Chapter 13

Thirteen

WILLIAM'S APARTMENT, LONDON - JUNE 12, 1816

CELINE

A revelation. That was what he had called our last kiss. If that was a revelation, this was earth shattering.

All the eagerness and enthusiasm from the balcony, now with an added confidence. And, oh he had been paying attention. Somehow, some way, he had learned every single thing I loved. Memorized them. Things I hadn't even known myself. And he was trying them all. He used every bit of knowledge he had gleaned to take me apart, piece by piece, until all that was left was a puddle of desperation at his feet.

William's groans caressed my neck, sure as his lips. There was something heady in it—the knowledge that he took so much pleasure in the taste of my skin. His breathing was harsh and ragged, whispering along in a sensuous glide along my flesh.

His hand knotted in my hair, tugging enough to feel but not hurt. His other arm wrapped completely around my waist, solid and steady and there . He nipped my lip gently and soothed it with his tongue. Before I could accustom myself to a sensation, he had moved on to the next mind-blowingly sweet torture.

Breathlessly, I slipped one hand up to cup his cheek and trace the sharp corner of the bone. The one I hadn't been able to appreciate fully under the mask. The muscles beneath my fingers worked with each kiss.

His groan was sharp and needy when I wrapped my other hand behind his neck to pull him to me tighter, closer, harder.

I never wanted his kisses to stop. At the same time, other parts of me were crying for attention. If he could do this to my lips, what could he do with my neck and breasts and the space between my legs? The effect would be devastating.

As if sensing my thoughts, his lips slipped from mine, traveling along my jaw and finding a space just below my ear to ravish. Bolstered by the warm reception his lips received, the arm still wrapped around my waist made a brave dip to grip my bottom. A moan ripped from him at the touch.

He hitched my leg up around his waist and dragged his hand along my skirt-covered thigh. Even through far too many layers of skirts and breeches, there was no mistaking his appreciation.

With a reluctant groan, he pulled away, setting me back on two feet before stepping back. His lips were swollen from my attentions and his eyes hazy with lust.

My confusion must have read on my face because he answered my unasked question. "We need to stop."

"No, we don't." My answer came from someone else's lips. It could not have sprung from me with so little thought. Wherever it came from, it settled into the space between us, quivering there.

His throat bobbed and his cheek worked as he bit back whatever instinctive response my comment elicited. Azure eyes closed and he took a deep breath, releasing it before stepping forward.

He cupped my jaw and tilted my gaze to meet his. "Not tonight, love. It's been quite a day for the both of us. Lots of excitement, passion, and frights. Don't want to do anything you'll regret."

Delight at the endearment warred with undeterred and unabated lust, fighting for prominence against the instinctive pang of rejection.

"But you want to?" I asked, sounding pathetic even to my own ears.

He chuckled. "Wanting has never been the problem in our situation. I didn't want to want you. But… Every time I see you, every time we talk, every time we touch, every time we fight—I can't think for wanting you. You're in my blood, spreading through every inch of me until all that's left is you."

Oh… Oh my.

My stomach flipped as I stared into his eyes and my heart slipped out of rhythm in a way that was at once familiar and entirely new. I was not there. Not even close yet.

But it was within my grasp—that thing that I wanted most in the world and feared more than anything else. The sentiment that would leave me drowning and needing—not air—but him . My heart pounded out a staccato rhythm.

Could I do this again? If I did, would I survive the fallout?

"Told you I was a terrible poet…" He took a step back and his hand fell away from my cheek. It found the back of his neck in a sheepish scratch.

"No! That was beautiful. I just think you might be right. About tonight. It was an eventful day."

"Right. I should see you home."

"You don't have to, I can manage."

"Celine—Lady Rycliffe, I mean. If you think I'm allowing you to walk home by yourself after the events of this evening, you are sorely mistaken."

"I think we can dispense with the formalities at this point, don't you?"

"All right. Celine , I will be escorting you home. Now, gather your umbrella and your knife."

"It's your umbrella, William ." His eyes, midnight blue in the dim firelight, softened at the sound of his name. Even as a smirk crossed his lips.

"Not anymore. You got viscera on it."

I could not have contained the burst of laughter that broke from my chest for all the world.

"I really did, didn't I?"

He handed me his overcoat and I slipped my arms inside. It hung too wide and too long, but it was warm and smelled of sage and old books.

"You did. Is it strange if I tell you I found it rather attractive?" He led me down the steps and out into the night before hesitating.

"Left. And probably. But I rather like the idea of you being attracted to me." He turned, guiding me along with a protective hand hovering behind my back. It never found its place, but I could feel the warmth through the dress and coat and chemise.

"Are you going to tell me where you learned to do that?"

"Gabriel taught me to fence. I used it like a foil."

"Don't know why we sent an entire army to France. We could have sent you and your umbrella and the whole war would've been finished in an afternoon."

"It was mostly luck. They didn't expect me to fight back. Right here," I directed.

"No one would have expected you to fight back like that. You were glorious. Remind me to stop upsetting you."

We reached an even safer area of town than the merchant row he lived on. His hand dropped to his side. I found myself missing the warmth. During a furtive glance in his direction, I caught his gaze on my hand swinging softly at my side. He stared at it for two paces, three, four before taking a deep breath and wrapping his hand around it. Rewarding him for his bravery, I slotted our fingers together and he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Left, Cadieux House is just up there." I gestured with my chin, unwilling to let go of his hand for the sake of clarity. "The one with the white pillars and the wrought iron fence."

He nodded thoughtfully, then took another fortifying breath with a glance at our entwined hands. "Would it be presumptuous to ask if I could call on you?" He must have read my hesitation because he continued, "Just to see that you're all right, I mean. Sometimes bruises and such take time to develop."

"Yes, you may call on me. But I have to make a visit tomorrow morning. Perhaps in the afternoon? Or another day?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"You aren't needed in the office?"

"I'm the owner. I'm simultaneously always needed and never needed depending on who you ask and which moment you ask them." I rewarded his white lie with a genuine laugh as we reached the door.

"Goodnight, William," I whispered as Bouvier opened the door behind me with a disapproving tut.

"Goodnight, Celine." He turned and scampered away, likely eager to avoid whatever menacing expression my butler had donned.

"What on earth?" Bouvier stared, jaw slack at my frightful state.

"Not now, Bouvier."

"In the morning then. You had us all worried sick."

"I'm sorry to have upset you. You may lecture me at your leisure in the morning."

"Very well. I'll have a bath drawn for you. May I take your… men's great coat?"

"Please, and the umbrella as well."

"Of course." I wandered down the hall, eager to be elsewhere when he inspected the item.

"What did you do to this?" he called after me.

"You really do not wish to know."

"You will be the death of me, you know that don't you?"

"Goodnight, Bouvier."

"Goodnight, madame."