Page 65 of The Lady Was Lying
Kissing him allowed her to relax.
To simply feel.
It was nice. Not earth-shattering. Not yet.
But maybe it could be. Maybe if they tried, they could share hundreds of kisses, with none of them exactly the same.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to experiment. To keep kissing. That, in and of itself, was earth-shattering.
Her hands hadn’t strayed from his chest since they’d started, but now that she was more comfortable, she trailed them upward over his shoulders until they cupped the back of his neck. Her forehead tipped forward to rest against his.
“I like kissing you,” she admitted.
She hadn’t realized he was holding himself stiffly until the muscles in his shoulders and neck relaxed. “I like kissing you too.”
Their next kiss had less hesitation.
More confidence.
But the same sweetness.
Their mouths opened, perfectly in sync, and their tongues tentatively explored. Like the first bud in early spring, it was as if she had been waiting for enough sunlight and water to blossom into a flower, and under his gentle care, she was slowly unfurling. It was such a measured awakening that it was difficult to track, but it was definitely happening.
A door opening somewhere down the hall vaguely registered. Brisk footsteps sounded, getting closer, and even though she heard them, they didn’t penetrate her consciousness enough to convince her to pull away.
An exasperated voice suddenly said, “Belinda,” and she stiffened.
It had been years since she’d been in this situation, but that didn’t mean she had forgotten the helplessness of being caught in the arms of a man by her brother.
Her response was pure instinct, an echo of the past she’d tried to forget. “Sebastian,” she said, dropping her hands and simultaneously stepping away from James.
“I needed a bit of fresh air,” she added even though she remained indoors. It was a variation of what she always said, but it had never hurt before. Maybe because she’d never been caught with someone who mattered. Or maybe because it had never fully felt like a lie.
“Greydon,” James said. “It isn’t how it looks. I?—”
“No,” she interrupted, not ready to hear whatever he intended to say. “Sebastian doesn’t require an explanation. Not from me, and certainly not from you. This isn’t the first time we’ve been in this situation.”
Both men turned to face her.
James’s gaze pleaded with her to let him finish while Sebastian’s remained blank.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Sweat gathered at her nape. Clammy palms clenched at her sides. Failing to admit that James was different reduced him to another bad decision in a long line, but she didn’t know what else to do. “Please don’t. I can’t…”
“Belinda.” James’s voice was quiet. It would have soothed her if she’d been capable of being soothed. “When I came to London, I had firm beliefs about courtship. Meeting you utterly destroyed those beliefs. Nothing about our interactions has gone as expected, and yet you’re the woman I want?—”
Panic, both familiar and unfamiliar, forced her to interrupt. “Don’t say it. I won’t agree. I refuse to trap you.”
“You aren’t trapping me,” he argued.
“You’re lying. Your honor compels you to do the right thing. You told me who you were the night we met, and I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”
Kissing her without a promise of commitment violated his sense of honor but he’d done it anyway. She wouldn’t steal his future just because he’d succumbed to desire.
“More than my honor is engaged,” he argued.
“No. Don’t say that.” She gripped her own forearms, squeezing the flesh and trying to ground herself. “We got caught up in the moment just now. Once you have a minute to consider what you truly want, you’ll realize this was a mistake.”
“Have you not been paying attention? I didn’t ask to kiss you until I knew.”
