Page 42 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

No spectacles . It didn’t matter that there was a chance Mr. Ashby might not wear spectacles beneath a mask—somehow, she knew it wasn’t him.

Anne’s heart fluttered and her breathing quickened as her hand brushed back down to the rough hairs of his beard, suppressing a sharp inhale that would have given away the depth of her surprise.

As her heart raced faster and faster at her discovery, she felt around his face a bit more, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

She didn’t need a shred of light to reveal who stood before her. When she felt the Phantom’s lips, she knew without a doubt who he really was.

How long had she studied this face? How many times had stared at these lips, secretly wondering what they felt like?

The Phantom and her secret admirer were one and the same. And he was Victor.

Which meant tonight, Anne could satisfy her curiosity. She could finally find out what it would be like to kiss him, to be in his arms. And then afterward, she would pretend it had never happened. He wanted to hide his identity from her? Perhaps that was wise.

“Who are you?” she asked to make it seem as if she didn’t know.

The Phantom remained quiet for a long beat.

Anne was nearly ready to turn and leave when he pressed a large hand to her back and lowered his face to hers.

Her eyes closed as his closeness warmed her exposed skin around her eye mask.

The bridge of his nose brushed across her temple and over to her ear.

Gently, his lips swept along the shell of her ear, the tingling sensation causing an unfurling within, like a flower opening up for the first time.

“I am of the shadows,” he responded in a private voice. “Your Phantom, your endless admirer.”

She reached up to cup his cheek to feel the roughness of his face once more. It was soft, but also somehow rough at the same time. She sighed, contented.

As if encouraged by her reaction, the Phantom swept his lips down to her neck, gently trailing a hot line with the tip of his tongue.

Anne’s eyebrows lifted high in the dark—she had not been expecting that from Victor.

Desiring more, she angled her head to the side in invitation, and he eagerly took it, pressing a soft and slow kiss to her neck.

Despite his meandering pace, she could sense his hunger, his desire, barely restrained in the way his hand flexed on her back.

But why wasn’t he taking what he wanted? She was willing. Very willing. He had said he couldn’t, but surely, she misunderstood what he’d meant by that?

Hoping to encourage him, Anne let out a small moan. And he responded with a growl.

Oh, my. Growling during intimacy had never happened to her before. But it was the most magnificent sound she had ever heard.

Her mind liquified by his closeness as heat blazed off of him and scorched her despite the already warm, summer night. Soon, she would be nothing but a puddle, she was certain of it.

But she wasn’t happy with innocent caresses. She must have more, especially as this would be the only time anything would happen between them. Having Victor all to herself in the dark, their passion held secret in the branches of this willow tree, it made her greedy. It had been so long…

Would he be prim and proper? Or would the darkness that always seemed to shadow him break him out of his restraints?

Hoping to encourage him further, she gave him a deep, throaty laugh as she twisted her fingers into his tunic.

The tension between them seemed to snap and finally— finally —they could hold back no more and crashed together.

Her arms circled back around his neck as his wrapped around her waist. As mouths pressed hard together, he pulled her tight and close to the firmness of his body, the muscles in his arms, his torso, even his legs flexing with their erratic movements.

He fumbled around in the dark, more so than her, but once she’d angled her head the right way, their mouths fit together as perfect as a puzzle.

His tongue swept over hers, eager, searching.

He tasted like mint, and she briefly envisioned him nervously brushing his teeth before leaving for the masquerade, knowing what he would do once he found her.

She couldn’t help but smile against him at the thought, and this caused him to pull away for a breath.

Victor then nibbled at her bottom lip and she gasped.

He was full of surprises—never would she have expected any of this playfulness from him.

And it was doing a number to her mind and her heart.

Anne fisted the front of his tunic and pulled him farther into the darkness of the willow tree. She stopped when she backed against the trunk of the large tree, and Victor’s breathing became desperately labored.

“Are you done with me already?” She traced a finger over his lower lip and made sure to ask in a velvet voice.

