Page 43 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“I cannot stand it. I won’t.”
“Orla!” he said, much louder than before. She started on her seat, her chin jerking up and her mouth falling open, as if she could not believe he could have such volume in him. “I pray you do not call your parents’ shop small. Do not think of yourself or them as small, either. I walked into that shop and admired it. Yes, humble beginnings it may be, but look how clean it was. How nice. How it was a family affair? You think I ever get to see such a thing like that? That integrity? Born much lower, yet with twice as much integrity.”
He waited, but she didn’t answer. She still looked furious, breathing fast, but at least for a small second, she had stopped arguing with him. “I bought from them because I wanted to.”
“It wasn’t about Thomas then?”
“It was about much.” He finished the words, then felt the catch in his throat. He coughed a little, trying to clear the phlegm.
“The factory? How did it get so bad? Have you ever seen it in that state before?”
He couldn’t answer her. Suddenly, the cough was wrenching.
“My Lord?” she called to be heard over the coughing.
He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were burning and there was a heavy lump in his throat. He coughed and bent double, his body quelling with the movement.
“It’s the air in that cotton mill,” she said, her voice barely audible above his coughing and the racket of the carriage on the road. She launched herself off the bench and reached toward him. She first slapped him on the back, helping him to clear his lungs, then bent down in front of him on her knees and grabbed his face. He held his hand over his mouth, determined not to cough at her. “This is what that place has done to you.”
There was no longer anger in those eyes. There was a passionate fear lingering instead, one so strong that he couldn’t help staring at her.
She clapped him on the back again, full of energy, then she thrust a small vial she found somewhere under his nose.
“Inhale,” she ordered, in through the nose and out through your mouth. “My Lord, please, do it!” she implored him. It was difficult. He eventually managed it, taking the vial and inhaling through his nose. She breathed with him, in through her nose and out through her mouth, staying on her knees before him.
The cough slowly subsided. It was a gradual thing. He hid his face in his handkerchief for a minute or so afterwards, not wanting to look at her. By the time he had the courage to lower that cloth, he saw her rosy cheeks even pinker than usual, the fear still lingering in her eyes.
How can she hate me one second, then look at me like that the next?
“Let me look at you,” she pleaded. She thrust aside that handkerchief and placed her hands on his cheeks, staring into his eyes.
What do you mean by this, Orla? Or you examining me as a doctor would? Or for something else?
He had such a yearning for her that the words stumbled from his lips before he could stop them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“My behavior. All of it.” His eyes flicked down to her lips. He couldn’t stop himself. Then the most amazing thing happened. She looked at his lips, too.
Hang the consequences.
He veered forward and caught Orla’s lips with his own.
Chapter 13
Orla froze for a second in that kiss, consumed with disbelief. It had to be some sort of dream, yes, for it was the only explanation, yet she felt the baron’s hands splaying across her waist. He tugged her forward when she didn’t pull away and angled their heads together. When he ran his tongue across her bottom lip, begging entrance, it broke her.
With wild hands, she reached up for him, gripping to the lapels of his frock coat. He held her tightly, their lips parting, their tongues tangling together. They both breathed fast, their bodies colliding together, as he lifted her by the waist so that she fell into his lap on the coach bench.
Where they had been angry minutes ago, their passion lost in fury, that passion had now been shifted into something else. Orla couldn’t think how they got here, or why. All she could think of was not stopping this feeling. She wanted to explore it, to know the baron completely, and to be explored by him.
Her knees fell down on either side of his hips, her skirt lifting enough so that one of her legs was revealed. His bare hand somehow found her leg, touching the top of where her stocking reached up her thigh. It was the barest of touches, merely the brush of his fingers, yet her lower abdomen knotted with a longing tension, and she could have sworn there was a rush of wetness between her legs.
His other hand had now left her waist. He’d taken hold of her neck, tangling his fingers in a few loose locks that had fallen out of her updo. He angled her head further, giving him more access to her mouth. She learned from him as he kissed her, understanding what to do, meeting his tongue with her own and becoming quite intoxicated by the sensation.
Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!
