“I’ll escort you to your aunt’s home.” He held out his bare hand. Damn, but he was cold. He should have remained by the fire with Jack, the Earl of Tidemore. This very moment, he could be drinking ale and eating a large breakfast. Instead, he was freezing his sorry ass chasing a woman who’d damn near ruined the last few years of his life.
She stared at his hand for a moment, looking as though she wanted to argue with him. A part of him wanted to hear her explanation but he didn’t want to open all of this up again. It would be akin to tearing open a wound that was nearly healed.
Nick hardened himself when she flicked tearful eyes up at him.
“But I…” She faltered and then, summoning a dispassionate expression, placed her gloved hand in his.
That was Eve: cool, proper, dignified. It was her true self. He’d been fooled by the few moments of passion they’d shared.
Hadn’t he?
Nick clasped his hand around her fingers and then tugged harder than was necessary, bringing her to her feet but also causing her to stumble into him.
Damn, she smelled like apples and cinnamon. Nick wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her closer. Even in her coat, she felt fragile.
She buried her face against his chest but then just as quickly raised it and went to pull away. “Nicholas, please. I don’t think we understand—”
Unable to help himself, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. Her soft lips parted on a gasp, and he delved inside with his tongue. He didn’t want to hear excuses. And yet, having her so near evoked a desire he couldn’t deny.
She tasted spicy, warm, and decadent. Her body trembled, and he lifted one hand to the back of her head so he could explore deeper. Her hands fluttered between them for a few seconds before she settled them against his chest and then up and around his neck.
His teeth practically ground against hers, his hunger was so great.
Lost to all reason, but feeling alive for the first time in months, he trailed his mouth along her jaw and then dipped his face into the side of her neck. This time when he inhaled, he caught a whiff of the clean scent of her soap—sage and lavender. He’d loved this scent. He’d craved this scent for months.
He abruptly dropped his arms and stepped back.
Her lips wet and swollen from his kiss, she blinked as though to find her bearings. “Why would you do that?” She looked more confused than he felt.
“Because despite your hasty departure last spring, this…” he indicated the space between the two of them, “was never in doubt.” He hated that she still had the ability to unbridle this passion in him. He’d never allow a woman that sort of power again. “If you didn’t want to marry, why didn’t you just tell me? I’d have been more than happy to take care of your needs without the shackle.”
“Is that what you wanted all along, Nicholas? Say what you wish, believe your own lies, but we both know the truth,” she accused.
“We certainly do.” The truth was that he’d wanted to marry her back then. Never again. His view of matrimony had drastically altered since. “And you were willing even then.”
When he eventually married, because he knew he must, he’d marry a woman who aroused nothing other than a requisite level of respect.
Intimacy, romance, love—be damned!
He dropped his gaze over her in as demeaning a manner as he could muster.
“Don’t be cruel, Nicholas.” She raised her hands and touched them to her cheeks.
Damn this woman!
For the umpteenth time since running into her again this morning, he ran a hand through his hair. Of course, he didn’t mean it… But that didn’t mean he’d ever admit it to her. A gust of wind swept down the hill and seemed to go right through his flesh and then his bones, but he wasn’t about to leave her out here alone. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clattering against one another.
“I hope you haven’t taken to running off by yourself. It isn’t something a proper lady should do—or a smart one either.” The thought that she was unprotected was slightly terrifying. She wasn’t married; her aunt had introduced her as Lady Eve Bailey. “Your father ought to be keeping you under lock and key.”
She closed her eyes, and Nick couldn’t help but notice how her thick lashes fanned out against her fragile skin.
She exhaled a long breath and then opened her eyes again. “You aren’t wearing your coat or a jacket even. You’ll catch your death, Nicholas St. Hope. What on earth were you thinking?” Shaking her head, she stepped forward, clutched his arm, and began dragging him back toward the inn.
She was going to make this impossible for him. First the damn pie and now acting as though she cared about his health. But it wasn’t acting on her part. She’d always been this way.
He remembered how she’d worried about her sisters who had remained in the country—how she’d worried about her father’s heart. She’d even canceled one of their outings when her mother showed signs that she’d caught a cold.
Why on earth had he come after her? What had he expected?
“I was thinking that I wanted to speak with you.” He spoke his thoughts aloud at the same time a shiver ran through him. It had nothing to do with the fact that she’d wrapped her hands around his upper arm and was leaning into him for warmth as they walked. It was cold, damnit. A man had a right to be cold, didn’t he?
“And have you said what you wanted to say?” She stared directly ahead.
Had he? He scratched behind his ear. What had he intended to say to her? He could only remember that when she’d fled the common room after delivering the pie, an irrational fear that he was losing her
