Chapter 11

Beatrice sat awkwardly pressed against him. Her ankle hurt, but that was nothing compared to the confusion within her now. All because of him. Why had he done that? Because they were alone and she was right there and he actually was not a gentleman after all? She kept her gaze fixed on the faint flicker of the lamp.

She was not about to look at him.

She could still feel the kiss. He had taken charge, kissed her like he had the right. Like she had given him that right, too. Like it was not the first time he had kissed her, even though it was.

Then he had pulled back, told her she was just too tempting for a man to resist, kissed her on the forehead, and then tucked her head under his chin and pulled the blanket tighter around them both. His arms were still around her, holding her front pressed to his side.

It felt…odd. Right, though. Safe. She did feel safe right where she was. Beatrice wanted to press even closer, to run her fingers over his broad chest to feel how he was shaped. Her fingers almost tingled—she had never touched a man this close before.

The last time a man’s arms had been around her had felt nothing like this. She had been excited, yes. Sandy had been the most sought after lad in Braeford, and he had kissed her. Her first kiss. But being kissed by this man was far different. Sandy had been all of twenty-five. And he had not been very good at the kissing. As Beatrice had just discovered tonight.

Oscar Collins was far more skilled at kissing. Her entire body still tingled. Beatrice was still trying to make sense of it. Elspeth had told her once that when her Iagan kissed her, the entire world lit fire.

Now Beatrice understood exactly what Elspeth meant. She just did not know what she wanted to do about it.

It had left her shaken. She hated that she could still feel it—on her mouth, on her skin. It had been her second real kiss. The first had been very clumsy. This one was different, but she was not sure how.

Oscar—she could never call a man by his title now that he had kissed her so thoroughly—had kissed her so deliberately. Like he was making a promise of some sort. Like he wanted something specific. From her. No one else.

And his large hand was still spread over her back, under the blankets. He had no business being under the blankets with her tonight, she knew that. But it was cold and he was not. He was strong and sure and warm and being next to him felt right.

She did not know what else she should do now. The man had confused her. It was all his fault.

She wanted to say something, to shatter the silence, but she did not know what to say. Every thought that rose to the surface felt wrong, too sharp or too soft.

Finally, the words escaped her, quiet and strained. “Why did you do that?”

She heard him shift. The faint scrape of his boot against the wood was the only answer for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even. “Do what?”

“You kissed me,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Why?”

“I did. Because I wanted to.”

“ Because I wanted to is not a reason.”

“It is reason enough. For me. I want to kiss you again, Beatrice. And I will, too. You’d best get accustomed to that idea. I plan to be kissing you quite a lot going forward.”

She still refused to look at him, but she could hear the quiet confidence in his voice. It made her want to argue. She wanted to push back against the certainty he seemed to have about everything—including her. She did not like this man just making unilateral decisions about her, or her life. It was not this man’s right. She had not given it to him.

“It is no reason,” she said firmly. “We are strangers. You do not ken me at all.”

“Do you think I would kiss a woman I did not know?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made her pulse quicken.

“You have known me for three days. That is hardly proper for kissing a lass?—”

“Proper? We are sitting in a barn in the middle of the night after a carriage accident. I think propriety left hours ago.”

“You should not have kissed me.”

“I know. But I am not sorry. Like I said, I will be kissing you again. I wish you would let me kiss you more tonight, but I know not to push too hard.”

She just looked at him. Trying to figure him out. The flickering lamplight cast shadows across his face, making him look older, sharper. His gaze was steady, watching her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach twist again.

“You should be.” Of course he was not sorry. She could see it in his eyes, in the faint smirk on his lips. He meant what he had done, and that terrified her more than the kiss itself.

“I am not. I have plans for you.”

“You are the most confusing man. You have no right to have plans for me at all.”

“I will not kiss you again tonight. Unless you ask me to.”

Unless she asked? Beatrice pulled in a sharp breath. As she imagined doing just that. Her cheeks burned hotter than the lamp. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because I can see the question in your eyes. And I did not want you to wonder. Yes, Beatrice. I will kiss you again. All you have to do is ask. ”

She stared at him, her chest tightening with something she could not name. She did not know what to make of him. Of any of this. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders and said nothing. She knew she would not sleep.

How could she? When the memory of his kiss burned hotter than the pain in her ankle? When she could not stop wondering what he would do next?