It was a sensation so similar to the one that had seized him when they shook on their bargain at Wycliff Lodge that Isaac almost choked on his own breath. The very same burst of heat kindled at the feeling of her slender fingers in his, so delicate and yet if he wasn’t mistaken slightly calloused by real work. Did she help her maid with household tasks? he wondered distantly without taking his eyes from her face. He’d never felt roughened skin on a lady’s hand before, but then there were so many things about Honora he hadn’t encountered in his rakish career and as she stared back at him his stomach dropped in dismay.
I must take control of this ridiculous fancy. There must be some way to exorcise this demon before it’s too late.
He was still holding her little hand, gripping those slim fingers with hardly a clue now of what he’d intended to do with them, and he only remembered just in time to look down at her knuckles. His thoughts were spinning faster and faster, concern growing with each beat of his leaping heart, and her voice sounded as though it came from far away when Honora spoke.
‘Your diagnosis?’
He cleared his dry throat. ‘No damage. The compress will be sufficient.’
‘Good. As I recall that was my mother’s treatment for most things.’ Honora shifted a little in her chair, so close to where Isaac knelt she almost brushed him with the blanket around her shoulders. ‘That and kissing better whatever mischief I’d done to myself, romping around outside. I was never a very ladylike child.’
Isaac stiffened, his fingers suddenly clumsy in their work of wrapping the damp handkerchief around Honora’s fist. That word—kissing—sent a spark of static electricity right through to his very centre, bold and brazen and spelling out the very essence of his most secret desire.
In that moment that was exactly what he wanted to do: abandon his self-control and indulge the ungovernable part of him that so insistently wanted to taste Honora’s lips. Despite every instinct that cried out for him to turn away, some other voice shouted louder, a flicker of insanity that it seemed nothing could quench. Honora had quite innocently hit the target of his shameful feelings as squarely as an arrow, unwittingly adding fuel to the fire that already raged in Isaac’s chest.
Or perhaps—not so innocently at all.
Slowly, his throat painfully tight, Isaac allowed his gaze to lift from their study of her hand.
Honora watched him with an undecipherable flicker of something in the very depths of her eyes. It might have been any number of things—some good and some not so—but she hadn’t pulled her hand from his grasp and her lips, stained a little from the cheap red wine, were parted as if on a silent question.
Could she be thinking the same? One kiss to perhaps free both of us from this folly?
Isaac could hardly tear his eyes away. Perhaps Honora truly did feel the atmosphere, too, charged like the sky before a storm. On the coach she had been so insistent in her dislike of him, but heaven knew how desire laughed in the face of logic. Her rational mind might have spoken, but surely there was no way her instinct could have missed the tension stretched out between them now, tightly wound and aching to be severed. Forbidden fruit always looked sweeter, after all, and what could be more forbidden than a friend of the husband who had turned her heart to ice?
Isaac made up his mind with the feeling of throwing himself to the wolves.
I said I needed to exorcise this demon—this may be my only chance. One leap to break this strain and then I can put it from my mind for good.
Usually when Isaac kissed a woman it began in the same way. A curl would be brushed gently away from a glowing cheek and then his hand would cup that soft curve before slowly, tenderly, bringing his lady forward until her lips met his and the same old dance could begin, his mouth moving and hers following his lead, making sure not to startle her while confidently taking charge. It was the same routine he always used and he trusted in its success, a coolly orchestrated thing that allowed him to act without thinking or feeling anything more—
This time, however, everything changed.
When he brought his lips down on Honora’s there was no familiar choreography, no usual sense of being in complete control. Instead every sinew in his body cried out at a wave that swept through him like lava down a mountainside, torching everything in its path with molten heat and leaving him breathless.
She tasted just as he’d thought she would, of wine and warmth, and her lips were so soft it was frightening. There was nothing for him to cling to, none of his old indifference holding out a guiding hand and instead he was set adrift to be swept out on a strange and unnamed tide. He felt her breath on his face, her hand still in his and he was on his knees, both literally and figuratively, helpless to stop the wild pounding of his heart or his enjoyment of that sharp-tongued mouth turned gentle under his own.
It was the itching of his hands to draw her closer that broke Isaac’s trance. He wanted to hold her, perhaps slip a palm round to fit against her back, and he broke away as the temptation to obey that urge bloomed like a flower. That was too far, too much—and by the look on Honora’s flushed, flame-lit face he’d gone quite far enough already.
She stared at him, apparently too shocked to even be offended. Her eyes were round, all suggestion of tiredness gone, and she seemed so much younger with her usual composure stolen by wordless disbelief.
Isaac rose to his feet as quickly as he could and backed away, a cold finger of dread beginning to snake down his spine. She didn’t look angry, but then she didn’t look pleased, exactly, either, and his cursed decision had done nothing to quell the torment raging in his innards.
‘Forgive me. I thought—’ He ran a hand through already disordered hair. What had he thought? It seemed so stupid now to think Honora might have been hinting for him to act, clearly a figment of his imagination run wild by a foolish desire he struggled to tame. Of course she hadn’t felt the same draw he had. He’d made a catastrophic error, making himself look a fool, and, worse than that, his weakness for Honora hadn’t diminished one iota, instead the touch of her lips against his something he wanted more than anything to feel again. ‘I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.’
