by Tanya Wilde
“How threatening can one woman be?”
“As perilous as one kiss,” he said, his eyes dropping to linger on her lips.
“I suppose there is only one way to find out exactly how treacherous,” Holly murmured, but in her mind, all thoughts revolved around two words: kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
He jerked in response, as if it took all of his strength not to lean forward and claim her mouth.
“It is reckless to stir the waters of fate.”
Kiss me.
“Tempting fate might be wild and unpredictable, but it could be downright smashing, too.” Her voice had come out a breathless whisper, pleading for something more. For the leap of faith she wished for him to take, for the choice he had to make for himself.
He dragged one hand over his face before his dark eyes locked with hers once more. Perhaps it had been too much. Brahm was a man of strict moral code. Maybe he couldn’t see it as something other than a dishonor to her.
She was just about to scoot over and give him some distance when he cursed, tightened his fingers around her wrist, and tugged her onto his lap.
“Holly.”
His ragged whisper cascaded along her nerves, just as his lips came crashing down to seize hers in an achingly tender kiss.
She had been kissed before, many times, but never like this. Never this slow, this sensuous. For a moment she sat stunned, allowing his firm lips to mold over hers. Then her arms circled his neck, and she kissed him back.
And then everything else ceased to matter.
Then he pulled back slightly and their eyes met.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Not yet.” Not ever.
His lips brushed over hers again. “Is this how it was in your dream?”
“Almost.”
“Was there more?”
She was going to hell for encouraging this, but she nodded anyway.
He traced his tongue over her lower lip, and her world tilted. Or was that him? She suddenly felt the floor against her back.
Oh, yes, hell awaited her.
She was light-headed and dizzy, way past any rational thought—and so, apparently, was he, because the next thing she knew, Brahm’s hands were lifting the hem of her skirts and sliding the material upward.
“What about this? Did I do this?” He traced the length of her leg with his palm.
“Perhaps.”
Then his hand cupped her core. The shock of that erotic action stopped her breathing. As though she was suspended in time. Her spine tingled, and gooseflesh sprinkled over her entire body.
It was all Holly could do not to splinter into pieces when his consummate fingers parted the most intimate part of her and slipped inside. She felt a shudder convulse his body, and for a moment she feared he might stop, but blessedly, passion appeared to strip him of any constraint, because he began to stroke her instead.
“Tell me I did this.”
Holly closed her eyes. She hadn’t even known this was possible. She shouldn’t allow him to go any further. This was madness. Reckless. She had only wished for a kiss . . .
She sank her teeth into his lower lip then. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
Brahm let out a slow, agonized breath. Her hips rocked against his hand as his fingers moved inside her. Every nerve in her body pleaded for something, some elusive release, and Holly whimpered in frustration.
“Does this please you?”
How could she answer him? She had no breath. The impassioned twirl of his tongue turned urgent, and his finger thrust in and out of her once more before, with one final flick over her little bud, he sent her over the edge in a blinding flash of pleasure.
She threw her head back and rode the wave of sensation, her body shaking with small spasms of ecstasy. A scream tore from her lips, muted by his ongoing kiss, as his finger teased every last tide from her.
She collapsed on the ground, her limbs numb.
A minute passed, then two, as she attempted to regain her breath and Brahm fought some battle for control, his jaw clenched and eyes shut tightly.
Holly savored this feel of him. For the rest of her life, she would remember this moment with him, would remember lying on an old ragged quilt as he introduced her to a pleasure she hadn’t known; she would never forget the weight of him or his woody scent that disoriented her senses.
I’m well and truly in love.
She projected the thought to his heart, his soul. He had so effortlessly captured hers. Now she understood, in all honesty, what love meant. There was no other man for her, nor would there ever be. She’d love Brahm Tremont until her last breath.
He pulled away, and the glance he gave her should have scorched her on the spot.
“Was that smashing enough for you?” he growled.
“I—” Why was he behaving this way?
“A word of advice, Miss Middleton,” he said flatly. “If you ever come within touching distance of me again, I will drag you to the nearest bed, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
Holly lay stunned as he lurched to his feet and stalked from the room, leaving her on the ground with her skirts hiked up.
Chapter 15
Holly woke in a soft, featherlike bed. The clock over the mantel told her it was early still, not even nine o’clock. With a long stretch, she took stock of all the sensations pulsing through her body. New energy appeared, a feeling that started from her chest and surged outward, thrumming from one nerve to the next, almost like a euphoric explosion.
Brahm’s kiss had utterly scattered her wits. Her face still burned as she recalled the way she had shouted out in her pleasure.
Unfortunately, along with that memory also came the one of his face, hard and furious, glaring down at her.
Brahm storming out of the room had undoubtedly put a damper on the event, but oddly, not so much on her mood. Holly suspected he had been merely overwhelmed by the unexpected and likely unwanted emotion of affection. She was far ahead of him in the attachment, after all.
