Our Wicked Mistake (27 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
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The sunshine must be responsible for the flush in her cheeks
, Miles told himself. Or maybe her little burst of temper, but neither could be responsible for the way she looked at him, half inquisitive, half knowing, as if she somehow understood despite her innocence exactly what predatory male thoughts were crossing his mind at this definitive moment.
Damned women’s intuition.
Yet if she knew what he so desperately wanted—and he was fairly certain she did—Elizabeth didn’t pull away. Quite the contrary, she stared up at him expectantly, those enticing rose lips just slightly parted. She was delicious in plain sprigged muslin, her hair gathered back simply with a white satin ribbon. His heart had all but stopped beating when he’d walked out onto the brick terrace and seen her in the center of the sunlit garden, her skirts hiked up to her knees, slender calves immersed in the sparkling water.
Part of it too had been the pensive expression on her face.
For the rift currently between them?
His hands slid down from her shoulders and settled at her waist as they stared at each other, not speaking, the light cascade of the water and the birds the only sounds.
I love you.
The whisper hung on his lips unsaid but echoed in his mind like an incantation.
I’ve always loved you, even when you laugh at me, when we disagree, especially when you point out my flaws with that special smile I know I own. . . .
“Miles—”
Recklessly, he lowered his head and caught the sound of his name on her lips, his mouth seeking the sweetness of hers, finding, tasting . . .
And then she was kissing him back, her hands flattening against his chest, her uncertainty when she felt the gentle insistence of his tongue giving way to compliance as she parted her lips and he swept inside her mouth, exploring every crevice, skimming her teeth, licking the corners of her lips. He broke away and then kissed her again, and this time his arms tightened around her so they were pressed together like lovers.
Maybe too much so. His body reacted predictably to her proximity, his cock hardening, and he wondered if she could feel his growing arousal.
Apparently so, for her palms suddenly exerted panicked pressure, and he finally loosened his hold so she could push away. Breathless, they stood and stared at each other, a foot or so apart, close enough he could reach out again and—
“Don’t,” she said shakily, stepping back, her gray eyes huge. “What are we doing?”
“That was a kiss.” Miles was probably more shaken than she was, but did his best to look bland. Or perhaps his face was just frozen along with the rest of him.
“I know what it was—I mean—I know it was a kiss, damn you, but I don’t know what it
was
.”
True ladies didn’t swear, but since he’d taught her the word himself, he didn’t think it was prudent to mention the slip. Elizabeth stood in flushed, disheveled, barefoot outrage in front of him, her hands clenched in the mate rial of her skirts. Very quietly, because he’d had so much longer to adjust to how he felt about her, he said, “It is whatever you want it to be.”
“Pardon the intrusion, but may I have a word, Miles?”
The clipped, cold voice broke the moment, shatter ing it into the return of reality. Miles turned his head, registered Luke’s presence a few feet away, and took in a deep, much needed breath. What did he expect? The garden was in full view of the back of the house and Luke’s study was on this side, and on a day like this one the windows would undoubtedly be open.
Elizabeth looked confused, as if she hadn’t heard her brother, and still stared up at Miles as if she were seeing him for the first time in her life.
Even with Luke’s disapproving presence, Miles had to consciously keep from dragging her back into his arms. “Of course.”
Luke walked past them to where Elizabeth’s dis carded stockings and slippers lay by the fountain, and he picked them up and held them out to her. “You might want to take these with you.”
“I’m staying.” She ignored the offering, gazing de fiantly at her brother, though her cheeks were stained with crimson splotches. “If you are about to launch into some kind of outraged guardian lecture, shouldn’t I hear it too?”
“No.” Her brother merely inclined his head toward the house and pushed the items into her hands. “Not un less you know absolutely how you feel about what I just saw, and I sense you don’t.”
At a guess, any other argument would not have worked, but that one did. Elizabeth hesitated for a mo ment, shot Miles an unfathomable look, and left, hurry ing up the terrace and into the house.
Tense, not sure if he should be apprehensive or exhilarated, Miles waited. No doubt he deserved a dressing-down for what had just happened, but then again, he wasn’t going to apologize for falling in love with Elizabeth either. He might as well say he was sorry he was still breathing.
“So, now that it’s happened, where do you think you stand?” Luke regarded him with cool, dispassionate appraisal. “For that matter, maybe you should declare your intentions before we even begin this conversation.”
“Blast it, Luke, you know I would never treat Elizabeth in any way except honorably.” Miles set his jaw and met the other man’s stare without flinching. “I love her.”
“Yes,” his cousin said dryly, “we’ve all noticed. Except her. Now, after that rather dramatic embrace, I assume she’s noticed as well.”
That shook him. He’d thought he’d hidden his feelings well. “All?”
“Anyone remotely paying attention, excluding my sister, who is far too close to the situation. What are you going to do next?”
It was reassuring to not be facing Luke’s formidable wrath, but answering the question was not a simple matter either. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I have no idea. I’m not . . .”
Luke answered for him when he trailed off. “Lord Fawcett? No, and apparently that is a point in your favor. Elizabeth informed me very firmly she wasn’t interested in an engagement to the marquess.”
“I received that impression myself, but has she said anything about
me
?” Miles had never been sure how Luke would react if he knew that
cousinly affection
didn’t accurately describe his feelings toward Elizabeth.
“No, at least not in the terms you mean.”
That was disappointing, but then again, the kiss had been quite—
very
—satisfying. She’d responded to him.
It could have just been curiosity
, he quickly reminded himself. He was intelligent enough to realize that young women were as sexually curious as young men, and she had even
asked
him about the subject.
This was
hell
.
“She could do better,” Miles pointed out with painful, searing honesty.
“Socially, yes, I agree,” Luke said with equanimity. “But, quite frankly, I’m more interested in her happiness than wedding her to the man with the most illustrious title and fortune who presses a suit. The real question is, what does
she
want?”
Miles stared at where she’d disappeared into the house and asked hoarsely, “What do you think I should do? If I tell her how I feel, it might ruin everything. At least how it is now, I have a special place in her life. If I declare myself, however it turns out, I’ll lose that.”
“I hate to point this out, but I think you rather effectively lost it already,” Luke drawled with ironic sympathy. “As for what you should do, I haven’t the slightest idea. You are asking me to predict how a female is going to react to a situation, and even an inveterate gambler like myself will not wager on the incomprehensible workings of a woman’s mind. You are on your own, Miles.”
“With your blessing?” It might be a mistake to ask, but then again, it would be nice to know where he stood.
Luke’s silver eyes were unreadable, but that wasn’t new. “I think I made it clear I want her to be happy. I’ve business out of town for a few days. I’m going to trust the two of you to behave yourselves. If not, Miles, I will hold you accountable.”
Not exactly encouragement, but not discouragement either. Miles watched his tall cousin walk back toward the house, and then went to sit down in the same spot where Elizabeth had been on the edge of the fountain when he’d come outside to find her. It was wet from where he’d hauled her out of the pool, but he didn’t care about the water soaking his breeches.
He needed to think.
The birds still sang, the water still flowed in a melodi ous gurgle, the sky above was still a cerulean blue, but the world—his world—felt different.
It
was
different.
Everything had changed.
 
