31. That Moonlit Kiss

31

That Moonlit Kiss

The loud clanging didn’t wake Aphrodite. She would have had to have been asleep for that.

Staring at the ceiling, restless and languoring, scowling the past hour or more at the bright moonlight coming in despite the curtains she’d pulled across the window panes. Courtesy of the early evening patter of first rainfall and then snow flurries, the white-coated ground reflected everything and made the light a true annoyance for someone desperate for the allure of sleep.

The rattling Clang! Bang-a-lang-lan g !! proved welcome, if heart-jerkingly startling. A reason to rise, to wrap a shawl around her shoulders, slip her already stockinged feet into her slippers and storm downstairs.

“Mercury,” she said on a loud whisper, seeking the four-legged culprit. “Mercury, what have you gotten into?”

“It isn’t the dog.” The low rumble made her start. She swung round to find Richard, half-standing in the kitchen, coated but not scarved nor hatted, one hand on the table as though he’d just gathered the energy to rise. He had a lamp on the table burning low. At his side, Mercury panted and jumped about, tongue lolling forth.

“I apologize if we woke you.” Richard sat back down, attempted to calm the excited dog. “He was eager to go out and I’m afraid I fumbled retrieving the rope. Did a bit of damage, knocking that off the sideboard.” Her gaze followed his. The containers that held both the lard and the flour had suffered in the mishap. “Only one of the crocks shattered, but the mess is rather splendid.”

“Oh dear.” She rushed forward, only to be stopped when his arm shot out in front of her. “Let me clean it.”

“No need.” His voice brimmed with confidence. “I will tend to it after he romps outside.”

As the air thickened between them, she stepped back, away from the arm that had so briefly, so solidly, been across her middle, near her hips. Attempted to concentrate on something other than the flare of heat that sparked at the contact. “But what if Mercury cuts his?—”

“He won’t. I tossed a blanket over the broken crockery. And with the temperatures, we need not worry about ants invading before I have a chance to tidy things upon our return.”

“Our?”

He gestured with the rope he had fixed into a harness around the dog’s chest and front legs. “We were heading out, not in.”

“May I join you?”

“It’s cold. Your attire isn’t made?—”

“Lying in bed is tedious. A few minutes won’t freeze me through.”

“By all means, then.” Using his arms for the bulk of the effort, he pushed to standing. The back of the chair he had been in and then the one he had stationed near the door each supporting part of his weight until he turned the knob, opened the door and let her precede him, after the frolicky dog winged ahead.

Warrick saw Aphrodite cross her arms against the cold the moment she moved beyond the threshold, from within to without. But instead of withdrawing, she flashed him a grin over her shoulder, so easily seen with the full moon beaming bright on one side of her face.

Though Mercury gamboled ahead of them both, his lead a light and now familiar tug upon Warrick’s wrist, she paused just beyond the door. The hair that escaped her sleep-mussed braid shimmered in the stillness, while he braced himself against the jambs of the open door content just to breathe her in.

“I love nights like this,” she whispered. “So crisp. Fresh. They’re my favorite.”

Something to note about her. To remember. She revealed so little, at times, that he cherished every new revelation.

Mercury had darted to his favorite pissing corner, as Warrick had come to think of the far section of walled-off property, making use of the long lead he’d become adept at navigating about, even without his sight. The dog dug his paws through the light layer of snowy frost that had fallen earlier that evening, making dirt and ice crystals fly. Warrick knew from experience that the weather would not drive the thief back in until he nosed about a good several minutes.

Now that he had a companion, wasn’t sitting on the chair in the open doorway, nor sitting in his still-missing Merlin’s chair as he had his first days here, Warrick gauged the distance to the stone wall about five feet hence. That was the part he could sit on. For though someone had long-ago stacked the stones high closer to the house, creating a shield from the wind, for most of the yard it was not quite waist high. A suitable perch, were it not for the icy coating—and his inability to walk with ease.

“What may I do to assist?” she asked, noticing where his attention had landed, her body already turned, primed.

He wanted her touch more than he wanted his next breath.

But the disaster on the harpsichord, his ill-timed jealousy over Prim’s suitor and how things had ended between them earlier—with her continued monishments of his need to hunt for an heiress (and thereby stop entertaining foolish fantasies about taking her to wife)… Given how she’d avoided him ever since that unwanted but warranted reminder, did he dare take what she now offered?

Do not be too proud to accept her help, whatever may have gone before. You aren’t an imbecile. Do you dare waste an opportunity to touch her?

His throat thickened. He swallowed hard. “Do you see where that horizontal stone sits, somewhat wider than the others and just past that jutting one?” He released his grip on the frame long enough to point with one finger. “Can you knock the snow free? Confirm it isn’t iced beneath? If not, that’s where I aim to sit.” Because he could not imagine confining her to the doorway, as he would have himself, not after learning how she basked in the cold night.