She stared at the canopy of the bed, wondering how their intimacy of the previous day would change their interaction with one another on a larger scale.
She hadn’t pressed him when he had left the room after their encounter. In fact, she had returned to her chamber and read the entire day before a low-lit fire. But even stowed away in her room, Holly knew he was there, his ever-present cologne reminding her how her body had responded to him.
The question, however, remained. Would he be more distant in the future or more attentive? And he had warned her away. But men were strange creatures.
And with Brahm being who he was—brooding by nature—it was hard to predict how he would react today, even though once she was in front of him she could read his emotions readily enough.
She wondered if he would do well on his threat if she ventured within touching distance.
Better not test him yet, tempting though it may be.
Holly, satisfied that she’d awoken him to their potential, would give Brahm time to adjust to her in this new light. At the very least, she acknowledged, she had accomplished her task for him to see her as more than a charge.
In the meantime, while Brahm was off recovering his senses, Holly would ponder on what other pleasures lay between a lady and a man.
The thought made her feel peculiar. Down there.
Holly could still feel his breath on the arch of her neck after she’d exploded with pleasure, and by the saints, it had felt like heaven.
And then Brahm had warned her off.
She sighed. Holly would not be surprised if she had to dance naked in circles around him before he thoroughly seduced her—or allowed her to seduce him.
If they had more time, she’d happily find all the slow ways to convince him that they were meant to be. She’d delight in kissing him until he was just as lost as she was. Sadly, time was not on her side. She was still in hiding from the duke and society at large.
For a moment, fear grip
ped her. What if something hindered her time with Brahm? What if something threatened the fragile bond they’d formed and caused him to retreat behind his walls again?
She shook her head at herself and sat up. There was no point bemoaning over what she could not control. She had no choice but to trust fate. And Brahm.
Rising from the bed, Holly quickly dressed in a simple dress of soft green. She wanted to look pretty. At her best. And perhaps if his mood was so inclined, he could teach her a few card games.
With a table separating them.
She clucked her tongue. That was far from an intimate act, no? Nothing too scary there. Besides, Holly had always wished to learn a high-stakes game and believed he would be a smashing tutor.
Later they could read to each other before the hearth in the drawing room on separate chairs. Nothing suggestive. Nothing intimate.
When they weren’t bickering, she was quite certain Brahm enjoyed her company. And he had yet to court any woman seriously. His foul temper probably kept ladies at bay.
Holly would not allow him to be so stubborn. To be honest, his infamous temper didn’t faze her. She knew it was all bark and no bite. Sometimes it was even rather amusing, especially when it was a way of hiding the fact that he cared.
All but bouncing down the steps, Holly hummed a happy tune, in search of her companion. The kitchen was remarkably quiet when she entered. She had expected to find Brahm there, brewing up another bitter pot of cocoa.
Knitting her brows together, she wandered to the drawing room, pausing inside the threshold. Her gaze darted to every corner of the room, searching. It was the same yet it was not. Bathed in bright light, the room looked a lot different than—
Daylight.
How had she not recognized the significance of it in the kitchen?
Pivoting on her heel, Holly dashed to the front entrance and flung the door open. Two fluffy white clouds drifted in the vast blue ocean of clear sky.
Holly pressed her hand to her throat.
The storm had passed.
Her brain accepted the truth beyond the shadow of a doubt. Her heart, on the other hand . . . Holly felt it crack open, pain pouring from the open wound, filling her bloodstream and spreading to every nerve in her body.
Brahm was gone.
A clearing of a throat drew Holly’s attention to two women coming up the pathway.
A maid and a cook will arrive after the storm lets up. They will stay for your duration.
“Miss?” The younger of the two inquired.
“My companion . . .” she murmured, at a loss for words.
Visions flashed across her mind then. Images from the day Brahm found her in the church, and then of him in a rickety, old, uncomfortable chair. Of him in the bath, of him in her bed, of him lowering his mouth to hers.
Brahm had left her.
The women seemed to know whom Holly referred to, because the older one, the cook, Holly presumed, answered, “He arrived in the village just as we departed. Big fellow—said to look after you well.”
Holly’s stomach churned as the hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. “Did he say anything else?”
The cook shook her head. “Nay, but he headed out in the direction of London.”
What did you expect? A whispering voice taunted her. That he would fall in love with you because of a kiss?
Yes, yes, she had. Because she certainly had.
Holly stood frozen as her gaze flicked over the green fields just beyond the women before she dashed in the direction of the stables. Fierce denial rose up inside her. He had not walked away from her, from them. There must be some other explanation.
She ran as fast as she was able, only to skid to a halt at the foot of the stable doors. Brahm’s horse was gone.
Perhaps he had only gone for a ride?
Face the truth, Holly.
Still, she sprinted down the path toward the village in hopes of glimpsing him atop his horse in the distance. She ran and ran, because if she stopped, her legs would give way and her brain would be assaulted with the stark loneliness of her exile to come, of life without Brahm. No other adventure appealed to her anymore.
