Chapter Twelve

H eloise was in her usual seat when Peter arrived at the library the next morning. Somehow, he had expected a change, some hint that he had begun the sequence of events that would separate them. But everything was the same, and when she saw him, she gave him a smile so full of warm affection that he flinched.

"Hello," she greeted him. "Where did you go off to yesterday?"

Peter stood in the entryway with a ball of ice in his gut. "I had something to drop in the post."

"I see." When he didn't move, she came around to the front of the table, gave a little backwards hop, and seated herself on the dark wooden surface. The table was high enough that her legs dangled, and she kicked her feet, swishing her white skirts back and forth girlishly.

Peter went to her like a man in a dream. When he was close enough, she reached out, got a grip on his waistcoat, and tugged. He stumbled forward until his thighs met the edge of the table, his hips bracketed between her parted legs, the rippling sea of her skirts flowing over them both.

He was crowding her, but she didn't seem to mind. She toyed with the silver buttons on his waistcoat, lightly stroking the surrounding silk. He breathed her in, clean soap, dry paper and the sweet suggestion of ink. Her touch wandered up to the white linen of his neckcloth. He felt her fingers in the folds, tugging curiously and sending shivers down his spine.

"May I take this off?" She whispered it, and he nodded helplessly. With utmost care, she drew the ends of the fabric out of his collar and teased loose the knot. As she worked, her fingers brushed against his bare throat, small, teasing caresses as unpredictable as lightning strikes. Their faces were inches apart, her teeth sunk into the plush surface of her bottom lip. When she leaned closer to draw the cloth from around his neck, her breasts pressed softly against his chest. Peter could scarcely breathe; having his cravat removed by Heloise was the most unbearably erotic experience of his life. Then it was gone, and the cool air kissed his heated, sensitive skin.

Heloise held the loose pile of linen in her lap and gazed up at him with frank, unashamed desire. She touched his collarbone, traced the tip of her finger down to the notch at the base of his throat. A little hair was exposed beneath the vee of his shirt; she petted it, feeling the texture of the soft curls.

"I suppose there's more on your chest." Before he could answer she hooked a finger into his shirt collar, pulled it away from his body and peeked inside.

Peter huffed out a laugh, then gasped when Heloise put her lips to his neck. She rubbed petal-soft kisses over his throat, tasting and nibbling, and his limbs filled with molten heat, need clenching in his gut. When he felt the tip of her tongue on the flesh beneath his jaw, he began to shake. He kept his hands fisted at his sides; he feared that if he touched her, he wouldn't stop until she was flat on her back on the table with her skirts pushed up to her waist.

But when her teeth closed hesitantly on his earlobe, his control snapped. He snaked one arm around her waist, put the other at the back of her neck, and drew her in for a starving kiss. The motion brought them together so that his stiff member prodded rudely at the curve of her belly.

They froze, clutching each other, red-faced and panting.

"I know what that is." Heloise looked up at him with wide, serious eyes.

"Do you, now?"

"Yes. I've read Chaucer."

Peter wheezed and laid his forehead against hers. Heloise laughed softly, and then her hand slid down his stomach.

"We could continue. With our lessons, I mean." She slipped her hand lower, and he snatched her wrist, grasping it too tightly.

"No." He took a step back and dropped her arm. Her face crumpled in confusion, but when he looked at her, all he could see was his treatise sitting in the bottom of the post box. "We shouldn't."

"Whyever not?"

Because it will hurt more when I leave, he wanted to say. Because you deserve better than a quick grope in the library. Because I'm halfway to losing my heart to you. But instead, he said the stupidest thing imaginable, which was "Some experiences should be shared only with your husband."

That did the trick. Heloise's mouth dropped open. She slid off the table and onto two feet while Peter straightened his vest. He held out his hand, and she passed him his cravat.

"How unfortunate," she said, watching him wind and retie the cloth. "Considering that I will never marry."

"You say so now." Peter was busy buttoning a cuff that had come undone and didn't look up. "But someday, you'll—"

"Don't."

Her voice was so cold that Peter's head snapped up. Heloise was rigid, shoulders back, lips pale.

"Don't you dare condescend to me," she said. "I will never, under any circumstances, consent to be married."