He swore under his breath and she allowed herself to smile widely under the cover of darkness. For she heard his voice quite clearly then and there was no mistaking it for anyone else.

Anne pulled him back down to her and the desperation from their first kiss moments ago— their first kiss , the thought made her stomach flip—had cooled.

Victor took her face in his hands, tilted her face further up, and kissed her much slower this time.

He brushed his lips over hers, their breaths mingling together in the humid, night air as his front pushed against her, her back pressing hard against the rough tree bark behind her.

This was heat. This was passion. This is what mutual desire felt like. A hunger she had had for so long was so close to being satisfied.

But there was something else going on too that caused her pause. The fire of desire that burned between them—it didn’t feel new. It felt strangely familiar, a dim but low glow just waiting for the oxygen it needed to explode into an inferno.

And tonight, it received that oxygen and the inferno burned in her heart.

Anne accepted Victor’s low, slow kiss but wondered what that roaring, hot feeling in her heart was.

It didn’t matter, though, did it?

Victor obviously didn’t want their passion realized outside of tonight, and quite frankly, neither did she. Whatever flamed between them this evening would never go beyond the willow tree. There were too many walls to knock down between them. It would be an impossible, heartbreaking feat.

Reaching up to caress the muscular arms, she felt the round hardness of them flex in response to her searching touch.

For some reason, he seemed rather content with following her lead and the fire in her heart sparked at the thought.

If they were going to move forward, she would simply have to take them there.

Quite happy to do so while Victor’s large hands held her hips, Anne reached under and up his tunic to begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Victor’s breathing became loud and labored and it swept down over her neck, but he didn’t protest. She unbuttoned halfway down his shirt and, unable to hold back any longer, allowed her hands to roam over hot skin.

His grip on her hips tightened with possession as she explored his body in the darkness, his hot breath sweeping over her faster and faster.

But here, she received another unexpected surprise.

Thick, rough hair covered his chest and trailed down his torso.

Victor was quite hairy, which was a rather unexpected discovery for Anne, and it surprised her how much she liked it. But she needed to feel all of it.

“Forgive me, I—” His voice waivered, as if nervous, and he let her go. Was he embarrassed by his body?

“Shh.” Anne ran her fingers through the hair, over the hard pectorals and the rigid planes of his stomach. As her fingers trailed slow, lower and lower, he took in a sharp breath. However, something about that inhale did not sound like he was pleased.

So she moved back up. “I want to see you,” she said, hoping to coax him out of his shell.

“I want to see this.” She luxuriated in the hair upon his body.

Victor again pressed his mouth hard to hers and kissed her with wild passion, pulling her close, rendering her hands unable to move.

When she needed to breathe she pulled away, and she removed her hands from his front.

“And I want to see this.” She put one hand to his face.

“No,” he whispered.

“Please.” It almost came out as a plea. Why didn’t he want her to know who he was? And why did she want to see so bad? She was perfectly happy with this anonymous passion beneath the willow tree. She didn’t want it to go beyond this.

Or so she had thought. But what would happen if Victor did reveal himself? Could this continue?

Did she want it to?

It didn’t matter because he didn’t respond. For a moment, she thought he was going to let go of her and leave. Instead, he threw her off completely by going down to his knees and burying his face into her stomach while wrapping his arms tightly around her.

What in the world?

Shocked, and unsure what to do, Anne ran her fingers through his hair and waited. When he didn’t do anything further, she lowered to the ground, too.

He responded by gripping her waist with his hands. He could lift her with ease—he had done it before. He could, quite literally, do whatever he wanted with her right now.

Her heart, her body, screamed with desperation. Do it. I don’t want anyone else. She didn’t want Mr. Ashby. She didn’t want another man. All she wanted, all she had ever wanted, was Victor.

“Take me,” she said in a low voice. His breathing began to quicken and she pressed soft kisses to his rough cheek, to his jaw, to his neck. She gently sucked his skin there and felt his ribs expanding quickly, his hands tightening their hold on her. She repeated her request. “Take me. Please.”

