so thick? “Or had you forgotten that when you married in India? The answer is no. You cannot make up for your mistakes by going on as if nothing has happened. In the meantime, I think it best if you stay away from me for the time I remain here. Are we in agreement?”
“What if I cannot?” He placed his fingers at the top of her breastbone, and the intimacy of the gesture froze any objection in her throat. “I would not have us constantly at odds. If we cannot be friendly, can we at least treat each other cordially?”
The sheer nerve. He was beyond bold, speaking of proper politeness when he was touching her in such an indecent, utterly delectable fashion. Even if the location of his hand was more or less respectable, the feelings it aroused were most definitely improper. His smallest touch should not possess the ability to weaken her knees and fill her belly with liquid heat.
“No, I’m not certain we can.” She put as much force as she could summon behind her reply—which at the moment did not seem quite sufficient to deter him. “I will allow no man to treat me as a piece of property he can lay aside to take up once again when the fancy strikes him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, quite.” And with that, he dropped his hand, performed an about-face, as if he’d been born into the military, and stalked off.
Henrietta slumped against the wall and tried to make sense of the confusion of emotion roiling through her. She plucked at a thread of annoyance and held on to it as the only sensible reaction. That filament helped her hold back a
“Do not take liberties with me.” That was all this was—a liberty. Other men had tried something similar in the past. The moment they suspected she was on the shelf, they reckoned she might be interested in indulging their baser needs. She would not, and most certainly not with Alexander.
“That was no liberty.” His cheeks took on a familiar ruddy tone. She’d seen it before, after they’d kissed—and more—and when he was overset. “It was remembering. God. Do you not feel what we’ve left unfinished between us?”
Oh, this was too much when he still wore an armband to commemorate his first wife. When at breakfast, he’d insisted on respecting her memory. “Do you still think me the naïve little miss you left behind? I am no longer eighteen and wet behind the ears.”
He shook his head. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me … Has some man ruined—”
“Nothing of the kind, and how dare you make such an assumption? Neither can you assume that I’d let you come back after eight years and pick up where you left off. I will not have it, do you understand?” Heart thumping, she paused for breath. Allowing anger to overcome her was hardly any better than letting passion take her.
“But we
could
pick up where we left off. Do you not see?”
She would not let him protest. “Might I remind you we were betrothed? You made a promise to me, and you broke it.”
“I would still honor it if I could.” That statement emerged ragged, tattered like the sails of his sunken ship. “I cannot put into words what it’s done to me … What I’ve done to you … What I was forced into.”
“It is done now, and it’s for the best if we leave things buried.” She waved a hand vaguely as if that would push away the kiss they’d just shared, one that left her lips tingling andher knees shaky. As if that would push away the feelings he’d unearthed in her. “We cannot make up for it.”
“But we can. Don’t you see? If you were to marry me, as we’d planned.”
“Marry you?”
What on God’s green earth? He could not be serious. Not after everything he’d said to his aunt. Not after everything that had come between them. “You want to marry me
now
?”
A smile ghosted across his features. “It is what we planned.”
“Clearly plans can change.” She resisted the urge to tap her foot. How could the man be so thick? “Or had you forgotten that when you married in India? The answer is no. You cannot make up for your mistakes by going on as if nothing has happened. In the meantime, I think it best if you stay away from me for the time I remain here. Are we in agreement?”
“What if I cannot?” He placed his fingers at the top of her breastbone, and the intimacy of the gesture froze any objection in her throat. “I would not have us constantly at odds. If we cannot be friendly, can we at least treat each other cordially?”
The sheer nerve. He was beyond bold, speaking of proper politeness when he was touching her in such an indecent, utterly delectable fashion. Even if the location of his hand was more or less respectable, the feelings it aroused were most definitely improper. His smallest touch should not possess the ability to weaken her knees and fill her belly with liquid heat.
“No, I’m not certain we can.” She put as much force as she could summon behind her reply—which at the moment did not seem quite sufficient to deter him. “I will allow no man to treat me as a piece of property he can lay aside to take up once again when the fancy strikes him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, quite.” And with that, he dropped his hand, performed an about-face, as if he’d been born into the military, and stalked off.
Henrietta slumped against the wall and tried to make sense of the confusion of emotion roiling through her. She plucked at a thread of annoyance and held on to it as the only sensible reaction. That filament helped her hold back a
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