Page 49 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“Forgive me, Etty,” he said. “I want nothing more in this world than to be worthy of your acquaintance—and your friendship. For, undeserving as I am, I hope, and pray, that for all my flaws, you see me as your friend—your very good friend.”
She lifted her hand to his face, then caressed his cheek, running her fingertips over the stubble on his chin. He opened his eyes, and she was met with the full force of his gaze—the warm chocolate color of his eyes deepening with need, revealing the most honest of pleas.
A plea not to be hurt.
“Andrew,” she whispered, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled, his eyes darkening. “Oh, Andrew—how wrong you are!”
He stiffened. “I-I’m wrong?”
“Yes, my dear friend,” she said. “You are so wrong if you believe that you are just one man, alone, trying to make a difference to the world. Perhaps you were alone before, but you are no longer.”
A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. “You mean…”
“You have me,” she said. “I will not sit idly by while there is so much to be done. Neither will I permit you to question your value in the world. Forgive me for speaking so harshly just now.”
“Your anger is justified, Mrs. Ward.”
“Etty, please,” she said. “Are we not good friends?”
He blinked, and a film of moisture shone in his eyes—eyes filled with hope.
“I would not have you tell me you’re unworthy, Andrew,” she said, “for there’s none rarer than a good man—a man ready to right the wrongs of the world, the very imbalances that have given him power over others. But you are not a good man.”
The hope in his eyes died. “A-am I not?”
“No,” she said gently, tilting her head and offering her lips. “You are thebestof men.”
“Oh, Etty!”
He let out a cry and crushed his lips against hers. Raw need ignited in her body, and she drew her arms around his neck, pulling him close. A groan of need reverberated in his throat, and he thrust his tongue between her lips, curling it around her own and claiming ownership. A ripple of pleasure ran through her body, pooling between her thighs, where a hot, thick pulse of desire began to swell.
Sweet heaven!Was this what it felt like to have pleasure at a man’s touch? Not the pain, nor the humiliation at the hands of another, but the warm whisper of delights to come.
Innocent he may be, with his tentative touches and uncertainty in his eyes, but she found him all the more desirable for it. He was no rake seeking his own pleasure, or on a quest for another victim to seduce so he could regale his friends with stories of his conquests at White’s and congratulate himself on his virility. No—he was a gentle soul, seeking a pleasure he was yet to understand.
And her heart was in danger of succumbing to the notion that he sought such pleasure with her.
She flicked her tongue against his, and, with a low growl of pleasure that reverberated in her bones, he deepened the kiss. Her breathing grew ragged as her body opened itself to unfathomable sensations—an ache in her center that begged to be eased. She arched her back, and his breath caught. He pulled her hard against him.
His length, hard and insistent, pressed against her thigh, and she froze, beset by the memory of another—the rush of cold air on the skin of her thighs as fleshy, sweaty fingers clutched at her skirts, followed by a searing pain…
She let out a cry, and he froze. Then he broke the kiss and stepped back, his eyes filled with horror.
“S-sweet Lord, Etty—forgive me!” He shook his head, retreating. “I-I didn’t mean to…” He lowered his gaze to the bulge in his breeches and shook his head. “I-I know not what came over me. What must youthink?”
“Andrew…”
“No—do not make excuses for me, Etty. I had no right to treat you in such a manner. Please believe me when I say I’m nothing like…”
She raised her hand, and his voice trailed away. Then she reached out. He stared at her hand for a moment, then took it, sliding his fingers between hers.
“Do not be ashamed, Andrew,” she said. “You did nothing I did not want.”
“B-but I saw it,” he said. “For a brief moment—in your eyes—Isawit.”
“Saw what?”
“The fear,” he said. “The fear all women carry. And more than anything, I want you to trust me, Etty—if you feared me, I could not live with myself.”