He moved quickly. Next thing she knew, her costume was crushed beneath her and her swan hat had tumbled off.

Victor hovered over her, his hands planted on the ground on either side of her shoulders.

His breathing was loud, erratic. She could feel him staring down at her, though neither of them could see much.

But she could also sense that he was having an internal battle with himself.

Was being with her really such a battle, though?

“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care,” she lied, hoping to reassure him.

“All I want is you, Phantom. I look for you everywhere I go, hoping to find you in the shadows again. I want you to follow me. I want you to watch me. I want you to touch me anywhere and everywhere and devour me. I am at your mercy to do with as you wish. And I am very willing in that regard. You can feel for yourself if you don’t believe me. ”

He swore loudly again. “Lady Litchfield, you haunt me in my wicked dreams. You have no idea what you are daring me to do.” Before she could respond, he slammed his mouth down to hers.

Their tongues were at war with each other—hot, fast, desperate, that heated, erratic stumbling fire tumbling between them.

She gripped his hair with one hand and pulled up the hem of her skirt with the other.

But when he realized what she was doing he stilled, and the heat around them suddenly chilled.

She had gone too far.

“No.” He choked the word out and, quick as lightning, was back up on his feet. “Forgive me.” Victor was fully talking in his normal voice now, not the raspy whisper he had been using to conceal himself. Did he even realize that? “Christ, what in the blazes am I doing?”

Anne, now panicking, hurried up to her feet, too. “Not enough.” She tried to add a laugh.

But he didn’t respond in kind.

“Please—” She reached out to him. He didn’t step away, and in fact pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.

Victor, oh, Victor! Don’t shy away now! “What’s the matter? Why are you stopping?”

“I told you.” He was back to his whispered voice. “I cannot do that.”

Anne frowned to herself. Why wouldn’t a man be able to take her? “Why not? Are you maimed?”

He made a strained, choking noise. “No.”

“Then why can’t you? I’m willing, if that hasn’t been clear. If you’re worried about pregnancy, all you need to do is ensure you pull out at the appropriate moment.”

However, he didn’t respond to that. For a long and confusing moment, they stood in the silent embrace, their breathing fast, hard.

But then he took her hand. He lifted it and placed her open palm over his heart, to feel how wild his heart was beating—for her.

He didn’t utter another word, still didn’t explain why he couldn’t lie with her, but in this moment showed her everything he needed to.

Understanding started to dawn on her. Victor’s feelings for her were far more potent than she ever would have imagined.

Unlike her, he was attracted to her beyond physical desires.

Was he…in love with her? Was that what he was trying to show her?

Anne gasped and, terrified, locked away such thoughts.

And in response, he stepped away, walking around to presumably find his costume.

Then there was a brief bit of light as he parted the willow branches and disappeared.

He’d left her behind without saying goodbye.

Anne’s hand flew to her mouth to barely suppress the sob that had escaped.

*

At the end of the night, once they had returned to Summerwood, and once Anne was out of her costume and in her nightgown, she stood at the door between her room and Victor’s room.

Anne’s hand rested upon the cold wood as she stared at the brass doorknob, emotion in her thrashing around violently.

Victor’s intentions with her were as clear as mud.

He didn’t want to use her, as he had the opportunity to do so.

But he wanted nothing to do with her, either, at least in the way a man wanted a woman and a woman wanted a man.

And he wanted nothing to do with her outside of their tryst beneath the willow tree.

He’d only wanted those few minutes of kissing, and nothing more.

But why?

And why didn’t he want her now, here, in their own bedrooms? He could simply knock upon her door, admit to everything, apologize, and they could climb into bed. No one had to know. Had he perhaps come to decide their feelings for each other were imbalanced?

It didn’t matter, anyway, because there was no knock from him. And though she made to knock on his door several times, she never did manage to do it.

Instead, she went back to her vanity and pulled out her list of rules.

With her pen in hand, she underlined and circled and boxed and drew angry, jagged arrows pointing to the very last rule:

Never fall in love .