stepped back.
Heavens! What was he about? He’d nearly kissed her, and now she looked bewildered.
‘Forgive me,’ he said.
‘For what?’ she whispered.
‘For coming too close.’
Her brow creased in confusion. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me.’
He could not meet her eye. ‘That would be pretty shabby of me.’
She turned back towards the window. ‘I suppose it is something you would not want to do.’
Should not do, was more the piece.
‘That was one thing Fowler must have been honest about,’ she spoke more to the windowpane than to Edmund. ‘He never kissed me. Except on the cheek like my brother might do.’
Edmund had not felt like kissing her like a brother.
‘He obviously did not want to.’ She released a long sigh. ‘No man has wanted to kiss me.’
‘It is more likely that they wanted to, but refrained,’ he said.
She whirled around. ‘And you? Did you want to, but refrained?’
‘I am really not a rake, Amelie.’ Although he’d nearly behaved like one.
She turned away again. ‘I wish you were.’
He was uncertain he heard her correctly.
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Are you shocked at that? I did proposition a man tonight, after all.’
He’d tried to treat her like his little half-sister Genna instead of the alluring creature she was at this moment. He’d promised her she was safe with him.
She laughed drily. ‘I would certainly hate to think that the only men who wished to kiss me were those ruffians in the street who tried to have their way with me.’
‘They would have done more than kiss you, Amelie,’ he said. ‘If you yearn for love, they were not offering it.’
She turned back to him. ‘Do you know what distresses me the most about never marrying?’
‘You must not give up on marriage.’ How could any man fail to see the merit in her?
She whirled around again, halting his speech. ‘It distresses me that I will never know a man’s kisses. I’ll never know the lovemaking that passes between men and women. Husband and wife.’
‘You will,’ he said.
The lamplight reflected in her eyes, filling them with fire. ‘Will you kiss me, Edmund?’
Every muscle and sinew in his body yearned for him to taste her lips. ‘No, Amelie. It would not be wise.’
Her eyes filled with tears, making them look even bigger. ‘I suppose it would be distasteful to kiss me, would it not?’
‘No, Amelie, it would not be distasteful.’ It was a struggle not to crush his mouth against hers.
‘Then you are repelled because I am so wanton in the asking.’ Her voice strained, as if she was trying to stifle a sob. ‘Like Fowler.’
He moved closer to her. ‘I am anything but repelled by you, but I am not the man for you. You must wait—’
‘For whom?’ she cried. ‘Why can you not be the man who first kisses me? You’ve been my friend this night.’
‘A friend, but not your equal,’ he tried to explain. ‘Remember, I am nothing but a bastard and you are the daughter of a viscount.’
‘And what does that signify? You are the son of a baronet and I am the daughter of a French commoner,’ she countered. ‘Why is any of that an impediment to a kiss?’
‘My sister is married to your brother.’ He was grasping at straws.
She gave him a speaking look. ‘You are not kissing your sister and I am not kissing my brother.’
How could he convince her? He must not cross that line with her, and he was very close to doing so. Something had changed as they’d talked. She’d somehow become important to him.
She turned back to the window. ‘Listen to me.’ Her voice filled with pain. ‘I’m standing here begging you to kiss me. How pathetic a creature I am! No wonder Fowler wanted to rid himself of me.’
Her pain pierced through him like the sabres he’d soon be facing.
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to him. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tilted her head to him. Leaning down so his lips merely hovered over hers, he asked again, ‘Are you very certain you want a kiss?’
‘Yes,’ she rasped.
‘It may not be wise, but I will comply.’ He closed the short distance between them.
A satisfied sound escaped her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and her mouth tasted of sherry.
It was as if a spark had touched off a firestorm. Desire flashed through him, engulfed him. He pressed his body against hers.
Her fingers dug into his hair and she ground herself against him. He was powerfully aroused. Imagine her believing herself unlovable. She was everything a man could desire. She’d affected him as no other woman.
But she was not for him.
She deserved what she’d thought she had in Fowler. A respectable aristocrat who loved her, not a bastard taking advantage of her vulnerability.
The rumblings of heavy wagons and the clap of horses’ hooves reached her window. A reminder. Where he must go. Who he was—a lowly lieutenant from an infantry regiment, without name or fortune. This would change some day, he vowed. He’d earn his fortune, some day, somehow, but he was still a bastard and not for her.
He released her and eased her away.
‘What?’ She looked dazed.
He tried to smile. ‘There now. You have been kissed, but if we do not stop, we may commit a more serious indiscretion.’ Being alone with her in her hotel room, kissing her, was indiscreet enough. ‘Besides, Napoleon beckons. I need to go.’
She nodded. ‘You must go fight a battle. I do understand.’ She backed away from him. ‘Thank you for saving me. Thank you for—for the kiss.’
His grin came naturally. ‘It was my pleasure.’
She smiled in return and their gazes held.
‘Best I take my leave.’ He crossed the room and retrieved his coat. She followed him and helped him put it on.
Standing behind him, she put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his back. ‘I do not want you to leave me.’
He did not want to leave her either, but his resolve was weakening by each moment he stayed.
He turned around, still in her embrace. ‘Will you be all right?’
She looked up at him, her jaw firmly set. ‘I shall have to be.’
The lamplight made her skin glow, and the tumble of curls around her face shone like a halo. He tried to commit her face to memory, a memory to soothe him on the battlefield, a reminder of who and what he fought for. If he survived—if he survived—who knew if he would ever see her again? Could he bear that?
She rose on tiptoe and placed her lips on his, unschooled and tentative.
Desire slammed into him again. He put his fingers into her hair and held her in the kiss, savouring it like a man feasting on his last meal. Her soft curves pressed against him once more. Good God. He was on fire, wanting all of her, craving to ease the