An understatement if ever there was one.
Honora opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, only a parting of those wine-red lips Isaac looked away from hastily. When she managed to find a reply it was hoarse, the voice of a woman confused or horrified—or perhaps both, Isaac thought with bitter regret.
‘What did you think? That I’d finally succumbed to your charms?’ She clutched her blankets to her tighter than ever before and from somewhere deep inside seemed to dredge up some flicker of her usual spirit, momentarily suspended by shock. ‘You thought I’d finally seen reason and would fall swooning into your arms like everybody else?’
‘No. Of course not. You made your feelings for me perfectly clear today.’ Isaac leaned against the fireplace, resisting the urge to place his head in it as Honora’s voice rang in his ears. You complete oaf. Far from saving yourself you’ve just made things a hundred times worse.
‘You can’t go about kissing whomever you please, Lord Lovell! Or perhaps you think a man of your stature can do as he likes?’
Isaac closed his eyes briefly. Honora was entitled to be piqued, of course, but each sharp word stoked the embers of his temper and he took a moment to ensure it remained under his control. ‘It was a lapse of judgement and I apologise. The strain of the last week... I’m not myself. Please forgive me.’
He saw Honora swallow, a quick movement of her slender throat that captured his attention with no effort at all. She still seemed ruffled, her feathers stirred like an indignant hen, but she allowed him a short nod, an acceptance of his pitiful explanation Isaac knew he didn’t deserve.
‘Well. As you apologised, I suppose so. This once.’ She glanced up at him, the briefest flash of hazel set against cheeks that wit
h a start of confusion Isaac could have sworn glowed brighter than before despite her apparent disapproval. She looked flushed, so startlingly similar to a shy girl rather than a grown woman it made him blink. ‘You were Frank’s friend and I was his wife. That can’t be forgotten.’
‘Of course.’ Isaac found his jaw was set, teeth pressed together as if to guard his tongue. If his stupidity of the night was anything to go by that was a wise precaution—who knew what might slip out if he wasn’t careful? With one rash act he’d opened himself up to more aggravation from Honora, more risk he needn’t have courted, and that danger was something he could do without. Frank had brought Isaac’s world crashing down and now with Honora before him he feared things might get even worse.
‘I’d never be able to forget that. You can take that for a promise.’
Chapter Five
Lord Lovell was nowhere to be seen when Honora woke from a fitful doze to greet another freezing morning and she washed and dressed with swift unease, fearing his reappearance any moment. The absolute last thing she wanted was for him to catch her about her toilette—although modesty wasn’t the only reason she dreaded his footstep outside their chamber door.
You sly, dissembling thing. Your performance last night was one Sarah Siddons would have admired. What was it Ma always said? A man will do whatever you want him to as long as he thinks it’s his idea?
Feigning surprise was all she’d been able to do when Lord Lovell had leaned down to cover her disloyal lips. She could hardly admit to having been the one to sow the seed in the first place, talk of kissing springing from her tongue before she could stop it. With Lord Lovell kneeling so close to her with the firelight playing across his proud features, that whisper of new, unexpected sentiment for his ward warming her despite her resistance... What chance had Honora had of controlling the wayward swerve of her thoughts into places they shouldn’t have strayed, the desire to taste Lord Lovell’s sometimes cruel lips leaping inside her like an animal in a trap? She’d spoken too soon, uttered that magic word—kissing—and lit the fuse on a trail of gunpowder, leading to an explosion she’d been a fool to allow.
And so you denied you meant anything of the sort and allowed him to think he’d come up with it himself, offending you in the process. Safer than the truth, definitely, but cowardly all the same.
Carefully avoiding the disapproving gaze of her reflection Honora stood before the cracked mirror mounted above the washstand, twisting and pinning her hair into place. A glance down into her own eyes was out of the question, the idea of what she might see there something Honora didn’t want to dwell on. She’d all but lured Lord Lovell into kissing her with her well-timed hint, for goodness sake—a friend of Frank’s and doubtless just as dangerous to her well-being as her husband had been all those years ago.
That she could have sworn she saw real emotion on his face as he’d gazed unseen into the fire meant nothing. Neither did the gleam of warmth she’d heard in his tone when he spoke of his Charlotte, surely both hazy mirages that would trick her into thinking him something more than a charming rake. His kiss had certainly been skilled enough to imply he’d had ample practice, the soft brush of his mouth over Honora’s just the right pressure and speed and more enjoyable than any she’d experienced before...
Honora’s face grew hot just thinking about it and she turned hastily away from the mirror before she could see her own blush. The events of the night should be forgotten as soon as possible for both their sakes. Fewer than fifty miles now lay between her and Frank’s lawyers in Carey—less than a day’s travelling and then she would never need lay eyes on Lord Lovell ever again. She could send the money she owed to him by letter and that would be that. A strange, disturbing interlude in a life that would soon hopefully go back to being entirely unremarkable, not to be troubled any more by any handsome, hazardous men.
A brisk tap at the door made her jump.
‘Are you almost ready? The coach will be leaving soon.’
