Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

Sabotage…

January 17, 1842

C aleb walked along the path with Marina beside him. They’d come to Hyde Park in his phaeton, ostensibly for a drive. But she’d suggested they disembark and take a short walk. Now, as they made their way deeper into the wooded area, she was quiet, somewhat lost in thought it seemed. “Was it a pleasant outing with your aunt yesterday?”

She laughed. “Pleasant is not necessarily how one should characterize shopping with Aunt Lillian. Herculean feat might be more apt. She shops with enthusiasm and endurance in equal measure. As if it were a sport, even. Thankfully, Aunt Willa accompanied us. She’s a staying hand for Lillian which is helpful.”

His own lips quirked with amusement. While he’d had limited interactions with the viscountess, he could certainly see that description fit her very well. “I confess that I have never been shopping with a lady before but now you have piqued my curiosity.”

“I shall ask her if she can muster another such outing for you. I daresay she will say yes and my uncle will simply pour himself a rather healthy portion of brandy.”

Caleb did laugh then. He enjoyed conversation with her—her wit, the way her eyes sparkled with humor, the way her lovely mouth shaped the words. It was dangerous. She was dangerous . For the past six days, he’d been doing his best impersonation of a devoted swain. He was beginning to realize that it was more than simply an act. Every moment spent with her was one he anticipated with glee.

As they continued along the path, his curiosity about something else, other than the feelings she stirred within him, was growing. The trees along the path were growing thicker and they had passed very few people for the past few minutes. “Is there a particular destination you have in mind for this walk, Marina?”

“It’s just up ahead,” she said with a slightly mysterious smile. “But we’ll need to step off the path.”

With a slightly raised brow, he followed her from the path and into a stand of trees. They formed almost a perfect circle creating a secluded spot in the middle of London’s busiest park.

“How on earth did you know about this place?” he asked. It was rather magical.

She walked toward a tree and pointed to a carving on it. It was a heart with the initials V and L inside it. “This is where my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Valentine met. Apparently brought together by a meddling old woman and a very ugly hat… I suppose the prospect of our getting married has prompted some sentimental reminiscing for her and she told me about it yesterday.”

He walked closer to the tree, coming to stand beside her. Reaching out, he traced the initials with his fingertips. “As it should. If one cannot be sentimental about getting married, or meeting the love of one’s life, then what is the point of it all?”

“The love of one’s life?” she asked.

Caleb smiled. “For all his comments about your aunt paupering him with her shopping, it’s clear to anyone that your uncle is hopelessly besotted with her even after nearly two decades. As can be said for Lord and Lady Deveril. Their devotion to one another is impossible to hide,” he observed.

“But we are not,” she said. “Besotted, that is.”

That state of being entirely besotted with her was not as far off as she might think. “Neither were they when first they met,” he countered. “I like you. I find you incredibly beautiful. And with time, I would hope that we will build a relationship much the same.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Then she looked up at him, her bright-blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “Would you think me terribly forward if I were to ask for more than a brief introduction to kissing?”

Caleb stepped closer to her, close enough that he could breathe in the light citrus scent that clung to her. “I would not think you forward. But I would think myself incredibly fortunate.”

He didn’t give her the chance to say more. They were at a point where words were not necessary. It was a time to show her with actions what he truly felt for her.

He cupped her face in his hand, using his thumb to tilt her face up to his. Initially, it was simply a repeat of their brief kiss the other night—to start. He brushed his lips over hers, once, then twice, and on the third pass settled his mouth more firmly over the enticing pillowy softness of hers. As he mapped the sweet curves of her lips, he eased his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. He detested the corsets and hoops and petticoats that kept him from feeling the natural curves of her figure. He wanted the softness of her body beneath his hands, not the confining and confounding architecture required for the fashions of the day.

She sighed, a soft pleasured sound that resulted in her lips parting ever so slightly beneath his. It was an opportunity he would not allow to pass. Sliding his tongue over the seam of her lips, he felt her gasp, felt her stiffen with surprise. But only for a moment. Her uncertainty simply evaporated and she leaned into him, allowing the kiss to take on a life of its own.

*

In all her wildest imaginings, in every lurid and forbidden novel she’d read, every whispered conversation between serving girls, kissing had always been a vague notion for her. It had seemed incomprehensible that someone pressing their lips to hers might have such a profound effect. How was it possible that such a simple act could have such consequences? But now, she understood just how foolishly naive that had been. Perhaps the actions involved might be as simple as that very mechanical description of what a kiss was, though clearly some of the details in those hushed conversations and ridiculously verbose tomes had been decidedly lacking in pertinent detail, the sensations such touches evoked were far beyond anything she could have possibly anticipated.

She was breathless with it, giddy as if she’d had too much champagne. Her blood raced in her veins and her heart pounded almost violently in her chest. Without conscious thought, she placed her hands on his chest, allowing them to slide upward until she locked her fingers behind his neck. In return, his arms tightened about her, hauling her against the hard planes of his chest. Even standing on her toes with her head tipped back, his rather impressive height was a hindrance. But clearly he was a man not about to let anything, including the fact that he was more than a head taller than she was, stand in his way.

He spun them about so that her back was to the tree, her feet perched upon the heavy roots at the base of it. It put them on a much more even level. Then he was leaning in, pressing the firmness of his chest against hers. And Marina realized something about herself—that whatever she might have believed about herself before, it was clear that there was passion within her. For he’d unlocked it, freed it. And she reveled in it.

Even through layers and layers of clothing—a not insignificant number—she could feel the heat of him. And for the first time, she felt that perhaps he truly did want her, that just as he’d said, the circumstances of her birth and the scandal attached to her name truly did not matter to him.

She couldn’t say how long the kiss lasted. It could have been minutes or hours because she was simply lost in it—the pleasure and intensity, the novelty, and the fact that while it was only her lips he kissed, her body responded quite fiercely in other areas that she dared not even consider.

After the longest time, he eased back from her slowly, smiling down at her. But there was hunger in his gaze. Even she could recognize it. “That is what I wanted to do the other night in the library.”

“I wish you had,” she murmured in response. “It was magical.”

His smile shifted slightly, taking on a hint of wickedness that made it too appealing by far. “I mean to do this again. Whenever the opportunity presents itself. That’s the trouble with kissing, you see? Once you know how marvelous it can be, you never want to stop. It’s a Pandora’s Box with no turning back.”

She didn’t want to go back. Not at all. Marina was solely focused on moving forward… with him.