He got to his feet and came toward her. It only took two steps but they seemed very momentous and significant steps to Viola, still gripping the doorknob. “I’m relieved as well. I think you misunderstood what I meant. It wasn’t an improper offer.”
“No, of course not,” she said. Do not disagree with the earl, she told herself. It would be rude. Or silly. Or . . . something, she wasn’t precisely sure what, but she didn’t want to argue with him now. Not when he was close enough that she could see the faint shadow of whiskers on his jaw and the pulse in his neck and the three different shades of blue in his eyes.
“If I had caused you to lose your position, it would have been my duty to see that you had another,” he explained. Almost idly he reached out and took her hand. “But I don’t really want to employ you.”
“No,” she agreed. As if she would get anything done if she saw him every day.
“Do you know why?” His voice was growing softer with each word. His thumb stroked over her knuckles. Viola’s knees were softening, and her heart was booming against her ribs.
“I think . . .” She had to wet her lips. “I suspect so.”
“Would it be unwelcome to you?”
No. She wanted him to kiss her more than ever, even after she’d just scolded Alexandra for letting a man kiss her, even though she’d been racked with anxiety at the thought of losing her position. Or perhaps that was why she wanted him to kiss her, because she’d thought she was on the brink of disaster and had been saved. Because she’d felt on the brink of disaster for most of the house party, and didn’t have the will to resist the temptation that was him any longer.
For answer she lifted her face to his and leaned forward. Winterton met her halfway, his lips brushing hers like the softest feather. “Winterton,” she whispered. “Please—”
“Viola.” His hands cupped her jaw. “My name is Wesley. Wes, really.”
She smiled in surprise. “Wes?”
“It rhymes with yes,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his tone, and then he was kissing her again, not so lightly this time, nor so briefly. Viola moaned when he teased her lips apart and his tongue swept into her mouth. His fingers curled into her hair, loosening the pins until it fell down her back. She arched against him, shivering when her breasts met his chest.
The earl—Wes—made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and gathered her closer. Viola realized she was on her toes, straining against him, clinging to his jacket. She felt drunk with desire, reveling in every shuddering breath he drew, every touch of his hands on her face, her shoulders, her back, her waist. No more was she a mere secretary and he a wealthy earl. In this moment they were simply man and woman, mad for each other.
“Viola.” He broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “Viola.” He pressed one more hard kiss on her mouth. “God above, I should go.”
“I know.” She burrowed into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. He was so male and strong and he smelled so good, she had to swallow back an invitation to stay the night here with her. She hoped it was the port making her reckless, but she feared deep down it was far more than that.
“Can I see you again?” His thumb rolled over her lower lip, followed by his own lips in a lingering kiss.
“Every day, my lord,” she said breathlessly. “Until you leave.”
He went very still. “Can I see you again like this—Viola and Wes, not Winterton and Mrs. Cavendish.”
Until you leave, she thought again. “Yes.”
A wolfish grin flashed across his face and he kissed her once more, his lips lingering. “God,” he moaned. “God help me, I want to stay but I am going.”
“Good night,” she whispered.
His eyes seemed to glow. “Good night, love.”
Wes returned to his own room with jaunty steps. What a bloody brilliant idea it had been to come to Kingstag Castle. Thank God Wessex had been away, and was still away. At the moment he didn’t even care if the Desnos atlas were here, either. He’d kissed Viola Cavendish, and she had kissed him back. He couldn’t wait to do it again.
He tried to check his racing pulse and remind himself to keep his wits about him. She was no society matron, looking for a fleeting affair to amuse herself. She was also not his equal, socially, and she would be cruelly hurt if their attraction to each other caused trouble. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt Viola.
A slight frown crossed his face. How was he to manage this? What would his mother do if a female servant at Winterbury were discovered in an affair with a guest? Of course, Viola was not really a servant, and even servants had some rights to personal relationships. She was the duchess’s personal secretary, a position of some importance, independence, and status. What’s more, she was a Cavendish cousin, and he . . .
Wes’s steps slowed to a halt. She was a respectable woman—not quite a lady but not so far beneath him. He needn’t be ashamed of his attraction to her. Why, who knew—in time, he might even—
“What happened?”
The tense question gave him a violent start of surprise. “Good lord, Justin,” he snapped. “What do you mean shouting at me?”
His nephew blinked at him in astonishment. He was peering through his barely-opened door. “I didn’t shout. You were standing in the corridor staring at nothing. Am I in terrible trouble?”
Right. Justin had been kissing Lady Alexandra. Wes’s heart settled into a more normal, if rapid, rhythm. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for his nephew to let him in. “We’ll discuss