Holly raced down the path for what felt like hours, until her feet hurt and her legs could no longer bear the strain. When she had utterly exhausted her breath, she sagged to the ground, tears threatening to choke her.
She would not break down. Not for his cowardly hide.
How could he leave? Had their journey meant nothing to him?
Holly had felt strong with him by her side. Like she could conquer the world. Now, alone, the gravity of everything that had happened—of everything she had yet to face—hit her. Without Brahm grumbling beside her, making her smile and hope, she felt scared and small, as if her weight counted for nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she hugged herself tightly. She gasped for breath. Her heart felt shattered, as though someone pounded against the organ with giant fists—it hurt so much.
Holly fell back to the ground, staring at the blurry clouds through tear-filled vision. Months of exile, without her family, loomed over her like a thundercloud. Without Brahm, Holly suddenly did not wish to remain here. He had brought joy to this place. To her. Without him, there was none.
But where would she go? Home? The Americas? Anywhere would be better than remaining in the cottage where she’d be haunted by memories of how close she had come to happiness.
Holly blinked a few times, ignoring the tightness in her chest that threatened to suffocate her. What on earth was she doing?
Middletons did not lie in a field and cry about their problems.
They faced them. Head on.
And she was certainly no coward. From the start, Brahm had distracted her. She’d been so drawn first to having a champion and then to him that not once had she given full thought to what quitting London and leaving her family meant—and neither had her sisters, who both had advised she lie low.
If the retribution of the duke hadn’t towered over them all and if they had given a measure of thought to it, they would have concluded that avoiding the consequences did not mean they escaped them. That only delayed the inevitable.
There was nothing else for it. If Holly wished to be free, she must face the devil.
And, by Jove, she would!
She would return to London and meet the duke along with his outrageous demands. And she would make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she would never marry his brother. And then . . . then she’d figure out what to do about her broken heart.
The thumping of hooves sent little shock waves up her spine, and Holly sat up, glancing wildly around. She blinked away the dewiness in her eyes.
“Brahm?” she called hopefully.
To her right, she noticed a rider, but before her hope managed to soar, more riders followed on his tail.
An uneasy feeling stirred inside her gut.
That wasn’t Brahm.
Strangers were approaching her.
Fear slammed into her as she slowly rose to her feet. She could not outrun them, and there was nowhere to hide. They would be on her in a second.
Do not reveal any distress.
More easily said than done.
Three men brought their horses to a halt a few paces away from her, regarding her with avid interest.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Holly asked. Her voice was firm. That was good.
The leanest of the bunch snickered. “Hear that, Mike? She called ye a gentleman.”
Mike, the biggest and ugliest of the lot, grunted. “She said us.”
The lean fellow clapped him on the shoulder. “That is because ye’re the only one of us too horrid ever to be considered anything but a brute.”
Holly swallowed, disliking the two immediately. “If you are in search of the nearest village, it’s about an hour’s ride east,” she murmured, pointing her finger in that direction.
“We are in search of a woman,” murm
ured the third man and the finest looking of the bunch.
Holly’s heart plunged to her feet.
“Is that her, John?” the mean, lean man asked the handsome one.
Sir Handsome studied her. Holly noted with some amount of relief that his eyes were kind. “The woman in the portrait has long hair,” he said.
That caught her attention. Were these men in possession of a drawing of her? That rotten devil! She would wring the duke’s neck if she ever got the chance.
“She chopped it off, then,” Mr. Mean said.
“Finally, some luck,” Mr. Ugly agreed.
“The color is also different,” Sir Handsome murmured.
They all tilted their heads to study her.
Hah! Her transformation had worked! There might be hope for her yet. “Gentlemen, if I may be so bold as to ask, who are you looking for?”
“A duke’s wife,” Mr. Mean answered.
“Well, there you have it. I am no wife of a duke. Or a wife of anyone, for that matter,” she muttered.
“The woman we are looking for is not the duchess,” Sir Handsome clarified with just the barest hint of annoyance. “She is his brother’s intended.”
“Which one is it?” she snapped. “I am neither married nor betrothed.”
The ugly one chuckled. “She’s a wily one.”
Mr. Mean fished for something in his pocket.
Holly stilled. What if they attempted to harm her? She was defenseless. But then he withdrew a small miniature. The portrait of her, she assumed.
Her hopes scattered.
“Looks like her, the face,” Mr. Mean drawled.
“Yes,” Mr. Ugly agreed. “The nose, brows, and cheekbones are the same.”
“It could be a distant cousin of mine,” Holly argued.
“No, this is you,” the mean one said.
“I must warn you that I am not alone,” she murmured, searching her brain for a way to get out of this. “My companion has gone into town to fetch our cook.”
“Your companion, heh?” Sir Handsome mocked. “Nice try, missy. You are a slippery one, for sure, but any man would have to be mad to defy a duke.”