She moistened her lips, trying to think of something to say. What did one say after sharing such intimacy? His breathing was nearly as labored as her own. His gaze stark and searching.
The door suddenly opened beside them, and Max flattened against her, pressing them both back to the wall again. Hopefully the ivy obscured them. Aurelia watched over Max’s shoulder as a maid left the house and departed down the path, humming softly under her breath.
They held still for a moment, Max’s body aligned with hers, his heart beating against her rib cage in rhythm with her own.
“She’s gone,” she whispered, her fingers lightly fluttering against his shoulder.
He glanced behind him and then stepped back several healthy steps. Fortunately, she didn’t slide to the ground. She smoothed a shaking hand over her dress and stepped away from the house.
She studied him then, waiting for him to say something, anything. Certainly, they needed to discuss what just happened. Acknowledge it in some way?
He held her gaze, his stare unflinching. Her heart beat faster. The undeniable wish stirred inside her that he would declare himself in some manner. That after their kiss, he would not be able to not kiss her again. That it had been special for him, too. Perhaps . . . that she was.
It was an absurd and fanciful notion, but he had said he was tired of the quarreling. Did he mean that? Could they move on from the bickering and be friends again? Could they have this now? The more she had always hoped for. Had she found it with Max, of all people?
He edged back a step, putting more distance between them. She frowned, beginning to realize he wasn’t going to say any of those things. Indeed not. He would not say anything at all. He was leaving.
With one final look at her, he spun on his heel and quickly disappeared down the path without a word to her or a backward glance.
She stared after him for some moments, her lips still burning, her body still humming in the aftermath of the shattering release he had given her. He was running away from her.
Feeling slightly dazed, she brought her hand to her mouth, lightly fingering the kiss-bruised flesh. A slow smile took hold of her lips. A kiss like that . . . it wasn’t ordinary. She didn’t need vast experience to know there were sparks between them. Chemistry that couldn’t be found just anywhere or with just anyone.
He’d be back.
He didn’t come back.
A week. A blasted week had passed with no sight of Max. Perhaps that kiss hadn’t been so shattering for him, after all.
She busied herself, working on a new sketch and even taking calls from Mr. Mackenzie and Lord Buckston. Even if her heart wasn’t invested, she accepted their courtship. Contrary to what Max said, they were suitable and her pickings were slim. Time was slipping through her fingers like water escaping a sieve. Her mother had begun packing for Thurso, and Aurelia knew that unless she wanted to go with her, she needed to concentrate more on finding a husband and less on Max.
She sighed. Easier said than done. She had possessed only vague notions of what a proper kiss should be. She’d witnessed Rosalie’s and Violet’s starry-eyed expressions and secret smiles when they were with their husbands. She knew there had to be something behind it all. Some thrill. She had been certain a kiss should not taste of fish and sour milk, as had the kiss she endured from Archibald Lewis, but until Max she had no notion of what a proper kiss could be. How it could make her forget everything else in the world. Everything except the sensation of lips and skin and sweetly warm breath.
That kiss had changed everything—ignited a deep craving in her.
She set her sketch pad aside and rose from the chaise beside her balcony. “He’s avoiding me,” she declared, pacing a hard line between her bed and dressing table.