And when she gasped at the sensation, he took advantage and deepened their kiss, coaxing her tongue to dance with his own.
She clung to him, her delicate fingers diving into his hair, her little moans driving him insane.
Some tiny part of his brain that wasn’t caught up in the feel of her luscious body, or the plumpness of her lips, or the heat of her mouth, knew he shouldn’t be doing this.
In broad daylight. On a path where anyone could walk by.
She would be ruined –
The thought was akin to a bucket of iced water being dumped over him, cooling his ardour and awakening his shame.
Wasn’t that what he’d agreed to? Hadn’t he agreed to ruin her then run so Edmund could take her, treat her like spoilt goods, and get his hands on her money?
Ewan had never liked the plan, had hated it even more after he’d met her.
But now, holding her in his arms like this, knowing what it was to kiss her – his guilt was excruciating.
He pulled his mouth from hers, his breathing laboured, his head spinning, still intoxicated with the floral scent of her, the berry sweet taste of her lips.
Pull your bloody self together, man he told himself fiercely.
And then he made the mistake of looking down at her.
She was still in the circle of his arms, and damned if it didn’t feel as though she belonged there.
And those eyes – they were glazed and filled with such wonder that Ewan felt the oddest tug in his heart.
How could he have thought her merely pretty, or lovely, or for god’s sake – ‘not plain?’
She was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t hurt her.
And he damn well couldn’t keep kissing her as though he had a right to.
Slowly he reached up and removed her hands from his neck, keeping them in his own. They felt tiny and delicate in his.
Her breathing was laboured, but then so was his.
“My lady,” he said softly. “Beatrice, I –“
“Look darling! A squirrel!”
A sudden feminine shout rent the air and had them springing away from each other.
“Do you see?”
Whoever it was, was bellowing at the top of her lungs.
“A squirrel in the tree on the path where we left Beatrice and Mr. Brooks. The path we are now walking back down.”
In spite of the serious situation they now found themselves in, Ewan couldn’t help his grin as he realised the voice belonged to Lady Staunton, who was doing the most unsubtle job he’d ever witnessed of warning them she and her husband were on their way back.
He glanced at Lady Beatrice and to his relief she laughed, shaking her head at her friend’s antics.
Ewan had been worried she’d faint or cry or slap him.
It would have been worth it though. To kiss her. Even now, with his thoughts spiralling and her honour in jeopardy, he couldn’t help wanting her.
Before either of them could move, the earl and countess appeared round a bend in the path.
“There you are,” Lady Staunton called. “You see, darling? He hasn’t run off with her.”
The lady was incorrigible. She rolled her eyes at her husband, who was watching Beatrice and Ewan closely, a scowl on his face.
“She’s perfectly safe,” the countess continued, coming to a stop in front of them and eyeing them speculatively. “You forget that it’s the middle of the day. Hardly the time for secret assignations.”
“Hmm.” The earl turned his watchful eyes on his wife, the sudden heat in them deuced uncomfortable to witness, in Ewan’s opinion.
“And you forget that I am well aware of what someone can get up to in a forest in the middle of the day, should he be sufficiently motivated.”
The lady blushed at Lord Staunton’s words, and Ewan’s eyes strayed to Lady Beatrice’s.
She too was blushing, staring at him, and – God help him, biting the lip he’d just tasted. It took all of his strength not to reach out and pull her back into his arms, witnesses and consequences be damned.
But of course, he couldn’t.
And he wouldn’t.
Making a show of pulling out his timepiece, Ewan feigned surprise at the time and excused himself, claiming a forgotten engagement.
“Good day, my lord, my lady.” He bowed to the couple, noting the earl’s suspicious frown and the countess’s knowing grin.
Turning to Lady Beatrice, he couldn’t help reaching for her hand. He just needed to touch her, foolish as it might be.
“Good day, my lady,” he said softly, bowing and pressing a fleeting kiss against her glove. “Until tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” he heard the countess ask. Demand, really, as he walked brusquely away.
“I – I don’t quite know,” Lady Beatrice responded, and it might have been wishful thinking, but Ewan thought he detected excitement in her tone.
Chapter Seven
“You are late.”
Beatrice winced as Monsieur Bisset’s voice rattled around the room.
For someone who lectured her on never raising her voice above a gentle, melodic tone, he certainly knew how to holler at a person.
He wasn’t wrong, though. She was late.
She hadn’t been able to sleep a wink for the past few nights.
After Mr. Brooks had dashed off the day of their walk, Natalia had practically pulled Beatrice’s arm from its socket dragging her back to the house so they could lock themselves away for a coze.
Even as she told Natalia every tiny detail of her encounter with Mr. Brooks, Bea still couldn’t quite believe it herself.
She’d been kissed! And not a chaste peck on the announcement of a betrothal as was befitting a young lady of Quality.
Nay, it had been a real kiss. A passionate, earth-shattering, romantic, scandalous liaison in the woods. Fitting for one of her novels, even.
Natalia had been in raptures, of course. And Beatrice had, too. Not just because she finally had her own wonderful story to tell, but because she knew, crazy as it was, that she was fast tumbling head over heel in love with her mystery man.
Even after Natalia
