Chapter 25

Nicholas hadn't a clue what Mercy wanted with his cravat. But there wasn't much he wouldn't give her if she asked for it. She stood in front of him, holding it and smiling as if she had something positively wicked planned. The door was open, her parents were at home, and servants wandered nearby. At any moment, they could be disturbed, at which point he would have to ask Mercy to marry him again.

The thought should give him pause. The last time he had asked her, she'd let him know in no uncertain terms that she was not interested.

But that wicked gleam in her eye seemed to suggest she might have changed her mind.

"There is one more thing I would like to try," Mercy said. "But I worry that with your sensibilities, it could be too much."

"My sensibilities?" How prudish did she think he was? He opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped. Prudish was actually a fair description of him. At least now. And certainly while they stood alone in the parlor together. If he protested the title, she may ask him to prove that he wasn't. "What would like to try?"

"I won't kiss you. Not exactly. I know that you would much rather wait until an engagement forsuch things."

He couldn't help a quick glance at her parted lips. What in the world did she mean by that? "You won't exactly kiss me?"

"Correct."

"Because you shouldn't kiss me at all. You know that."

"You kissed my hand a moment ago."

"Are you telling me you won't, exactly, kiss my hand?"

"No." Mercy stepped closer to him, his cravat spread out in front of her. "I'm telling you I won't, exactly, kiss your mouth."

"Of course you won't. Correct me if I am wrong, but my understanding was that you rejected my proposal a moment ago."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I told you I wanted to see if our spark could burn a little before I accepted your offer." She smiled haughtily and held his cravat up to his face. "It just so happens that I have come up with the perfect compromise."

She covered his mouth with his cravat then leaned forward wrapping her arms behind him and tying the cravat it in a knot at the back of his head. "You see," she said after she stepped back away from him. "I won't exactly kiss you, but I may kiss that cravat of yours."

He furrowed his brows and tried mightily to not dwell on the brief seconds she'd been pressed against his chest as she tied his cravat. Mercy was playing with fire, and she knew it. Did she think having a thin piece of silk covering his mouth discounted a kiss? He reached up and pulled it below his chin. "If you kiss me with this cravat on my mouth, it is absolutely still a kiss."

"Really?" Her eyes went wide, but he could tell she was doing it on purpose. Acting innocent again. She knew. She knew the affect such a thing would have on him. She had to. "Well then, I'll just remove it, and you can absolutely kiss me without it."

"We have no understanding."

She ignored him, stood up on her toes and placed her arms on his shoulders. She pressed against his chest again, and her fingers went to the knot that had fallen to the base of his head.

She fumbled with the knot in one way and then another. She took a deep breath and then pursed her lips together in what was obviously mock concentration.

"Having a little trouble with that knot?" His voice came out low and pained.

Her eyes met his, and she nodded solemnly. "I am."

He closed his eyes, and the world went black except where Mercy's body touched his; those points burned like brilliant spots of lights, visible even through his eyelids. He should rip off the cravat and storm out of the room. He should return to speak with Mercy and her parents after the ball, engage her hand in marriage, and only spend time with her in short increments, with chaperones standing nearby.

He should do a lot of things, but instead he simply stood there, waiting to see what Mercy would do next.

She. Did. Nothing. Her fingers were still on the knot at the back of his neck, but they weren't even pretending to untie it anymore.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked. His voice sounded like he had been swallowing rocks.

"You said I couldn't kiss you, so . . ."

"So you are waiting for me to kiss you?"

He opened his eyes to find her gazing up at him. Trusting, not at all calculating, just simply hoping he would kiss her. "Don't you want to?"

Didn't he want to? What kind of question was that? Banked coals, ones he was certain he'd snuffed out long ago, roared into life. Proprietary be hanged. He was a gentleman and not the kind of man to leave a woman waiting. "Fix that blasted knot," he practically growled at her.

"You mean untie it? I've done something strange back there, and I can't quite—"

"Tie it back up. I'll play your games today. And then, when you are ready, I hope you will join me in being serious."

Her fingers slid from the back of his neck to his face. She replaced the cravat over his mouth, the coolness of her touch grazing his lips, and then, before he knew it, she was tightening the cravat with a quick tug.

She gazed up at him, innocence and curiosity mingled in such a tantalizing package. How had he ever thought he could resist her? He was doomed from the first word she'd spoken to him in the corridor. And by the gods, it was time he accepted his fate.

Then her mouth split into a grin, and a short strangled laugh escaped her lips.

"What?" he managed to bark thought the linen.

