what it was—a remembrance. She refused to give in.
‘Remove yourself from the door and allow me to be about my business.’
His hand reached out and grasped her waist gently, but firmly enough to keep her there. The prickle of heat threatened to become a flame. Louisa concentrated on breathing slowly. She had survived such things before. Jonathon would be no different than the major who had had too much to drink at the Trasemeno hotel. Her rules had worked then. They would work now.
‘About my business?’ The lights in his eyes deepened. ‘And what exactly is my business?’
She moved to the next stage. ‘Unhand me, sir.’
‘My hand is off you.’ His fingers hovered above her waist, and somehow it was worse because her body ached to have the small caress. ‘You are free to go.’ He leant forwards so his forehead touched hers. ‘But before you do, Louisa, do you think about what we experienced together? How your lips felt against mine? At night when you lie in bed?’
‘Never,’ Louisa breathed. Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears that she thought surely Jonathon must hear. It bothered her that she remained attracted to him, but that had always been her problem. Even the first time she had seen him, her pulse had beat faster. This was simply an echo from the past. Everything to do with being this close to a man for the first time since … since the last time she had been with Jonathon.
She swallowed hard and grasped her reticule to her bosom. It was not the same. She had changed. She knew the pain men were capable of inflicting on her soul. She knew why the rules existed. She had learnt her lesson well. ‘You have vanished from my mind.’
‘You were always a poor liar, Louisa.’
Before she had a chance to move away, he lowered his mouth and captured hers. The kiss was designed to evoke a response—small nibbles at her mouth, swiftly followed by a more lingering meeting as her lips gave way to temptation.
Louisa’s backbone melted as small tongues of fire leapt from his hand to her skin. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders and she remembered how Jonathon had once run his hands through it, proclaiming it softer than silk and infinitely more precious. She knew she should stop, but her body luxuriated in his touch.
Abruptly he released her and she stumbled away from him.
‘Is that the best you can do? Seek to dominate me with the physical?’ Louisa automatically began to straighten her gown, but she knew her chest rose and fell far too fast. ‘I never think about such things. They have vanished from my mind.’
A smug look appeared in his eyes. ‘We are far from finished, Louisa. We have only just begun, and this time, it will end when I say it does.’
Louisa paused with her hand on the door. She gave him a quelling look. ‘I decline your offer of marriage. We would not suit.’
‘You should wait until you are asked, Louisa.’ His face became all planes and shadows.
‘Then I decline whatever you are offering.’
Louisa pulled the door open and slammed it behind her. Never again would she return to being that woman who melted at the slightest touch from Jonathon. That woman no longer existed. She had died when they had prised her baby daughter’s lifeless body from her. Born too soon, the baby had failed to draw even a single breath. It had been a judgement from God and she would do well to remember that.
* * *
‘I want this letter in the first post,’ Jonathon said, handing the sealed note to his valet.
‘Very good, my lord.’ Thompson gave a bow and left Jonathon alone in the library of his Newcastle town house on Charlotte Square.
Jonathon swirled the untouched ruby port in his glass. His stepmother would come to Chesterholm and she would bring his half-sister Margaret. Before he confronted Venetia over Louisa, Jonathon wanted to make sure that Margaret could not be held as a hostage. If Venetia was prepared to lie about Louisa’s death when he lay injured in order to further his relationship with Clarissa, Jonathon knew that she would not hesitate to arrange a marriage that Margaret might not desire. He had a duty towards his sister. Margaret deserved her chance to find love.
What to do about Louisa Sibson and her reappearance in his life? She denied the passion that had existed between them, but it was there, and this time she would stay until the passion burnt out.
Even the last few remaining coals in the fire mocked him, echoing the colour of Louisa’s hair. She was here and alive, utterly unrepentant and utterly desirable. How many times had he longed for Louisa’s return, if only for a few minutes, if only so he could whisper that he was sorry. He gave a wry smile. His nurse used to say it was never good to get what you wish for.
His mind returned to the early days after the accident when he had asked for Louisa to see if Clarissa’s overly pat tale of woe had any substance. Clarissa had been there, competent and efficient, the perfect nurse, alongside Venetia. And each time he had asked, her frown had increased. He clearly remembered the exchange—why is he asking for that governess?—and his correcting shout—my fiancée. And his stepmother had patted Clarissa’s arm and told her not to worry about the baggage before forcing more of the damned laudanum down his throat.
He reached forwards and gave the fire a stir, making the coals glow bright orange.
Louisa should have trusted him. What more could she have desired from him? What further proof had she wanted? He had asked her to marry him, to run away with him.
He tapped his fingers together. His late great-uncle was fond of quoting Eros’s explanation of why he left Psyche—there can be no love without trust, but there can be desire—to say why he had chosen to be a bachelor. Jonathon had never understood the saying until now.
And what of her future plans? Her marriage plans? Did she love this baronet, Francis Walsham, whom she had dangled in front of his nose? Debrett’s only listed a solitary name, a man old enough to be Louisa’s grandfather, but wealthy. Had she ever kissed Walsham the way she kissed him? The very thought made him want to tear the man limb from limb.
Jonathon took another reflective sip of his port. And why had she returned to England if she intended on marrying? What was there for her here?
‘Forgive the late-night interruption, Chesterholm, but you are my only hope.’ Furniss burst into the library. ‘My need is a matter of life and death.’
‘How so?’
‘Did you know tonight was the first time that I have seen Miss Sibson flustered? She nearly forgot her reticule in her haste to inform Aunt Daphne of her decision to go. Her reticule goes everywhere with her. Her lifeline, she calls it. Something has unnerved her. She plans to return to Sorrento as soon as she can find passage on a steamship.’ Furniss put his hands to his head. ‘This is bad, bad, bad. Miss Sibson is notorious for her schedules.’
Leaving. Running. From him or from her desires? But she would fail to escape. This time, he knew she was alive.
‘And why should I be able to help you?’ He gave a light laugh that sounded hollow to his ears. Furniss fancied himself in love with her. Jonathon ground his teeth. How many bloody admirers did Louisa have? ‘I have no power over Miss Sibson’s movements.’
‘Aunt Daphne is here in the north-east to visit her childhood haunts.’ Furniss’s ruddy face became alight. ‘Then she is returning to Sorrento where Miss Sibson plans to marry Sir Francis Walsham. Previously Miss Sibson promised to stay until Aunt Daphne was ready to go back to Italy.’
‘You are making no sense, Furniss.’ Jonathon forced his tone to be light as a surge of jealousy cut through him.
‘I intend to marry Miss Sibson,’ Furniss continued blithely on. ‘I will have no chance if she returns to Sorrento and her baronet. Here, in England, I do.’
‘You want to marry Miss Sibson? Has she agreed?’ Jonathon stared at his friend, furious that Furniss had not bothered