But when Grantham looked at her with soulful eyes and spoke of a holiday tradition that would cheer him, she was powerless to so much as wonder what he meant. Wordlessly, she rose and followed him from the dining room. He didn’t stop to offer his escort or to be a gentleman in any way. Instead she was left to bottle her curiosity and follow him from the dining room, down the hallway, then toward the drawing room.
The entrance to that despicable room called up enough trepidation to stop her.
“Miss Conley?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. One hand extended palm-up in invitation. “Come, please. I want you to see.”
She couldn’t very well resist that, could she?
With measured enthusiasm, she reached to brush her fingers against his. Fire raced along her skin like a yuletide log catching flame. “Just come see,” he said, giving her hand a tug. “If you detest it, I won’t ask again.”
She let him draw her inside the room. “Very well, then.”
He stopped at the threshold and turned to face her. Her nose was at his cravat. When she looked up, his cool gray eyes reflected flickers of candlelight.
“Good,” he murmured, and pulled her into his arms. She barely had time to register his embrace before he captured her lips in a kiss that defied even her girlish adulation. This was meant to end in rapture. This was love, and she’d never felt anything like it before.
She didn’t reach for him, but allowed her fantasy to come alive around her. His full lips molded against hers. The satisfying maleness of him urging her to do more, to allow more, even though she already knew of what lengths he was capable.
And yet…
And yet…
Her aunt had abandoned her. Beneath the layers of clothing required at this frigid time of year, Elinor wore only those accoutrements meant to tempt a man. And Grantham was a man she desired to tempt.
She pushed herself deeper into his embrace without concern for his cravat, or her virtue. She let her hands feel what her soul had longed for, spread her palms over his hard, male chest, savoring the luxury of superfine, and thrust her fingers into the crisp stickiness of his pomaded hair.
“Elinor,” he said, though it sounded more like a groan. “Elinor…”
She cupped his face in her hands and directed his lips back to hers. His lids fell closed and he inhaled sharply, almost as if he were lost in a fantasy of his own.
“Kiss me,” she coaxed against his lips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Silver eyes opened, sparing one fleeting moment of lucidity. Then they fluttered closed again, and his lips brushed against hers. He moaned softly. “Elinor.”
“Grantham.” For the last half hour, he’d done little but watch her with those ferrous eyes—oh, and apologize. He’d done plenty of that. Nothing she deserved or wanted to hear, and yet he’d insisted, making her feel worse and worse until she’d almost burst with the truth.
His arms encircled her waist. A thrill shot through her. She hadn’t known their kiss could be more intimate, but pressed against him fully now, she knew why young ladies were not allowed to share liberties with gentlemen, however innocent the small permissions seemed. Grantham was made of steel. With the slightest inclination, he could overpower her. But what was more stimulating, what made her ache with desire until she fairly cried for relief, was the knowledge that he wanted her.
Grantham wanted her.
Before she could celebrate too much, her lips met air and she blinked her eyes open. He’d pulled away. Ragged breaths melded between them; she couldn’t tell which was hers and which was his. But she knew the regret lingering in the air was his alone. She could have gone on kissing him forever.
“There will be time for this later,” he said, though his eyes had lost none of their magnetic quality, and the ferocity of his grip hadn’t lessened on her waist. “Though difficult, in conditions such as these, I shall never treat you as anything less than a perfect lady.”
She could have shuddered for her disappointment. “Please, don’t say such things. I am no angel, any more than you are a blackguard. We are merely people.”
He didn’t look the least bit contrite. Rather, his face glowed. “So you will? You’ll marry me?”
She blinked again. Had she misheard him? “You’re asking me to marry you?”
Doubt flashed across his face. “Are you saying no?”
“Of course not!” When he looked mortified, she realized she wasn’t being clear. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying yes. Yes, yes, yes! But there is something I must tell you first. Before you ask me again, properly.”