"It is just that you look positively... frightened, as if I have taken you prisoner. I can't look you in the eye, not seriously." She tipped her head to one side. "But I think I know how to fix that." Mercy's hands dropped from the sides of his face to his shoulders. She tugged on him, bringing him lower. "All I have to do is close my eyes." Before he had any more time to accustom himself to the idea, her eyes had fluttered closed and her lips were on his.

Or rather, they were on the thin fabric that covered his. Which meant basically the same thing.

He closed his eyes and folded his arms around her.

He couldn't see her freckles. He couldn't see the delicate slope of her shoulders or the sparks of fire in her eyes that had so consumed him. Mercy became her breath, heating the fabric between them, the scent of rosewater, and the feather touch of her fingers atop his jacket. Her lips grazed his through the silk of his cravat. Behind his closed eyes, the world grew smaller, collapsing in on itself, until it was just the two of them in the darkness behind his eyelids.

She didn't move closer—she barely moved. It felt as if she were waiting. Waiting for him, pleading for him, to show her how much he needed her touch. But if he kissed her now, there would be no going back, cravat notwithstanding.

Not for him.

If he kissed her fully and she walked away, he wouldn't only lose her—he would lose himself. He should say something, at least. Anything. Explain himself better. It was no common thing for him to go about kissing women. As a duke, he knew he could be given liberties by Society, but after losing his father's respect, those kinds of liberties had never tempted him.

Not until now.

But if he could do this right... Mercy had practically agreed to marry him if he could get this one thing right. A kiss. One very good kiss. He would have the chance to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

Nicholas's fingers were first to move, each knuckle tightening until his hands became claws, taking purchase on the bodice of her dress. He pulled her more firmly into him, letting their bodies collied in a way that sent every one of his nerves reeling. Mercy's breathing hitched, her chest rising, pressing into his own.

His mouth was the last to catch up to what his fingers, hands, and arms had been doing. He lifted a hand to the back of her head and crushed his lips onto hers. Every suppressed desire, every chance he'd had to hold Mercy, and politely refused, every emotion he had held in check for years, exploded to the surface. Mercy's kiss had been tentative, a question he hadn't answered. His kiss was a declaration, a claim, a promise, and there was nothing tentative about it.

The cloth between them was inconsequential, so thin he could still feel the curve of her mouth as it molded to him. He knew the moment her breath came back, for it mingled hot with his own. His fingers laced through her hair and then closed into a fist, capturing her and keeping her exactly where he wanted her—in his arms with his mouth on hers.

One of Mercy's hands slid up his chest, her delicate fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When her hand reached his neck, he thought she would wrap her hand behind his neck, but instead she brought her fingertips to his throat.

He swallowed, and her hand followed the movement, then wrapped around his neck and pulled him down, lifting her chin and kissing him back in matched desperation. Why had they waited so long to do this?

He slid his lips to her cheek, cursing the fabric over his mouth for the first time because it robbed him of the touch of those wonderous flecks on her skin.

"Mercy." Her name was a choked prayer, one he had muttered over and over in his lifetime, but he'd never meant it in the way he meant it now.

Mercy.

Heaven have mercy on him, but he wanted this woman in his life. He didn't care if she helped his public opinion or if she would be a buffer between him and Mother. He wanted her as his wife so he could kiss her like this whenever they were alone. Based on the way she sank into him, his chances had increased dramatically in the past few minutes.

He reached up to the cravat, grasped the smooth silk with his fingers, and tore it down from his mouth. Mercy's eyes widened, but this time he wouldn't mistake her motions as fear or disappointment. He'd surprised her, but based on the glint that flashed in her green eyes, she had no objections to what he'd just done.

Her mouth was begging to be kissed now that he was free from the constraints of the silk, but first thing was first. He bent low and trailed kisses along her cheekbone, taking his time, finding a particular grouping of flecks on her skin and covering them, then dragging his lips higher, stopping often, reveling in the fact that he finally had the chance to claim her freckles as his own.

When his mouth reached her ear, he whispered her name again. She responded by pulling her arms tighter around his neck and lifting herself upward.

He pulled away just enough so that he could dip back down again and crush her lips with his own, skin on skin, with no silk to impede him. He'd thought the cravat hadn't mattered; he'd thought he could feel the intricate details of her mouth with it between them, but he'd been wrong. Very wrong. Her lips tasted of honey and lavender, and their softness made his silk cravat feel like sandstone in comparison.

Mercy took a step forward into him, and her movement left him nowhere for him to go but back. His thigh hit the corner of the door, and it swung shut with a loud thud. They were alone, kissing, and the door was closed tight behind them.

Her mouth curved into a smile beneath his. With a chuckle, she shifted, her warm breath trailing up the side of his face, until she brought her lips to his ear. "Not so proper now, are we?"

