Page 21 of Letters to a Wallflower
“Honestly? I don’t feel like I owe them—the beau monde—anything. Beyond Grandmama, that is. I owe her everything. But I also owe myself a chance at happiness.”
“And this could ruin it,” he said flatly.
“Yes, but I can’t help but wonder . . .” She looked at him with her heart in her eyes.
“There it is,” he whispered. “So brave.” Reaching over, he took her hand. She did not pull away. He let his finger trace along the seam of her glove until he reached the soft skin of her wrist. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertip and his raced to match it. “I never expected to feel like this,” he said, low.
She shook her head.
“It’s madness,” he murmured.
“Dangerous,” she agreed. “And yet,” she whispered.
“And yet . . . I am caught in the same feeling I had beneath those trees in Spain.”
“Stuck recalling my stubbornness?” she asked with a laugh.
“In awe of it,” he corrected. Her willingness to expose her vulnerability both impressed him and made him wild to protect her. To make sure she was never hurt again.
“I always dreamt of having a secret with you.” Ducking her head, she stared up at him through the cage of her lashes—and it was he who was ensnared. Reaching out, she took his other hand.
How had they ended up here? Ben didn’t care. His emotions were a tangle of shouldn’t and cannot and would never. But they were fast losing to hope and want and need.
Suddenly, he was hopping across and seating himself next to her on the narrow bench. He could feel her at hand, shoulder and hip. Warm connection. Forbidden pleasure.
Reaching up, he grazed his thumb over her cheek. She lifted her face toward him and he pressed a kiss—softly, softly—to her forehead.
She sighed and leaned into it.
And he let go of the should nots. Covered her mouth with his. Pulled her tight against him and reveled in the sweet, lovely hum of encouragement that poured out of her. Pulling her other hand away, she reached up to grip his shoulder. Ben moved back until he braced against the back cushion. She followed, keeping her lips sealed with his. He let her explore a moment. She was tentative, but curious. After a few moments, impatience won out. He urged her onto his lap.
Hell and damnation. The feel of her. The warmth of her covering his thighs. He deepened the kiss. Ran his tongue over the silky slide of hers, taught her the slow give and take that lovers play at. Her hands climbed up over his shoulders to lodge into his hair. His took a leisurely tour of her curves.
The carriage rocked on and Ben lost himself in her sweetness. She pressed into him and began an exploration of her own. She kissed him so sweetly and ran her hands inside his coat. Heart pounding, he had to pull away and reach for control. “Give me a moment,” he gasped.
She cupped his face with her hands. “I won’t break.”
“No.” The truth slipped out. “But you might break me.”
“Never,” she vowed. But she laughed a little, as if pleased with the power she had over him.
And he fell a little further in love.
“We’re nearly at the museum,” he whispered.
Nodding, she scooted off of his lap. “I do enjoy having a secret with you, Ben.”
He laughed. “I daresay we could argue over who enjoys it more, but instead I shall look forward to sharing more secrets with you. Soon.” He sobered. “We should be in plenty of time for you to meet your maid. You must head home as expected and I will go back to the Prattler’s office and see if I can discover anything about the new editor.”
She tucked a last, loose bit of blonde hair away. “Am I proper, again?”
“Regrettably, so,” he sighed. “It makes me wish to muss you again.”
“Perhaps later?” she asked hopefully.
“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked.
“I shall ask Grandmama what she recalls about the Prattler, from when she was trying to prevent further articles from being published. I was too numb to absorb it all, back then.” Her face softened. “But later we mean to attend Lady Kershaw’s rout. Might you be able to attend? So that we might share what we learn?”
