Page 27

"Of course," Edward said, his composure remarkable considering he'd been kissing me senseless thirty seconds ago. "We were just leaving."
As we filed out, James fell into step beside me.
"Well," he said quietly, "that was educational."
I shot him a look, feeling heat crawl up my neck. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course not." His smile was knowing but kind. "For what it's worth, you both look like you've been through a tornado. A very intimate tornado."
"James," Edward warned.
"What? I'm just saying. If anyone asks, you were both overcome by the excitement of an emergency evacuation. Happens all the time."
As we made our way back through the main dining room and the photographers apparently having been "handled", I caught Edward's reflection in one of the mirrors. His hair was still mussed from my hands, his tie slightly askew. And his expression...
Gone was the careful control, the measured politeness.
Instead, he looked like a man who'd just lost a battle with himself—and wasn't entirely sorry about it.
When he caught me watching, something passed between us. An understanding, maybe. Or a promise.
"I should get you back to the manor," he said quietly.
"Should you?"
His eyes darkened. "Yes. Before I do something even more inadvisable than what I just did."
As we left Fortnum & Mason, I caught James watching us both with the keen interest of someone who collected secrets for a living.
I just shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
The manor was silent, its halls bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. I wandered aimlessly, my bare feet padding against the cold marble floors, the tension from the afternoon still coiled tight within me.
London had been a whirlwind—a blur of cameras, whispers, and unspoken words between Edward and me. But it was the words we hadn’t said that lingered, heavy and unresolved, like a storm waiting to break.
I couldn’t sleep. My mind was a tempest, replaying every moment, every glance, every touch that had passed between us.
Edward’s study door was ajar, a sliver of lamplight spilling into the corridor, beckoning me closer. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the polished wood, knowing I shouldn’t. But the pull was too strong, the need to see him—to understand—overwhelming.
I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly in the stillness. Edward sat behind his desk, his broad shoulders hunched over a stack of papers, his dark hair falling over his forehead. He looked up as I entered, his sharp features softening at the sight of me.“Lili,”he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if he’d been waiting for me.
“I couldn’t sleep,”I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
The room felt charged, the air thick with unspoken desire. I stepped further inside, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of the day pressing down on us both.
Edward set aside his papers, his gaze intense, searching.“Neither couldI,”he confessed, leaning back in his chair.“I’ve been thinking about today.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.“Metoo.”
The words felt inadequate, a poor reflection of the storm raging inside me. I wanted to tell him everything—how his presence unnerved me, how his touch earlier had sent shivers down my spine, how I’d spent the entire afternoon fighting the urge to close the distance between us.
But the words stuck in my throat, tangled in fear and uncertainty.
Edward stood, his tall frame closing the space between us.
I looked up at him, my breath catching in my chest. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but I saw the same longing I felt reflected in them.“Edward—”I started, but he silenced me with a finger to my lips.
His touch was electric, sending a jolt through me.