Elizabeth dropped onto the bed and clasped her trem bling hands together, and tried to bring the whirl of her chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order. The breeze she’d enjoyed outside moved the lace curtains at her window, but did little to cool the warmth in her face.
God in heaven, she’d kissed Miles.
No, correction:
he’d
kissed
her
, but she had undeni ably kissed him right back.
The experience was not at all what she’d expected, but entirely more intimate, more intriguing, more . . . she wasn’t sure what, but the reality proved much different from her imaginings, not to mention that Miles hadn’t been the shadowy figure in those girlish daydreams either.
He’d tasted her. There seemed no other way to de scribe the exploration of his tongue, the heated pos session of his mouth slanted over hers. He’d felt hard, muscled, overwhelming, as he’d urged her closer and closer. . . .
It might be next week before she stopped blushing.
She plucked at the coverlet with a restive hand, the galvanic turmoil inside requiring movement of some kind. Luke had seen them, which was mortifying, but then again, it took away the need to explain that some thing had happened.
Catastrophe or revelation?
She wasn’t at all sure.
Chapter Twenty
 
 
 
T
hey collided in the doorway. Lord Fitch muttered an apology. Luke, on the other hand, had waited deliberately for the moment, and he merely looked at him with unconcealed contempt. “We can discuss our business here, or you can discreetly accompany me. Which shall it be?”
Bath was as busy as usual with the elite of British society, and Pulteney Bridge was especially crowded on this pleasant morning. As soon as his lordship recovered from the shock of the encounter, he cleared his throat and apparently recognized the threat in Luke’s tone. “No time for it, I’m afraid. Good day, milord.”
“Our business,” Luke said in clear enunciation between his teeth, “is Lord Brewer’s journal. The one you stole or bought covertly. The one you were attempting to use to blackmail his widow.”
“I haven’t the slightest what you are about, Altea.” He tried to walk on past.
Luke’s hand shot out and grasped his arm in a steely grip that boded no argument. “Don’t you? Down the street there’s a small tavern, but if you’d prefer we go someplace more isolated—”
“No.” The idea of solitude didn’t seem to appeal to the earl, who had turned an unflattering shade of green all of a sudden, but he still attempted a blustery outrage. “A drink is fine, since you seem intent on speaking with me, Altea. I wasn’t aware you were in Bath.”
“I wasn’t aware you’d left London,” Luke told him with a thin-lipped smile. “Though it wasn’t a bad decision, for at least I had all the hours of travel to get here to decide it wasn’t worth it to kill you. Not that”—his smile widened grimly—“I wouldn’t get great satisfaction from it, but someone I hold in great esteem might make the connection between your untimely demise and my current state of irritation and become distressed. She’s experienced enough angst lately, in my opinion, for the most part due to you.”
“W-what are you talking about?” Fitch’s voice sputtered, and he wrenched his arm free but fell into step.
Pedestrians streamed by, and perhaps it was the way Luke held his shoulders and his unswerving stride, but their path down the walk across the bridge was unimpeded as the strolling masses parted, though a few curious looks were sent their way. Probably because Lord Fitch looked a tad pasty.
So he should.
“I thought I’d made my position quite clear,” Luke said pleasantly enough, walking with his hands behind his back, the epitome of the English gentleman, in direct contrast to his barbaric urge to toss his companion off the bridge into the water below. “And yet you decided to continue your games.”
“I have no notion at all what you are insinuating.”
“Lady Brewer did not appreciate your gift.”
“What gift?”
If that self-righteous expression on the man’s sallow face was meant to convey sincerity, it didn’t succeed, in Luke’s opinion. Instead of answering the question, he walked determinedly to where a small establishment sat at the edge of the shops across the street. It was early enough not many of the tables were occupied, and he selected one at the back, the surface of the table clean but scarred, the ale-scented air a bit close for his tastes. Then again, he didn’t intend to remain any longer than it took to make his message crystalline clear.

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