Chapter Five

O nce Victor had her in his arms, he couldn't let go—to keep her from falling, of course.

Or so he told himself as he steadied his feet on the lower branch.

"I cannot promise you anything…" she whispered. Her lashes fluttered and she met his stare.

He was a duke, for God's sake, and yet he couldn't promise anything either.

With her hands around his neck, her ample breasts pressed against his chest. Only the two of them existed—holding tight to a tree trunk nearly thirty feet off the ground.

Nestled on top of the world, anything was possible.

"Memento mori…" he whispered. It felt like an endearment.

"Umm hmm…" He felt her little nod.

Having watched her cope with his mother's demands for nearly a year, he respected this woman's strength and her will. But she was also clever, a little rebellious, and adorably fetching.

All of which had been slowly chipping away at his reservations.

"I… I am afraid of falling."

"If you fall, so do I," he said.

She licked her lips. "It might be too late." Her smile was a little sad and a little apologetic.

But then the clouds in his future shifted, revealing an alternate path—one he'd not allowed himself to truly contemplate.

She was a companion—his mother's companion.

But her lips were the perfect shade of pink, and shining, and she did nothing to hide her thoughts.

Falling. She was afraid of falling.

For him.

Victor grazed his chin along the side of her face, bound by himself, but also oddly free. "So sweet." So perfect. How long had he longed for her?

"Your Grace," she whispered.

"Miss Sparrow," he returned. " Evalina."

Had he known all along it would come to this?

He grazed the tip of his tongue along her jaw, her tender flesh like that of a ripe peach. Finding the edge of her mouth, his breath mingled with hers.

"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked. Blast and damn, her voice made him feel more powerful than his title ever could.

How scandalous could a kiss be, hanging in a tree? He succumbed.

Surrender had never been so satisfying.

It was his last thought as his soul left his body, making room for hers.

Evalina's lips parted on a sigh, sweeter than honey, new and exciting, but also…

Like coming home.

His world tilted and he tightened his arm around her waist, but still she wasn't close enough. "Evalina," he murmured against her mouth.

He explored behind her teeth, savoring velvet heat, and her tongue sparred with his.

It was everything, and yet he wanted more. When he would have explored her curves, tested the weight of her breasts, touched tender skin, he was thwarted. Because his hands were occupied, one around the tree, the other around her.

Their lips made a soft kissing sound when she pulled away. "Your Grace." Her voice was a little strained, her eyes clouded with desire.

"Victor," he said.

"Victor. Today." Of course, she knew the ways of the world. It was she who'd invited him on this adventure, and yet, he spied a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. "Only today," she said.

She was right, wasn't she? Reluctant to dwell on that truth, he sought her mouth again. Having denied himself for so long, he wasn't prepared for this to end. Hell, it had barely begun.

He needed to taste her again, drink her essence, explore. Claim.

It was innocent enough.

Until it wasn't.

He was hard and throbbing, and if they were anywhere else…

He wasn't accustomed to indulging himself. He was a man who walked a straight line—a man who not only followed the rules, but enforced them. With everyone except for…

This woman.

But indulge he did. And when she needed a breath, he trailed his mouth to her jaw, dragging his teeth and tongue over her skin. This was a moment out of time. This wasn't real. It shouldn't be real.

But it was, and if he had any doubt, his obvious desire cleared that right up.

"I'm sorry," he practically hissed—frustrated.

"I didn't plan this." She ducked her head, her hair soft beneath his chin.

"I know," he reassured her.

His answer had her looking up at him again. "How do you know?"

She wasn't afraid of him. She didn't treat him like a duke. She treated him like an equal. Just a man.

He would give her an honest answer. "I've been watching you for three hundred and seven days. I…" Victor shook his head, amazed by what he was saying. "I know you."

She didn't even blink, but tilted her head to the side, so he continued.

"The day you arrived at Glenbrook Castle, you were wearing a mint gown, cotton, I believe, with little vines embroidered along the hem. And the sleeves were short and puffy." He grimaced to himself. "If I remember correctly."

"Oh." Her throat moved. "It's my favorite."

"You curtsied, rather gracefully, in fact." Victor smiled, remembering. "Too gracefully." Because the right side of her mouth had quirked up just enough so he could tell she was… playing.

"You could have sent me away." She touched her fingertips to the side of his face.

"Never," he answered.

"I thought you were the most handsome man alive."

Before he could respond, a drop of water landed on her cheek, and then another. The weather, which had been so wonderfully cooperative earlier, had turned.

Her expression reflected his own disappointment.

Lightning flashed followed by rolling thunder. It was time to return to earth.

"Come on now, we can have our picnic in the chapel."

"But the vicar—?"

"Is in London this week." Acting on impulse, Victor winked. "We'll have it to ourselves." He would behave himself inside a chapel.

And as the drops of rain grew larger and more plentiful, he maneuvered them both onto a different branch, still gripping her hip.

"I can do it myself, you know."

"I know," he answered.

"Very well." He'd learned to recognize laughter in her voice.

Something had shifted between them, and whenever presented with the opportunity, she touched him, brushing his shoulder or one of his arms. And he did the same.

Securing her foot on a branch by grasping her ankle… longer than strictly necessary.

A hand on the back of her thigh, over her gown, normally quite inappropriate.

And when she landed on the grassy floor, he grasped her waist, steadying her at the same time the storm unleashed.

Victor scooped up their picnic basket and, with no one but the ghosts buried in the graveyard to witness their mad dash, they scurried to take shelter in the nearby chapel.

By the time they burst into the dark and quiet sanctuary, both of them were soaked. Breathless.

And laughing.

Her voice rivaled any church bells, hearty, happy, and utterly uninhibited.

Such a simple moment, but Victor couldn't help but believe it could change his life forever. The decision to embrace a new direction was his and his alone.

But could he? And if he did, would she have him?

He tore off his jacket, which had afforded him some protection, and draped it around her shoulders. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto her face, trailing along her smooth brow and cheeks in sparkling miniature streams. One drop gathered at the tip of her nose. Even shivering, she was smiling and she was beautiful.

Raw. Extraordinarily natural.

Not in the made-up manner ladies of his ilk strived for, but from within—a beauty that would never fade.

A gravitational pull existed between them, and before he could second guess himself, he walked her backwards until she was pressed against the wall.

With his palms flat against the old stones, breathing heavily, he touched his forehead to hers.

"Thank you." The words were anemic, but he wasn't sure how else to express what he was feeling.

"Don't thank me." Her chest heaved from running, and she was flushed, a pleasant rosy color infusing her cheeks. "Just kiss me again."

She needn't ask twice.

Moving closer, pressing his body along hers, Victor crushed their mouths together.

They both stood on solid ground—a stone floor, actually.

And this time, the kiss could go on and on and on… This time, they could fall together.