Page 77 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Bella smiled and swept a strand of hair from her face before turning toward him. “No regret.” Stepping closer, she slid a hand around his waist.
Rhys wrapped both arms around her and let out a sigh as he rested his chin against her hair.
“I will never forget our time here.” She tipped her head up to look at him.
The look in her eyes didn’t match the contentment he felt.
“We could come back anytime you like.” Rhys offered her a smile.
“I almost prefer that it remain special. Unique.” She pulled away from him a bit and Rhys loosened his hold. “We should return to London. Meg will begin to wonder where we’ve gone.”
“And then?”
“We’ll carry on with our plan,” she told him matter-of-factly. “And see if we can’t find Mr. Radley in Bishopsgate.”
“I meant us.”
“I think...” She lifted onto her toes and kissed him softly. “This will be a separate piece.”
Despite the heat of the sun, a chill swept down his neck. “What does that mean?”
“Like a puzzle piece. One part of our relationship that is important but separate from the rest.”
“An exception to the rules.” Rhys loosened his hold on her and tried not to let the bitterness welling inside him sweep away all the contentment he’d felt an hour before.
“A wonderful exception. But yes.” Bella stepped away. “Shall we collect our things and head back to town?”
The longer he looked at her, the deeper he saw behind the cool confident facade she was projecting. Her lips trembled as she gazed at him, and she held her shoulders with a stiffness that belied unease.
It was fear.
“You needn’t worry, Bella. Whatever you wish, I’ll agree to it.” Could she really be worried he’d speak of these private perfect moments to anyone else? “Trust me.”
“What I wish is to return to London.” She took one step forward and reached down to clasp his hand. “I wish for us to remember this day fondly but realize it is a moment apart.”
They walked back to the cottage hand in hand. Rhys stroked his thumb against her skin, savoring every moment of contact.
She hadn’t told him he’d never get to touch her so freely again, but he sensed it. He feared it. Somehow, when they went back to London, he was supposed to put all of this aside.
He agreed to let her take the lead.
But he had no idea how to stop wanting her, especially now that he knew how perfect it felt when she was in his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Rhys swung with his left fist again and felt a satisfying burn in the muscles of his shoulder and arm.
He was striking at the air, but he imagined punching the heavy leather bags suspended from the ceiling at the boxing salon he frequented in London.
Two more quick jabs, one with his left fist, one with his right, and he turned to the desk behind him. Taking up the letter lying there, he squinted at the words again. He’d made three attempts, in between shadow boxing, to make sense of the whole damned thing.
It wasn’t that the words weren’t written clearly. Iverson’s penmanship was impeccable. What Rhys lacked was focus, but one thing was clear. The letter brought good tidings.
Iverson informed him that a recent investment had paid dividends, far more than expected. His bank account had grown to the point that he wouldn’t worryovermuch about paying milliners and modistes for all the fripperies Meg had purchased in the last weeks.
But money and Radley and stolen ducal funds weren’t what occupied his mind.
There was only a single thought in his head. Or rather every thought for the last several days had been about one woman. A lady who’d been in his head so long he couldn’t recall a day when she hadn’t crossed his mind. But this was different. Now he knew what she tasted like. How she sounded when she lost herself in the rapture of release. What her body felt like next to his when there was nothing but heat between them.
