Page 100 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

On a damp lawn, in the middle of Ireland, in the middle of the night, he wanted her.

Completely.

He hadn’t let himself think about it. He desired her; he’d long since given up pretending he didn’t. But he had not let himself dream it, not let himself see it in his mind—his hands on her shoulders, sliding down her back. Her dress, falling away beneath his hungry fingers, exposing her perfect—

“You need to go inside,” he said hoarsely.

She shook her head.

He took a long, haggard breath. Did she know what she risked, remaining out here with him? It was taking all his strength—more than he’d ever dreamed he possessed—to keep himself rooted to his spot, two proper paces away from her. Close…so close, and yet not within his reach.

“I want to be outside,” she said.

He met her eyes, which was a mistake, because everything she was feeling—every hurt, and wrong, and insecurity—he saw them, hovering in her amazing eyes.

It tore through him.

“I was upstairs,” she continued, “and it was stuffy, and hot. Only it wasn’t hot, but it felt like it should be.”

It was the damnedest thing, but he understood.

“I’m tired of feeling trapped,” she said sadly. “My whole life, I’ve been told where to be, what to say, who to talk to…”

“Who to marry,” he said softly.

She gave a small nod. “I just wanted to feel free. If only for an hour.”

He looked at her hand. It would be so easy to reach out, to take it in his. Just one step forward. That was all it would take. One step, and she would be in his arms.

But he said, “You need to go inside.” Because it was what he was supposed to say. It was what she was supposed to do.

He could not kiss her. Not now. Not here. Not when he had absolutely no faith in his ability to break it off.

To end a kiss with a kiss. He didn’t think he could do it.

“I don’t want to marry him,” she said.

Something within him curled and tightened. He’d known this; she’d made it more than clear. But still…now…when she stood there in the moonlight…

They were impossible words. Impossible to bear. Impossible to ignore.

I don’t want him to have you.

But he didn’t say it. He could not let himself say it. Because he knew, come morning when all was revealed, Jack Audley would almost certainly be proven as the Duke of Wyndham. And if he said it, if he said to her, right now—be with me…

She would do it.

He could see it in her eyes.

Maybe she even thought she loved him. And why wouldn’t she? She had been told her entire life that she was supposed to love him, to obey him, to be grateful for his attentions and for the luck that had bound her to him so many years ago.

But she didn’t really know him. Right now he wasn’t even sure he knew himself. How could he ask her to be with him when he had nothing to offer?

She deserved more.

“Amelia,” he whispered, because he had to say something. She was waiting for it, for his reply.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to do it.”

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