She looked up at him, her bottom lip trembling, her pupils dilated. "Yes, you did. You wrote me letters when we were apart, you touched me not just in my body, but in my soul. Why?"
He caught his breath. He'd spent his life being a liar. Tonight he couldn't bear to do it again, even if the truth made him vulnerable.
"Because it was you, Celia. You are wonderful and irresistible. I wrote you letters so that I would-"
He cut himself off and she lifted her hands in frustration. "You would what?"
"So-so that I would have your responses when I was gone. So that I would have a piece of you to remember that I had this time. It's the same reason I did everything else. I just wanted a tiny piece of everything that you are. I know it makes me a bastard, but I stole what I shouldn't have."
"You never stole anything," she whispered. "I gave it all. Freely and willingly."
The gentleness was back in her tone and he so wanted to sink into it. To forget that she knew the truth, forget everything but that she was here and they were alone and he wanted her one last time.
But that couldn't happen.
"You gave it under false pretenses," he said. "With your eyes shut by my lies."
She stared at him. Truly stared, and in that moment he knew that she saw him. Him, the real him. He was John Dane, not Clairemont, not Aiden, not a spy for the crown, not anything but John Dane. She saw him without knowing his name, and it felt like he didn't fit into his skin anymore. He felt revealed, defenseless.
They were close already, but she took a small step toward him and ate up even more of the distance. She was almost touching him now.
"My eyes are open," she whispered. "There are no more lies."
He could feel her breath and smell her skin as she eased ever closer. It was like torture, but he forced his hands to remain at his sides. "Celia," he whispered.
She reached for him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb smoothing over his lip. Her touch was like silk, gentle as butterfly wings.
"If I'm going to lose you, I want to have you," she whispered.
Then she lifted up to her tiptoes and kissed him.
Chapter Twenty
Celia sank into the warmth of Aiden's touch as she traced her tongue along the crease of his lips. He tasted intoxicating, mint and male mixed together. He let out a low groan before he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back with all the passion and fervor she'd come to expect from him.
She hadn't come here with the idea to make love to him. She'd been too angry, too tangled up in emotion and betrayal and hurt to consider such a shocking thing. But starting the moment she stepped into the carriage, what she really wanted had become more and more clear.
Him. She wanted him. Because the love she felt had nothing to do with his name or his title. It had everything to do with the way he looked at her and touched her and made her feel deep within her body, all the way to her bones. Like she was cherished, like she was perfect … like she was his.
When he said that he would leave her life forever, that the man she'd known would die, her course of action had become crystal clear.
She had to do this.
She lifted her hands up to wrap them gently around him and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. She molded her body to his, letting her breasts flatten against his chest, her knees press to his legs, let his hardness push against her stomach.
He let out a pained grunt and tried to pull away. "We can't," he said, his breath short as he caught both her hands in his and tried to hold her away from him.
"Why?" she whispered.
"You know bloody well why," he said, his tone raising and his face twisting in frustration. "I know you do. Don't make me say it."
"Because once you take my virginity, I'll be ruined," she said, providing the words he refused to say.
"Yes," he hissed out, but she could hear the sharpness of need in his tone and feel it in his touch.
She pushed back against him, testing his control by lifting on her tiptoes to brush her lips along his jawline. "I. Don't. Care," she whispered. "I want you. You. Tonight. Because we both know it's the only chance we have and I don't want to regret not taking this moment."
He turned his mouth into hers and claimed her lips, shaking off her hands to cup her cheeks. He drew her in, sucking her tongue, tasting her all over as if he couldn't get enough. But once again, he broke away.
"You'll regret doing this and I would hate that," he panted.
She shook her head. "I won't."
She said nothing else, but began to unbutton his jacket. She held his gaze as she slid the fabric apart and then pushed it from his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, only grunting when she moved her hands to his cravat and slowly unlooped the intricate knots and folds.
"Don't do this," he murmured.
She ignored the plea and moved to unfasten his shirt. He didn't fight her, he didn't move, he just let her undress him. It wasn't easy. She had never served as valet for a man before. His buttons felt stiff, the fabric unruly, but at last she tugged his shirt tails free and parted the cotton to reveal a bare, tanned, thickly muscled chest.
Her breath hitched at the sight of him half-undressed. Her hands shook as she reached out to trace the planes of muscle that corded his stomach. He hissed out a breath and she lifted her wide gaze to his.
"You are determined?" he asked.
She nodded. "I will seduce you, no matter how poorly I manage it. I want you. I want this. I want tonight. And if you want to make up to me all the lies and manipulations, you'll give that to me. If you want to gift me something to make all this worthwhile, you'll allow me what I desire."
He pressed his lips together hard and she could see him pondering her words. Probably trying to find a way to deny them both what they wanted so much.
But in the end, she knew he wanted her. His hard body betrayed him. His hitched breath betrayed him. His dilated pupils betrayed him.
He drew back and held out a hand. She stared at it, uncertain what the offering meant.
"Come, Celia," he said. "A parlor is no place for you to surrender something so dear."
Her lips parted. He was yielding?
"Then where?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"My room," he said as he drew her from the parlor and into the foyer. She followed him up the stairs, down a short hall and to a door. He sighed heavily before he threw it open and beckoned her inside.
A fire burned within and he took a moment to light a few lamps. She looked around. Like the rest of the house, there was nothing in this room that said Aiden. At least not the Aiden she knew. Everything was crisp and metal and hard edges. It wasn't inviting.
Well, almost nothing was inviting. There was a bed facing the fire, a big bed that was inviting, indeed. She was taking a step toward it when he turned back to her and shook his head.
"Oh no, not so fast."
She blinked. "Why? Isn't this … I mean, I know I don't have much experience in these things, but isn't it traditional to do this on a bed?"
"We're going to do a great many things on that bed," he reassured her, crossing back to her and placing his warm hands on her shoulders. "But if tonight is all we have, we're taking our time. I want to remember this when I'm-"
He cut himself off abruptly and she frowned. "When you're gone. When you're no longer my Aiden."
He nodded as he slid a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. "No more thoughts about that. I want to give you pleasure, Celia. I want us both to forget tomorrow, at least for now."
She drew in a long breath to calm herself and nodded. "Forget tomorrow. I can do that. Especially since I want tonight so very much."
He turned her gently, forcing her to face away from him, and leaned in to kiss the back of her neck even as he began to unfasten the buttons along the back of her dress. A thrill worked through her as his fingertips brushed her spine, her shoulders, through her fine chemise. He parted the fabric and gently pushed, gliding it down her arms until it hung around her waist. Only then did he turned her back to face him.
She blushed. She was standing in front of him and he could see her chemise. No one but her maid or her sister had ever seen her this way.
"You are shifting your weight back and forth ever so slightly," he said with a soft smile. "Are you reconsidering your decision?"
"No," she croaked out. "I'm just hoping you aren't disappointed with what you see."
His eyes widened slightly. "With you? Never."
He took a step closer until he crowded into her space and lifted his hand. Slowly he traced the back of it over her shoulder, her collarbone, and finally over her chest. His knuckles slid back and forth over her nipples, and they immediately hardened as she hissed out a breath of unexpected pleasure.
Then he turned his hand, flattening it back against her shoulder, and slid it beneath the flimsy chemise strap. She held her breath, watching as he glided the scrap away and down her arm, bearing first one breast, then the other.
"You are," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips just across the top of the swell, "so exquisite."
She took in a great gulp of air as she tangled her fingers in his crisp, short hair and held tight as his lips opened and he began to gently taste her exposed flesh. Lower and lower he swept his tongue until he brushed it over one nipple.