“Oh? Is that why you had a blanket at the ready?” She did as bade, no hesitation at brushing the wet cold with her bare hands. “You were going to sit upon it?”

“Mmm.” Certainly, let her think that. When in truth he intended to wrap it about his shoulders and huddle in the chair like a youngling. Nay, much better to let her think he, too, had planned on enjoying the beautiful winter evening.

“Not icy,” she pronounced, after testing the flat surface with both her palms, as though she’d heated the rock herself. “Definitely frigid, but I daresay it will warm fast enough.”

“Thanks to my hot arse, you mean?”

With a laugh that carried easily on the quiet night, she came to his side and ducked beneath the arm not holding the rope. Snugged her arm around his waist. While that threatened to snaffle his wits, she gripped his other hand, and pulled it over her shoulders, anchoring it just above her breast. “How is this? Steady enough?”

How was it? Humiliating. But…mayhap not. Mayhap this is what he had needed to do all along: accept assistance with grace and humility instead of focusing on his embarrassment. “I fear I may be too heavy for you.”

“I fear I may be too strong for you,” she boasted and it was all he could do not to kiss her right then.

“Two strides, long ones, and I may slip. Three or four and I think we can make it.”

“When you are ready,” she encouraged. Her hold about his waist tightened.

He was careful not to put too much weight upon her shoulders, but almost as though Mercury were trying to assist as well, the dog strained against the lead, pulling on his hand and wrist where it was wound, and Warrick shuffle-stepped as fast as he dared but without panic until he was close enough to the wall to lunge for it, slipping from her grip to catch the top.

“Look at that,” he muttered, turning his hips and sliding into place to confirm his buttocks now rested firmly upon the horizontal stone. “I am all that is graceful.”

“Stop that. I know this is not easy. You need not mock yourself in front of me, ever.”

He gave a grunt, wound the rope a couple more times about his wrist. “Haven’t been watching the dog. Has he done his business yet?” he asked, even though he already knew.

“Does it matter?” Her voice breezed against his forehead. “We just got here. Rest.”

“Oh aye, because everyone wants to rest on a frozen night against frozen stone.”

“My oh my. Since when did you turn so curmudgeonly?”

“I could mutter something about French canister shot, but let us not go there. Not tonight.”

He used his hands to check behind him, ensure his seat was secure. He already had his legs straightened and feet planted. Falling not allowed, he could practically hear Sophia encourage. With the wall supporting the bulk of his weight and his feet somewhat dug in to the frost-hardened ground, he actually felt stable.

But he saw Aphrodite’s shiver, the one she tried to hide. Against his better judgment, giving in to what he wanted, he used his hands above his knee and whatever strength he could muster from his leg to move one foot outward a couple of inches, and then did the same with the other.

“Come here.” She had hovered this whole time, no longer touching him yet remaining close. He easily snared her wrist and tugged her in front of him. Hands just above her hips, he spun her until she faced the yard, pulled her down, against him, in between his legs. When she didn’t immediately jump back up, he wound his arms about her torso and clasped his hands lightly around her waist, without touching anything he should not. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it.

She remained stiff for but a moment, then relaxed. But not completely, he could tell.

Mercury barked at the rustle of a brave, unslumbering bird flitting overhead.

Warrick waited. Rested his chin upon her shoulder, sensed her every inhale. Still, she did not yield. “I won’t bite, unless you ask me to.”

A soft squeak escaped her lips.

And I said you weren’t an imbecile? Probably not the thing to goad her with.

Her hands fluttered and then landed over his wrists. Icy, indeed. They had both failed to don gloves.

At least he had his coat on. But her wrap was thin. He released one hand and brought it up to brush her wild hair away from his mouth, to tuck it between them, letting his fingers rest on the side of her neck.

Could she feel how furious his chest pounded? Hear how haggard his breath?

The innocent touch of her skin, of her , affecting him as nothing he could remember. Nothing wholly unique about the moment either, nothing truly special—not anything that he could put into words, except it was her . Prim. Whom he wanted to school in passion.

Whom perplexed him beyond reckoning. Holding her, being with her seemed as familiar to him as staring at his signet ring; as chest-drummingly exciting as his first time.

He inhaled near the delicate skin of her neck he longed to taste. She smelled like home and happiness.

First time? Be honest. You want her to be your “last” time. You want her—forever.

He damn well did. And he had absolutely no clue how to go about making it happen. Not given the state of his pockets—and estate—and uncertain, but definitely wankly future.

