Page 48 of Bargaining for the Barrister
“Paul...”
“Yes?”
“You... you care for me, don’t you?”
Her words jolted him from his spellbound state. His brow twitched under the pressure building within him. “As a good friend.” He released her hands that had fit so well inside his own, the warmth from her touch leaving him uncomfortably cold.
Undeterred, she pressed him. “How do you explain that you can hold me in your arms—you, a man who hates to be touched?”
The blood drained from his face, leaving him lightheaded. How did she know about that? No, it didn’t matter. What mattered was how he would explain what he himself did not quite understand. “Easily,” he lied. “Your touch does not affect me—a sure sign of friendship.”
There was disbelief in her eyes that shifted into determination. She put her hand on his cheek, her cool fingers instantly soothing his racing heart. “You don’t even flinch anymore.”
Perhaps he had finally put behind him the hypocrisy of Mrs. Hammond’s touch. Or Louisa simply held no deceit in her, so her touch, so opposite in nature, had healed him. It was a gift he would always appreciate but not one he could do anything about. There was still too much history that could not so easily be changed. “It’s as I said. We are friends, so it does not bother me.”
“Truly? That is all?”
He could not confess when he could not commit to her. Even if his scars were healing, he hadn’t the funds to marry. He swallowed and clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her in any way.
“Then, this will mean nothing to you.” She grasped the lapels of his jacket and, with an unexpected yank, pulled him toward her. His lips landed squarely on hers, the soft flesh of her mouth rooting him in place. His mind demanded he pull away, but he had lied. Her touch was everything to him. His hands were back on her arms, and he was powerless now to do anything but return her kiss and give in to a longing he could no longer suppress. Moving his mouth against hers, time seemed to slow, and only they existed. Every sense seemed heightened. She was soft and warm, smelled like an angel, and tasted like heaven. For those tender moments, she was his.
A minute passed, maybe more. His conscience screamed for him to stop. With a groan of agony, he wrenched away. Her eyes were half-lidded and her lips a dark crimson. His hands fell to his sides, and he took a wide step away from her. The distance alone brought pain to his chest—a familiar feeling he’d tried for years to forget.
A sudden memory of Mrs. Hammond pushing him away from her as a young boy flashed before his eyes. She’d shoved him so hard he’d hit his head on the wall, and his fingers had come away from the bump covered in sticky redness. Reaching for her again, as only a child would be foolish enough to do, she’d pushed him again—harder this time and accompanied by words of disgust. The memory of rejection nearly doubled him over with an overwhelming sense of his worthlessness.
He wasn’t healed. Not yet.
Louisa seemed to sense his turmoil and reached for him. He couldn’t let her near him again. She deserved better. Someone whole. He clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“Paul?” Louisa frowned with concern.
“Nothing. I felt nothing.” The words were like a lifeline to the surface after drowning in her kiss and the subsequent flash of pain. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing he could scrub away his traitorous lips. “You’d better return before anyone grows suspicious.”
Her whole countenance seemed to snuff out like a light, her ready smile gone. She moved quietly from the room, leaving him alone in the library.
Alone to mourn his miserable existence.
For had he any confidence at all in his ability to provide and care for her and a future family, he wouldn’t be staring at the back of a door, holding nothing but air beneath his fingers.
y
Louisa left the library with her heart in her throat. She never should have kissed Paul. They’d grown too comfortable in each other’s company, falsely giving her the confidence to act rashly. He’d protected her, held her to him, and stirred her heart with his kindness. And she’d interpreted everything incorrectly. She took flight, keen to be away from him, her breath coming in quick spurts as she flew down the corridor. She reached for the drawing room door, only to hesitate. How could she face everyone with her emotions so tangled? She gritted her teeth. He’d rejected her. Her dowry was far more attractive than she was.
Isa-girl.
Be happy.
The words initially made her angry, but she was determined to listen.
She’d promised.
With great effort, she pulled her lips into a tremulous smile and entered the drawing room. The first thing she noticed was the lack of men. Only Mr. Davies sat amidst the women, seemingly content to have Miss Fielding at whom to aim his flirtations. Forcing her feet to move, Louisa made her way to the sofa, realizing too late that she sat in the same seat as the night before—the night Paul had kissed her wrist. No one in the room looked the least bit concerned by her absence or the absence of the other men, except for Lady Kellen, who seemed to glance her way every few moments.
The door opened behind her, but Louisa did not turn to see who had entered. Mr. Harwood slipped past her first, taking the seat beside her, then Lord Reynolds, who found a seat beside his mother, and Mr. Jackson beside Miss Manning, though Geraldine was quick to flank his other side. A shadow hovered behind Louisa, and she knew immediately that it belonged to Paul.
Mr. Harwood glanced behind her. “Aw, Fisher. You may have my seat.” Before Paul could say otherwise, Mr. Harwood shifted to the sofa nearest them and slid onto the third cushion beside Lord Reynolds. Louisa wanted to expire before Paul could respond. To her great surprise, he came around her and took the proffered seat—likely because objecting would only draw attention to them. Them. There was no them.
Paul leaned toward Mr. Harwood. “Tom, where is he?”