Lord Lovell’s disembodied voice crept up to caress her ear and Honora felt her cheeks flare once again. Was she going to turn the colour of a radish every time he spoke to her from now on? she wondered, ramming one final pin into her curls with more force than necessary. She could curse aloud for letting her weakness get the better of her the previous night and even more so now she would have to sit beside Lord Lovell for hours, jolting along next to him and feeling the firm breadth of his shoulder against hers. Perhaps if she was lucky there would be no other passengers in the coach and she could take refuge on the seat opposite, reclaiming her corner and trying to stop her mind from revisiting how every nerve had lit up like a firework at the touch of his hand, the fine hairs on her nape arching up to celebrate his lips moving with such purpose across her own—
‘Honora? Did you hear me?’
‘Yes, I heard you,’ she managed to croak. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs.’
This time she heard the tread of heavy boots as they retreated and she ran a hand across her brow. Putting off the inevitable wouldn’t make it go away. The best she could do was face Lord Lovell head on and try to maintain the icy façade that she hoped would be her saviour. He couldn’t know how much she had enjoyed their encounter, or how rapidly the mere sound of his voice sent her heart skittering. He’d be too pleased by half and if there was something Lord Lovell needed no more of it was self-confidence...just the same as comely, charming, devastating Frank.
With one final glance around the room Honora opened the door and stepped on to the tavern’s narrow landing. It was an old building and the boards creaked beneath her boots, voices coming from below and a harassed-looking maid bustling up the stairs with an armful of laundry. Honora drew to one side to let her pass—and heard a grunt as her foot came down smartly on that of a man standing at her back. He must have come out of a room further down the corridor and walked up behind her, Honora thought as she turned to apologise, and when she saw his face she couldn’t help a strange flicker of unease.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t realise you were there.’
The blond man who had approached her near the fire the previous evening smiled back. His cheeks lifted, but there was no change to the shape of his eyes and with another uncomfortable flicker Honora realised how much she wanted to move away. He wasn’t just looking at her—it was more like a hunter singling out its prey, as if she was a helpless creature he wanted to tear at with sharp teeth.
‘Not at all. My fault entirely. I was standing too close.’
He gestured apologetically—and then Honora’s stomach dropped as she felt his cold hand lightly graze her arm, so intimate and unwanted she froze perfectly still.
‘In truth I was hoping to meet you here. I saw you arrive last night and will admit your beauty captured my attention at once. Won’t you stay and talk a while?’
The maid had disappeared and for a moment all Honora could think was how much she wished somebody would come out of one of the other rooms. The fair-haired stranger was close, much too close, and she took a step out of his reach.
‘Thank you, but, no. My coach will be leaving soon and I’ve no intention of missing it.’
‘Ah.’ The traveller’s smile hadn’t faltered, still hanging from his lips like a cobweb at a broken window. ‘There’s no way I could persuade you?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘On account of your husband?’
For the briefest of seconds Frank’s face flashed through Honora’s mind and she faltered, confused. Did this man know him? Were they in some way acquainted? Then she realised her mistake. It was Lord Lovell the stranger was referring to, not Frank, and he laughed at her hesitation.
‘That was a joke. From what I overheard last night I know you’re not married to your companion—yet you still spent the night in his room...’
Honora felt her lips part as she looked up into his face, unable to fully comprehen
d the sudden turn the conversation had taken. What had she stumbled into? And what exactly was he implying? It certainly sounded as though he was making a distasteful insinuation about her morals and with her spine feeling like a block of ice Honora backed away.
‘I’m not sure what you can mean, but you’ll excuse me all the same. My companion is waiting for me and I don’t feel inclined to speak with you any longer.’
Perhaps the stranger didn’t see the warning in Honora’s eyes or perhaps he thought it insincere. Either way he merely smiled more widely—and coldly—and reached out once again for her arm. ‘Don’t go so soon. I’m sure he can spare you a few moments.’ His fingers brushed her sleeve, but Honora jerked away just in time, prompting a cloud to pass over the unfamiliar face. ‘You’re a good deal too proud for a woman who’s just spent the night with a man who isn’t her husband. I’d have thought the time for airs and graces has long since passed.’
Without a word Honora turned away. The hairs at the back of her neck were raised just as they had been by Lord Lovell’s kiss, but that had been with delight, not disgust, and now as she hurried for the stairs she was aware how every breath came sharp and fast. It wasn’t the first time a man had shown too much interest in her and, knowing her luck, it wouldn’t be the last, but she couldn’t remember one so frankly predatory before and the thought of what he’d been suggesting made her stomach churn. She knew only circumstance had thrown her and Lord Lovell together, but evidently the stranger had come to a different conclusion—one he’d thought to turn to his own advantage, casting aspersions on her honour she wouldn’t soon forgive.
‘Honora? Are you well?’
Reaching the bottom step, she saw Lord Lovell’s quick look, a narrow scan that must have taken in her flushed cheeks and breathing heightened with what she realised—with a pang of displeasure—was fright. It rankled to know she had been afraid, yet the blond stranger had put her so on edge, something so unnerving in his air her usual self-assuredness had failed her.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 7