Page 52 of The Gentleman's Confession
“I have always thought a kiss a measure of physical pleasure, not real devotion.”
His brow rose, all pointed in the middle, as though she had spoken blasphemy. “How can you judge if you have never been kissed yourself?”
“I just know.” She shrugged, smiling at his indignation. When his thumb moved against her skin again, it made her want to lean into him. Kissing couldn’t be as sweet and pure as hand holding. This was heaven. She never wanted Miles to let go.
“Your statement on kissing is fairly ignorant—not at all like the Jemma I know, who is passionate about exposing the truth.”
“Yes, but couldn’t I kiss someone and feel wonderful whether it was for the right reasons or not?”
Miles was not quick to answer. She liked that about him. He pondered a matter, not just debated it. “Let me ask you this,” he finally said. “Wouldn’t kissing someone who trusted your heart and you theirs be different from kissing just for sport?”
“I suppose so,” Jemma answered. “The intent would be different.”
Miles nodded once. “It would be with their feelings and care in mind. No one would be taking advantage of the other person. Instead of a trite kiss, it would be a beautiful expression of love.”
His words painted an image so sweet it nearly cracked years of resolve. Tears suddenly pricked her eyes as a realization hit her. It washiskiss she desired, not Mr. Bentley’s—who she seemed to forget completely at times like this. It had always been Miles she’d wanted to have by her side. Why couldn’t it have been her all those years ago who had fallen through the ice? Why couldn’t Miles have saved her?
She sniffed, blinking to clear her eyes before Miles could notice and doing her best to seal those determined cracks with greater determination. “It is a good thing I will not be married for some weeks. My talents at romance are sorely lacking. You should have seen what sort of power my eye connection had over Mr. Bentley. I sent him running.”
Miles threaded his fingers through hers. “Romance does not take talent; it takes love.”
“I don’t know how to force those feelings.”
“Who said anything about force?” He leaned close. Wonderfully close.
A nervous laugh bubbled out. “I meantlearn. But perhaps a vicar should not be the one to teach such things.”
“You mean, someone might be shocked to find I am meeting a young lady in secret and holding her hand?”
She should have let go of said hand ages ago and run home. Even now, her disobedient fingers remained safely ensconced in his. She looked everywhere but at him. “At least we are not kissing.”
His voice came steady and sure and entirely too convincing. “But then you might always hold the opinion that kisses are irrelevant and inconsequential physical gestures. What sort of teacher of romance would I be if I let you believe that?”
She looked at him again, for she could not help it, her eyes going straight to his mouth. “Miles, I ...”
Miles leaned closer, his voice husky. “They say a connection with a kiss is something indescribable—a sort of bond between two people for those sweet, tender moments.”
She swallowed, her chin lifting of its own accord. “Who says that?”
He reached up and tucked a ringlet behind her ear. “Mr. Romantic. Who else? It’s exactly what I imagine it would be like kissing you.”
Her heart pounded in the most delicious way. He lowered his head, and she tipped her own back to meet his. She wanted him to kiss her. To hold her.
Tomarryher.
Those words sent her dreams crashing back into reality, and she yanked her hand away from Miles’s, his lips a breath away from her own.
She practically leaped off the bench. This lesson was getting wildly out of hand. A chill swept through the air, but she could finally breathe again. “It is not like we can practice ... that.” She could no longer even say the word. She took a step backward for good measure. “If what you say is true and a kiss bonds two people, then what could happen between the two of us? If you were right, ... then ... then the two of us would be in a precarious position.” She had to leave. She took a step toward the path, but Miles captured her wrist.
“Jemma, wait, please. Let’s talk about this.” Like molasses, deep and sweet, his voice pulled at her.
“Talk?” Jemma gave a depreciating laugh. “You talk a great deal about feelings, Mr. Jackson. I wouldn’t want you to give someone the wrong idea.” She needed a fan. Where was hers when she needed it? “I would prefer that you talk less right now and ... and ...”
“And?” He stood, placing himself much too close to her. “Kiss you?”
She shook her head, desperate to be rid of him but desperate to never leave him at the same time.
“I can see in your eyes that you are considering this. There can be more than friendship between us. You never needed a matchmaker.”
