Page 38 of The Viscount's Code
He ran his hands up her arms, over her back, exploring her, seeking out her smooth skin. She was warm, pliant, comfortable in his touch.
When his tongue caressed the seam of her mouth, she opened to him, and he was soon exploring her, showing her what it would be like if he were to take this further, to find the depths of the passion together.
And then she moaned, arching into him – and his eyes flew open with a start.
For this was no dream. Lady Hope Newfield was in his arms, her face tilted up toward his, her lips still accepting his kiss as her eyes remained closed.
Until, at his refusal to return to her, they slowly opened, blinking up at him, the blue within having taken on a watery, dreamlike quality.
“Anthony?” she whispered, and he forced himself to push up and away from her, leaning back against the old, scarred wooden headboard.
“Hope,” he said, hearing the raspiness of his tone and clearing his throat. “Hope, my God, I am sorry. I didn’t… that is, I—”
“You were asleep,” she finished, dipping her head, disappointment in her tone.
“No, that is, I— well, yes. I thought I was dreaming.”
“Of course,” she said, pushing back herself until she was at the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t—we shouldn’t have—”
“No,” he said, taking a breath as he ran his hands through his hair. “At least we stopped.”
“Yes, how fortunate,” she said, surprising him with the sarcasm in her tone.
“Hope, I have compromised you as it is,” he said, his tone harsher than he meant for it to be. “However, anything more would have truly ruined you. You do know that – don’t you?”
“Think nothing of it,” she said brightly, her demeanor changing in an instant. Anthony sighed, wishing she would show him what she was truly feeling, would say why she was upset instead of masking it. “We should get going, should we not?”
“I suppose so,” he said, considering that he could always talk to her in the carriage. There would be plenty of time in their forced proximity. He stood, annoyed to find that his hands were shaking slightly as he began to button his shirt, then sought out his waistcoat and jacket. “I shall go find us something to eat while you prepare yourself for the day. Coffee or tea?”
“P-pardon?” she said, turning her neck to look at him.
“Do you prefer coffee or tea?” he repeated, wondering if she hated him for what he had done. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to upset her any further. They were in somewhat of an impossible situation, as he was sure she would now want to return home, but he would lose two days of time if they did so.
“Tea.”
“Of course,” he said before letting himself out the door, leaning back against it after it closed and taking a deep breath.
He had nearly lost all sense of reason and inhibition with Hope. She would likely now expect marriage, as would Lord Newfield if he ever learned about this – that was, if he didn’t first kill Anthony.
One thing was for certain. Wherever they next stayed, they were going to come up with a better cover story. He could not subject himself to such temptation once more. For if she responded to him as she had again, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to stop himself next time.
* * *
Hope pressedher knees tightly together, her palms between them as she and Anthony sat on opposite carriage seats in silence.
She kept stealing glances at him, but his gaze remained fixed out the window, either because he didn’t want to look at her or because he was trying to prevent his queasiness.
She also wasn’t sure which answer she would prefer.
“How long until we arrive?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.
“A couple of hours.”
“I see. Is Reeves expecting us then?”
“He is expecting me.”
“Right.”
