Page 82 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
Louisa’s self-assurance was taking a beating, and she was disgusted with herself. She made an effort to converse normally during dinner. After dinner, feeling wide-awake, she browsed the library for a book. She didn’t flee when Simon found her and closed the doors behind him, leaving them alone with each other.
He said nothing, just waited. Though she wanted to deny them, her feelings for him overwhelmed her. In just a day she’d missed being with him, missed enjoying his beauty and laughing at his humor. He rarely felt sorry for himself—as she was doing today. She’d missed how he’d made her feel aware of her body, aware of its response to him. Regardless of the motives for his kisses, she’d responded to them like a starving woman.
How was she supposed to forget that? How could she keep reminding herself that those same kisses surely meant nothing to him?
She cleared her throat. “May I help you, Simon?”
“At least you’re not ‘my lord’-ing me.”
He moved smoothly around the furniture and came toward her. She wanted to back away, but held her ground, though her heart pounded with both desire and sadness.
“And you’re speaking to me,” he continued.
She heard uncertainty in his voice, and her own tension eased.
“You thought I’d ignore you?”
“You did last night,” he said.
“I—I needed to be alone, I guess, to think about everything that had happened.”
“Did Keane hurt you?”
“It’s too late to rescue me, Simon.”
He grimaced, and she realized how that sounded.
“Keane said you rescued yourself,” Simon said.
“With help from your brother.”
“If Keane bothers you again—”
“I’ve always been bothered by men, Simon,” she said, trying for humor but hearing bitterness in her voice. “I thought it was because I was pretty, and because my company was pleasant.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You are, and it is.”
“Ah, but there’s more. Thank you for making me understand, before something worse happened.”
He stepped closer, and she took another step away but found herself in the corner, books pressing into her on two sides.
“I never wanted you to know, Louisa. I may have been trying to protect Georgie, but damn it all, I was protecting you, too. The way your voice sounded when I told you, the hurt—God, maybe it’s a good thing I couldn’t see what was in your eyes.”
She closed them now, feeling the tears escape and slide in silent paths down her cheeks.
“Louisa,” he said gruffly, reaching out a hand.
“I’m all right,” she whispered, wondering whom she was trying to convince.
She meant to only pat his hand, but when she touched him, he held on, sliding both his hands up her arms to cup her face.
She stiffened, trying to pull away, but when his thumbs brushed her wet cheeks she stopped fighting.
He inhaled and whispered her name again, leaning down to her. “I didn’t want you to feel this way. I would take away every bit of your pain if I could.”
His thumbs continued to stroke her cheeks, then to her shock, he leaned down and kissed her tears, kissed her eyelids. His gentleness was her undoing. She clutched his arms to keep from falling into him. She had no defense against him, no anger.
When he continued to kiss her face, she tipped her head and their mouths met. He froze for only a moment, as if he hadn’t meant to go this far.
