Page 38 of The Last Kiss

Ash smiled, a sweet curve of his lips as he glanced up. “Olive said we could stay in her family’s town house — there’d be nobody there but us. No staff.”

The pounding in his chest transformed into a full-blooded beat of want. A whole night together. In a bed. “That sounds…” A grin tugged at his lips. “Like an opportunity not to be missed.”

“Yes. I thought so too.”

Harry drew Ash back down with him. “You’ll have to ask Boyd if he can spare me.”

“I know. And my father. He’ll think I’m — ” Settling his head against Harry’s chest, Ash puffed out a breath. “Well, he’ll think I should manage alone.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, though,” Harry pointed out. “You spent three bloody years at war, Ash. You don’t have to prove a damn thing to him or to anyone else.”

Ash tightened his arm around him. “Whatever would I do without you, Harry? Wouldn’t have survived those three years, that’s for sure.”

“Course you would.”

“I can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine living without you.”

Harry’s heart gave a hard kick, his stomach cramping. “Me neither,” he said roughly, holding him close. But surely Ash knew what this visit to London meant? Their one night notwithstanding, when Ash returned to London permanently, he’d have to assume all the trappings of his life and station.

And there’d be no room in that life for the likes of Harry West.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Saying goodbye was painful, the distance between them felt like an ache.

Ash’s body still thrummed with the memory of Harry’s touch when they parted at the stables with a lingering look and bland, layered words.

“Thank you for your company, West.”

“You’re welcome, Mr Ashleigh. It was my pleasure.”

Afterward, Ash felt too restless to go back to the house. What they’d done together must surely be written on his skin and he needed longer to prepare himself before facing his parents. If his father ever suspected... Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Turning his steps away from the house, Ash followed the path that led around the lawn to the stream and the circular archway that separated the garden from the wilderness beyond.

It was late afternoon by then and the scent of roses was heady as he paused and took a breath, gazing out into the woodland beyond. It was still Dalton land, but left to run wild. As boys, he and Dodge had played there, climbing trees and charging each other in pretend battles. If he looked hard enough, he thought he could see the ghosts of his boyhood playing there still.

Bang, bang. You’re dead.

He shook off the memory, fixed his mind on Harry instead and on the soft, impossible delight of his kiss, on the heart-stopping joy they’d found in each other’s arms. Strange that something the world considered obscene could feel so unutterably right, as if the earth had been formed for the single object of allowing Ashleigh Dalton to love Harry West, as if they had been made only for that purpose and for each other.

He smiled at his own whimsy, thinking how Harry would laugh to hear it, and aching that this glowing love in his heart must be hidden like a capped candle. Reaching out a hand, he pressed it against the cool stone of the archway. The trees beyond grew tall, bracken tangling beneath their bows, shadowy in the evening light. A narrow path cut through the brush, made by deer, probably, leading into the wild. He took a step toward it. Then another...

“Ashleigh!” His mother’s voice floated across the lawn, calling him back. “Where are you going? It’s time to dress for dinner.”

He turned, placing his foot carefully so as not to stumble. “Yes, I’ll be along directly.”

She nodded and turned away, disappearing into the house. Ash watched her go, fingers curling around the head of his cane, before following. Behind him, he heard the birds singing in the trees and wished he was as free.

Dinner was stultifying. His mother looked smilingly at him and asked what he and Olive had been discussing so secretly after church. Her hope was unconcealed, and Ash took care to play along — aware that the façade couldn’t last forever. They were talking about riding, he told his mother, cheeks heating at the memory of Harry.

His mother squeezed his hand, quite misconstruing his blush. “She’s a lovely young woman. And I’m sure she’ll settle down once she has a home and a husband to care for.”

“Once you’ve been up to the bank and confirmed your position,” his father added, “you’ll be able to make her an offer. Don’t hang around, boy. Miss Allen’s a valuable catch: property as well as a hefty fortune.”

“Property?” His mother sounded doubtful. “You mean Milford Cottage? That hardly counts — it’s practically derelict. And Ashleigh will want to live in town.”

“Land is land, my dear. An Englishman’s castle etcetera etcetera.” His voice darkened. “And this blasted government is taxing us into extinction, so Ashleigh will have to marry well.”

Ash could only nod along. What point was there in arguing? But his chest tightened nonetheless. One day he’d have to decide about his future, but if he didn’t marry then what? What escape was there from this suffocating life?

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