Aphrodite’s stomach tumbled like an acrobat. Being so close to him, being in his arms, her temperature had soared like that bird full of foolery flapping about the yard. She stared at the white-blue frosty scape, looked overhead where she knew the stars should be, their presence blotted out by the moon’s brilliance. Noticed where fast-moving clouds approached from the south.

The misadvised bird taunted Mercury again, courting danger. Silly thing should be abed. Like you?

Richard’s breath warmed her one ear. His hand, still resting lightly, thumb upon her nape, fingers toward the front of her neck heated more than mere skin. Those acrobats? Now jumped around her middle like Harriet impatient with news to share.

They remained that way for heartbeats. Heartbeats that turned into minutes. Mercury bounded back and forth barking at the bird and chasing its chirrupy, taunting flight, ignoring the rope, content to be outside in a familiar, safe space.

But she felt anything but safe. She felt threatened. Exhilaratingly so.

Though danger loomed…her next actions potentially a peril to everything she held dear, more than anything, she wanted to turn and place her lips against his.

“Why did you order me from the room yesterday? After you played?” she braved asking instead, the whisper freezing in front of her, loud enough she hoped he heard. Both prayed and yet feared he would answer.

Had that only been yesterday? Given how it was closer to midnight than morning, and earlier today , they had cleaned and dried tools, until her bewildering feelings precipitated her flight from his presence…

“I could tell you a lie or three, or I could confess I would rather not reveal the truth. For I am certain that, curiosity aside, you would rather not know.”

Peculiar.

But honest. A comfort, that, surely. “Then do not say more. I would rather you stay silent than treat me to surfacy responses we both know mean naught.”

More silence. More hard and thumping heartbeats. More twisting and turning within her stomach. A twitch of his fingers, a caress over the front of her throat, up behind her ear. A settling of his touch. A harsh gust of breath past her ear, then a low murmur. One felt more than heard. “Do you want to return inside?”

Did she think it or did he ask? She wasn’t sure. Hushed as he, she answered, “Nay. Not yet.”

More minutes. More moonlight and advancing clouds as the earth slowly rotated a degree or so with every hundred breaths.

A silent gasp—hers—accompanied by an audible sigh—also hers—when he shifted behind her, brought her deep against his chest, snug within his hold, and arranged his coat to enfold them both. More, when she felt that unprepared-for yet definite part of him, stiff and sure, pressed insistently along her bottom and low back.

Another degree and the frantic knot in her belly turned to liquid heat that sank deep, promised to drip lower.

“I want to kiss you.” He startled her with those words. “May I?”

She pushed away from his embracement and turned, feeling wobbly and very uncertain as she stood before him, his hands now gentle upon her hips. His head much on the same level as hers. “You...ask? You? He who takes whatever he wants whenever he wants it?”

“I do not.” Though accented with shadows, the harsh planes of his face were visible in the moonlight, which meant her dumbfoundered expression was hidden. But he had to feel her quivering, her nervous excitation. “I certainly do not take whatever I want,” he insisted with a slight pinch between his brow. “For if I did, I would have crushed you against me yesterday as well as this afternoon and dared to lift your skirts.”

She slapped her hand against her mouth at that answer. At that image. Then slowly freed her lips. “Yet you did not. Why?”

And why do you not run from him now? You know what you just felt. What he’s capable of.

“Mayhap I am not that man any longer.” Which echoed her own thoughts. “The man who doesn’t give a farthing for the consequences and takes what he wants. Tumbles intriguing governesses into his lap and steals kisses.” He dragged one fingertip along her trembling bottom lip. “Perhaps, in four and twenty months, I have matured as well.”

“Then…if not he, what man are you?”

He hesitated answering. Debating truth or evasion? “The man who wants your kiss, freely given this time. Desperately so.”

“Desperately?”

“Aye.” The syllable was yanked from him.

“I do not believe anyone has ever desperately wanted me.”

“ Needed. ”

“Needed anything from me desperately. And neither am I the same as before, for unlike your claim, I no longer give a farthing for any consequences.”

She curved her hands about his shoulders, braced the back of his head within her palms and lowered her lips to his.

This. This is what he had craved since first seeing her walk away, oblivious to his presence after bargaining with her charge in the corridor outside his room so long ago. What he had yearned for after laughing over pins on paintings and stealing a taste of her beneath the mistletoe.

What he had ached for after mocking her so thoroughly in front of everyone and regretting it—yet not… After dooming Frost and himself to a hasty departure, this is what he had craved in the empty months since.

Was he shaking? At a mere kiss? An innocent kiss upon another’s mouth? With clothing on? It wasn’t as though he licked her bare nipples or applied his lips lower, upon lips of another sort, dripping with honey, with want…

Time enough for all of that later. Please, God, let it be so.

So that could not be him trembling, could it? Not at so tame an action. A simple and light kiss.

One you do not want to blunder.