Page 83 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
But she wanted him to. She wanted his closeness, his comfort, things to use in her battle against the bleak loneliness that might fill the rest of her days. She moved her mouth against his, then suddenly he was kissing her back. Their lips parted and searched, their tongues met and mated with a rising need that made her feel frantic to be closer to him.
She slid her arms around his waist, then let her palms press up against the heat of his back. He felt solid and real and so wonderful. His mouth was an intimacy that still surprised her. This was her third kiss—why did it still feel so glorious?
Perhaps because she knew that there was more, that his hands and mouth could work magic on her skin. She pressed even harder against him, and this time he was the one who broke the kiss. He lifted his head, his breathing still unsteady, his lungs filling to press against the ache in her breasts. She wanted to be touched there, but didn’t dare ask such a thing.
“Louisa,” he murmured her name, eyes half closed. “I shouldn’t have—I never want you to think that I am using you as someone like Keane would.”
“I don’t.” She kissed his chin, tucked her head against his neck and just let herself hold him. “Don’t give me explanations or defenses for what we feel. Let me just enjoy it, and not think about tomorrow.”
Simon held Louisa close. Though he desired her, though their kiss still wreaked havoc on his control, there was a comfort and a peace in holding her that he never expected.
He couldn’t understand why she didn’t hate him, but he was grateful at the same time. He should back off, not confuse either one of them with this intimacy, but the feel of her in his arms was more powerful than even passion.
He didn’t understand himself and what he was experiencing—he certainly didn’t want to look too closely. He saw himself as outside accepted conventions, knew he would never be a husband or father.
But when he held Louisa, he was lying to himself. For these brief moments he could pretend that his eyes were only closed, not blind, pretend that there were possibilities in the world.
But he forced himself to remember his reality—he was a blind man, and he’d allowed Louisa to be hurt. She wanted his comfort, and instead all he could think about was her body, and forgetting himself in the heat and the softness of it.
He lifted his head away from hers. She stirred and moaned and burrowed even closer against him. He drew a deep breath, so easily seduced by the possibilities. But he’d only hurt her worse.
“Louisa.” He whispered her name, tried to draw away.
“I don’t understand how I feel.”
She spoke the words against his throat, and he shuddered.
“But when I’m with you,” she continued, “everything else just goes away.”
She took his hand and placed it on her breast. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but the soft mound hidden beneath corset and gown.
He stood on the edge, teetering, imagining taking her when she was so willing.
But they would be using each other to forget—him to forget his disability, his feeling of forever being on the outside, and her to forget her pain and uncertainty and worry.
He moved his hand from her breast, slid it up to cup her face. “Louisa, you would regret this. You would consider yourself as having finally proved all the rumors right. And you would think that I had used you. I don’t want to be that memory for you.”
He felt her tremble, felt her mouth open as if to deny his words.
Then she sighed. “No, we would be using each other,” she whispered. “You are too good to me, Simon.”
He forced a chuckle. “I don’t feel very good. Go to bed, Louisa.”
“Alone.”
He closed his eyes and stepped away. “Yes, alone.”
When she’d gone, the room felt cold and empty and lonely, and for the first time he questioned whether that was what he wanted for the rest of his life.
ChapterEighteen
The next morning, Louisa awoke feeling almost at peace, even…hopeful. She could not change what people had said about her in the past; she could only live her life proving that she was a good person doing her best. Dreading the future only brought heartache; she would take each day as it came.
And as for Simon’s family, she could not leave them, not in hurt and defeat. For now, she would remain and finish what she’d started, helping Georgie, helping Simon.
Simon.
Even thinking his name made her shiver. He could have taken advantage of her weakness last night, but he hadn’t. He was such a good man. She could not deny herself the rare pleasure of his company, even if it was only temporary.