He pursed his lips together. He would have none of that. He was proper. Or, at least, as proper as he could be with his cravat hanging from his neck and Mercy wrapped in his arms. He made certain his left hand still held her firmly against him—he could not bear to part with her. Not yet—and reached for the doorknob with his right. He pushed the two of them away from the door slightly and opened it a few inches.

"I'm always proper." His lips were just above hers, ready to kiss her again.

Mercy laughed softly, and he could feel the rumble of her joy in his chest. How had he ever lived without this? Then she lifted one of her hands off the back of his neck to shove the door closed. This time when it shut, she grinned. "My parents sent me here alone. They aren't fools; they were hoping this would happen."

He tipped his head to one side. "Devil woman."

She shrugged.

He reached for the door and opened it again, then stepped away from her as if offended. Mercy came into full view. Her lips were swollen and her eyes bright. He certainly hoped she was right about her parents' wishes, because it would be very hard to hide what the two of them had been doing.

The thought didn't horrify him.

He placed his palm on her cheek and brushed his thumb across the skin on her cheekbones. "Have I told you"—he dropped a kiss onto one of her most prominent freckles—"how much I love your skin?" She pursed her lips together and nodded. He leaned forward and kissed the very corner of her lips, the spot where her upper and lower lips met, the spot where her smiles always started. Mercy's breath caught, and her eyes met his. "Putting that cravat over my mouth was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you." He paused and rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. Had he really only just been kissing her? The thought brought too much air into his lungs. "Thank you for seeing exactly who I am and giving me what I need."

Mercy's eyes blinked slowly, like she was still coming out of a haze and his words weren't helping. If this was what it was going to be like for the two of them, all of his plans were going to backfire. He was never going to get any work done in Parliament. "I'd like to claim I kissed you without it because I wanted to give you what you wanted, but I'm afriad I wasn't thinking quite that clearly. All I knew was I needed to kiss you like I needed air. But now that I have breathed that air, can I pretend that I did it to please you? Because I want this kind of care for each other to be a part of who we are from now on."

"Deal," she said with a smile. "And, for starters, I think I need you to kiss me again."

He laughed and pulled her close again, dipping his face toward hers, and her eyes fluttered closed. For the briefest moment, he dropped a kiss on the other corner of her mouth, honoring again the edge of her lips. Then he lifted only breath away from her and dropped his lips reverently but fully on hers.

Her lips were sweet and loving, and no part of him felt ashamed. Not of her, not of him, and most definitely not for taking this moment to fight for her and what she wanted from him. Mercy tasted like redemption and forgiveness and the bravery that came with moving forward instead of looking back.

Because the two of them together had to be his future, and he wouldn't taint it with thoughts of unworthiness.

She kissed him back, and her kiss was a promise, one that had him a breath away from kicking the door closed and repeating the last few minutes all over again. With an unsteady sigh, he pulled away. He knew he must be smiling like an idiot, and he didn't care. He didn't need to hide any part of him from Mercy. "I think perhaps you should go speak to your parents."

"I certainly should. No doubt they will be curious as to what we have been..." Mercy arched an eyebrow. "Talking about."

Her hand went to the doorknob, and he stopped her by covering it with his own. She spun around, her kiss-roughened lips curving into an impish grin, and her eyes went straight to his mouth. Oh no, he'd made his point. He was done kissing her, at least for now.

He squeezed her hand underneath his. "Wait. Before you go, I have something for you." He lifted his hand to his breast pocket and pulled out the thin silver chain. It was a family heirloom, but not one anyone had worn for generations. "I brought you this."

"But, Nicholas." Mercy's hand went to her heart, as if she were thoroughly scandalized. "We aren't even engaged."

"A point I would like to remedy as soon as possible. Wear that tonight. It won't impede your dancing."

Mercy reached for the chain and slid it between her finger and thumb. "It is lovely. But if I wear a present of yours, people may assume we are engaged."

"If what we just did doesn't make you assume the same, I'm afraid I have sorely misread you."

"I suppose I don't have to tell anyone where I got it."

"Mercy." Nicholas dipped his head low and dropped one more soft of kiss on her lips. "I want you to wear it and tell everyone where you got it."

She lowered her head and looked up at him as if she were shy and not the kind of woman who had demanded he take off his cravat so she could look at his neck and then proceeded to use that cravat to make a game out of his sensibilities.

"If I do, then I suppose you will have the answer to the question you never even bothered to ask me." She smiled, pulled the door wide open, and stepped out of the room. "Put that cravat back on." She motioned toward it with her head then winked at him. "You look much too tempting without it."