Page 43 of An Honorable Deception
Not her heart—not like he’d think. But herheart. Because he was soYates. An earl, mucking a leopard’s stall. Picking her up like she was no bigger than Penelope so that he didn’t smear her with things she’d rather not contemplate. Smiling at her like he understood every thought she had and liked her anyway. So concerned for her well-being that he was there on his knees by her side, panic in his every movement, a feverish light in his eyes.
She’d meant to do exactly what she promised. Step aside. Relegate herself to a different part of his life. Be the sort of friend Marigold said she should be.
But Marigold’s whole concern had been that she would break Yates’s heart—and that was the last thing she wantedto do. But why did not hurting him mean staying away? Why couldn’t it mean something different? Why couldn’t it meanlovinghim?
That was the thought that had sent her leaning back, and then tumbling, and it held her immobile as he bent over her now, Penelope still on his back and peeping at Lavinia over his shoulder. The little monkey must not have thought this nearly as interesting as mucking stalls, because she jumped to the half wall with a hoot.
She needed to regain her breath. Assure him she was fine. Sit up and dust the straw from herself.
But his hand moved over the back of her head, checking for injuries, and the other settled on her throat, where her pulse hammered. His fault. Perfectly healthy response. What else was she supposed to do when he hovered over her like that?
“What happened? Are you all right? Speak to me.” His questions tumbled over one another, not giving her any room to answer, even if she’d had words to do so. “It’s your heart, isn’t it? It’s racing. Although youdidfall off a wall—but before that. You were in pain.”
Not exactly the right word. But not so far off. And how did he expect her to be able to answer him when his one hand still cradled her head and the other rested over her collar bone, fingertips tracking her heartbeat?
She had to try, though, and managed to croak out, “I’m fine.” She sounded like an absolute ninny, breathless and faint.
His brows knit together so furiously she wondered if they’d ever smooth out again. “You’re not fine. Your pulse isn’t slowing. Deep breaths.”
She obediently drew one in, but that made her chest rise, which made her aware of his palm, which didnothelp.
He looked about ready to fall to pieces. “Should I go for the doctor?”
“No!” Gracious, what could Dr. Evans possibly do about this? Her eyes slid shut to block out Yates’s earnest expression.
Probably a bad idea. “Vinny! Open your eyes. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help.”
She opened them again, but that didn’t help either. He was still Yates, and he was so close, and all she could think about was that winter cliff when they were seventeen, when she’d had her chance at happiness and then had thrown it away. Why had she let her mother dissuade her? Why had she believed the horrid words she’d spoken? She ought to have been his wife by now, years ago. She ought to have been in love with him all this time. She ought to know, when she looked up at his face so close to hers, that he was hers and she was his, and that there was no reason in the world to keep her distance.
“Kiss me.” She’d only meant to think it, but she must have spoken it out loud, because his eyes went dark and his fingertips pressed her throat.
“What?”
Well, he had been the one to kiss her before—only fair that it was her turn. Since she’d brought it up. And she had but to move her head the slightest bit, given how close he was hovering. Her hand lifted and settled at the back of his head without her even needing to think the command, pulling him down to meet her.
His hair was damp against her fingers, and his lips were warm against hers. She kissed him as he’d kissed her before, a soft caress that she prayed said things she otherwise couldn’t. No doubt her pulse thundered still more.
But then she realized, after only a few seconds, that hewasn’t kissing her back. Wasn’t pulling her close. Regret flared up, made her pull away, burned her eyes. “Yates. I—”
Then hewaskissing her, and the regret vanished beneath the other feelings. His arms came around her, lifted her from the floor, and it was at once familiar and not—arms she knew in a hold she didn’t, a hold she knew in arms far stronger than they’d been.
They felt like home, and like adventure, like the best memories and the brightest tomorrow. His kiss, hungry and gentle, made her head go light and her stomach go heavy, and she wrapped her arms around him and held on as if she might float away otherwise.
It could have been a second. A minute. A year. An infinite, unmeasured moment of the purest happiness she’d ever felt in her life, all the dreams she’d told herself were impossible elbowing for space in her heart again.
Then he was a step away, arms setting her back instead of holding her close, and the anxiousness of his expression when she fell turned to fury.
Fury as dark and pure as her happiness had been momentarily bright. “What are you doing, Lavinia?”
His tone was a slap, though he’d pushed her away with gentleness. No doubt her cheeks were every bit as flushed as they felt, and her neck had probably gone splotchy first from straw and now humiliation. Her hand went to her throat, which again felt too tight for words. “I...”
He shoved a hand through his hair, muttering something low and harsh in Romani, and edged back another step. “We’re not doing this again. I worked for six blighted years to get you out of my heart, and Ididit, and you’re not going to undo that because you...” He grimaced. “Whatever made you do that.”
She edged back a step, too, wishing the mound of cleanstraw would swallow her whole. “I’m sorry.” What had she been thinking?
She loved him—that’s what she’d been thinking. That he made her feel safe and made her laugh and made her believe that life could be something more than shadows and secrets and emptiness.
He didn’t even seem to hear her apology. He paced the opening of the stall, though it was only two steps back and forth. “You think I don’t know your opinion about matters of the heart? That if ever you feel it, you run the other way?”
