One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman
I agree, it doesn’t matter.” He led her to the narrow marble balustrade. “You will have noticed that we are alone.”
“Yes.”
Ferrin turned a little to the side, maneuvering Boudicca so she was cornered by the curve of the rail and his body. When she pivoted to look up at him, he had her neatly confined between his arms. He did not miss her shiver, but he chose to misinterpret it. Without asking permission, Ferrin pulled her blue wool cloak more securely about her shoulders and refastened the brooch. She made no move to stop him, even when his knuckles brushed the soft upper curve of her breast.
“You are no longer armed,” he said.
“It was clever of you to encourage me to leave my weapon behind.”
“Damnably sharp-witted.” He cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face another fraction toward him. Moonlight glanced off her hammered gold mask. His gaze fell to her mouth, and he used the pad of his thumb to trace her bottom lip. He felt the slight parting, the moist warmth of the sensitive underside. For a moment he thought she might touch the tip of her tongue to his thumb; her mouth trembled instead. His own reaction to that was something more than he could have predicted.
Ferrin released her face and bent his head. He kissed her, pressing his mouth to hers without regard for tenderness or reserve. Passion is what he felt and what he showed her. The sudden surge of it ran hot in his blood and settled hard and heavily in his groin. An involuntary thrust of his hips brought him flush against her and pushed the backs of her thighs against the rail. She would have to be singularly naive to mistake his response for anything but what it was.
Boudicca was not naive.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she answered immediately in kind. She sucked, drawing him in, then teasing him. He groaned, the sound torn from the back of his throat, reluctance and relief mingling to make the whole of it deeply felt.
He reached beneath her cloak and grasped her by the upper arms. Under one hand he felt taut, warm flesh; under the other was one of the wide metal bracelets. He could make out the intricate scrollwork under his palm, ancient symbols raised above the delicately beaten gold. He jerked her to him hard, eliminating what had been only a small space between them. She would have come up on her toes, but he held her down, responding to some perverse need to keep her still and answerable to him. She did not struggle or insist that it be different. She was both lithe and pliant, at her ease taking his direction.
It was not precisely surrender that he sensed in her, but something akin to it, an acceptance that he would have the upper hand and that she would allow it. What she might permit him to do made him fear for her, but what he wanted to do frightened him more.
Breathing hard, he drew back suddenly. She rocked forward on the balls of her feet, and he set her from him. He saw her seek purchase against the marble rail behind her, her elegantly tapered fingers curling around the polished stone.
“Are you married?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
“Is there a husband you are wont to make a cuckold?”
“No.”
“Then a lover? A fiancé?”
“No.” There was uncertainty in her voice. “Neither.”
“Then it is my honor you wish to impugn?” He thought he saw her blink behind her mask, but he could not be sure. “There is a brother waiting in the shrubbery, perhaps. A father. Three male cousins who box for sport. Can I expect to be called out?”
“How am I impugning your honor? You have chosen a damnably inconvenient time to discover that you are in possession of certain scruples.”
“It is not the scruples,” he said somewhat harshly. “It is the trap.”
“What trap? You are speaking nonsense.”
Ferrin drew himself up stiffly. He was unused to being addressed in such a manner. The fact that he might indeed be speaking nonsense did nothing to improve his mood. “Then Restell is paying you dearly for this charade. You are one of his paramours.”
She shook her head. “I never met your brother before this evening.”
“Wellsley, then.”
“I don’t know any Wellsley. Is he another brother?”
“A friend.”
“You entertain peculiar notions of what tricks your family and your friends will get up to. If you are so suspicious of some trap being laid, it might be more the thing to look to your enemies.”
That she was making sense and he was not was the end of enough. The urge was upon him to shake her, but only because he could not shake himself. What he did was draw a steadying breath and release it slowly. Except for the light strains of music coming from the house, quiet settled around them. He was aware of her stillness. Her fingers still held the rail at her back. The length of her slim throat remained exposed to him as she had never once dropped her chin or tried to look away in the face of his accusations.
“I have no enemies,” he said at length.
“Everyone has enemies, though if you are the exception to the rule, perhaps you should cultivate some. They might be less apt to play false with you than either your brother or this Wellsley person.”
“I did not say Restell or my friend ever played me false.”
“You charged them with entertaining themselves at your expense, and you named them with unseemly haste. I think that speaks to what you think of their character.”
“They are both possessed of good character.”
“And yet,” she said, “you do not trust them.”
“No, that is not it at all.” Ferrin regarded her upturned face closely, trying to see behind the mask. “I don’t trust you.”
“That is altogether different. At least you have begun to make sense.”
“Have I?” He was not so sure. That kiss—and it was the only explanation for what followed—had turned his brain to pudding. His chest rose and fell as he released another long breath. “I was thinking that if you had retained your spear I could impale myself upon it.” He watched the curve of her smile appear slowly. “I take it you approve.”
“Let us say, it’s difficult to make any argument against it.”
Ferrin discovered that he had not entirely lost his sense of humor. A chuckle rippled through him, releasing tension in its wake. “I could prostrate myself at your feet, I suppose. Would that suffice?”
“Suffice for what?”
“An apology.”
“For what? For asking if I was married or betrothed? It was not an unreasonable question, though the timing of it was ill-considered.” She held up one hand when he would have spoken, cutting him off. When he fell silent, she did not let her arm fall away but rather placed her palm squarely against his chest. “You cannot wish to apologize to me for the accusations you made against your brother or your friend. That would be better done with them, if you are ever of a mind to tell them what has passed this night. I will not. And finally, would you apologize for saying that you do not trust me when I have given you no reason that you should?”
“I was thinking I would apologize for making a cake of myself.”
“Well, there you have me.” She glanced down. “You will not want to lie at my feet long. I think the stone will be quite cold.”
He drew her close instead, kissing her with more gentleness this time. Her hand remained between them, but she didn’t push him away. Her fingertips nudged the top button of his waistcoat. Her mouth opened under his, and she allowed him to drink from her. He thought her lips trembled under his, then thought the tremble might have begun in him. The kiss was long and slow and sweet. He could not quite get