She nudged his leg with her big toe. “I hope we win tomorrow.”
He shifted a bit. “Me, too.”
She sighed, rolled over, and faced her side of the tent again. No matter how much she knew she shouldn’t be behaving the way she was behaving, it was as if she couldn’t help herself. Harry had some kind of mysterious pull on her. He made her forget everything she knew to be right.
He was simply so…
Handsome.
And lovable.
And funny, when he wasn’t being a stubborn mule.
And he understood her. Better than anyone.
She pushed her foot backward and made contact with his leg again.
“What’re you doing?” he said, not angry. Not even annoyed. But alert.
“Nothing.” She suddenly felt stupid. She would quit bothering him.
So she stared at a pillow this time and decided to count the number of feathery shapes woven into the fabric. Maybe that would help her sleep. The cozy patter of the rain on the tent lulled her somewhat, but still she went on, doggedly counting.
She’d reached forty-five when she felt a warm, solid arm drape itself over her body.
He pulled her closer. “You can’t sleep, can you?”
“I think I’ll be able to.
But then she opened them again. “I forgot to say good night.”
“Oh?” said Harry softly, but he had a big, bearlike voice, the kind he got in
“Good night,” she whispered, and laid her palms against his chest. Because it was there. In the way.
She couldn’t help herself. She had to rub that chest with her palm. It was so warm, and beautiful, with those fine, jet black hairs sprinkled across it.
“I thought you were exhausted.”
She sighed. “Me, too.” But then she wrapped her bare feet around his calves. Harry made her feel so…cozy. And this tent of Prinny’s was perfect.
“You’ve got cold feet,” he said, still with that bear voice she felt flattered to have caused him to employ.
He rubbed her back with his free hand.
“Sorry.” She grinned, and wrapped her feet around him even more.
He began a long, luxurious sweep of warm palm over her bottom. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Even when you’re perfectly annoying.”
She kissed his chest and looked up, into his brown eyes glinted with flecks of gold. Their color was like a favorite autumn leaf she’d pressed into her diary. “You, too,” she said.
Which was a perfectly good hint that she wanted him to kiss her. Would he understand?
But wait.
“Harry.” She lifted her head. “The lamp’s still burning.”
“I know.” He smiled, lifted his head, oh-so-gently pushed her on her back, and began to ravish her mouth with a warm, slow kiss. “I suspected you wouldn’t be as ready for sleep as you claimed to be.”
She knew she should be offended. But all she could think, as she kissed him back, was that this moment was bliss.
Pure bliss.
Chapter 32
He shouldn’t be doing this, Harry’s conscience said to him while he kissed Molly. He’d told himself he would stay away.
But she was so…irresistible. Why else would he ignore every ounce of common sense he had and persist?
Perhaps it was because she wore that exotic harem outfit. Or because her body strained toward him, and her mouth was so eager. And perhaps it was because she was simply…Molly.
He lifted his head. “We should stop now,” he forced himself to say.
Molly had that same dreamy look she’d had in the carriage the first time he’d kissed her. “I don’t want to,” she whispered, and began to play with his hair.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he groaned, his elbows propped on either side of her head. He was extremely aroused and was doing his best to keep his lower half away from her.
She sat up, her hair flying forward and settling on her shoulders. “Harry,” she said, quite agitated. “I want to be your true mistress.”
He sighed. “Molly—”
“Really.” She moved even closer to him. “I don’t want to marry a boring old squire and have his brats. And what are my chances in London of finding someone who…who understands me?”
“It will happen,” he soothed her.
“No,” she said with conviction. “I’ll reject all of them. Because once they discover what I’m really like—which is very trying, I’m well aware, and quite fond of kissing—I’ll be kept up in a turret or something.” She crossed her arms and stared at him.
He played with her hair. “It’s healthy to want to do what we do together.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Your husband will not have a disgust of you. He’ll want to be with you this way all the time. He won’t want to keep you in a turret.”
Her eyes clouded.
“What is it?” He hated to see her eyes like that.
“I—I don’t like knowing you’ll be with Anne Riordan this way,” she said. “Although it’s almost inevitable, isn’t it?”
“We must stay confident,” he said as brightly as he could.
“Right.” She sighed. “But if I do win Most Delectable Companion, you must find me a husband.”
“I know.”
She stared at him. “I wish—”
“What?”
She swallowed. “I wish it could be you.”
Oh, God. She was breaking his heart.
“Molly.” How could he say this? “I—I’m not good enough for you. You deserve—”
“You mean you’re not ready to stop being an Impossible Bachelor.” Her eyes got a little glassy.
Was she going to cry?
He sat silent for a moment. He didn’t want hers to be another heart he broke. He cared about her far too much.
“No,” he said, struggling to identify what it really was that kept him from marrying. “It’s not that. It’s just that…I have nothing to offer.”
That was it.
“Why?” she asked.
Indeed. Why?
Whose fault was it, really, that other than that brief moment in the army when he’d performed his duty to the best of his ability, he’d accomplished nothing else in his adult life of any benefit to anyone?
His father’s fault?
The fault of all the gossips and naysayers in his life?
