Page 35 of Earl for the Summer
“So you feared I would have exposed you?”
“And I would have deserved it, but she would have hated Julian as a result.”
Daphne stunned him by rising from the settee and coming around to perch on his. She sat enticingly close and angled toward him as he turned to face her.
“I admire your loyalty to your brother. So I think I can forgive you.”
“Daphne—”
“But I want to know what was real and what was false. Between us.” With a sharp inhale, she slid closer. “Was the kiss real?”
“Every moment of it.”
She studied him as if looking for the truth in his eyes, beneath his skin, as if she could see as deep as his very soul. Then she closed the space between them.
Cassian didn’t move. Didn’t dare breathe.
Daphne leaned in, so near that he was surrounded by her sweet floral scent. She pressed her lips to his. Tentatively at first, then with a bit of the same boldness that had brought her to his door tonight.
Yet it wasn’t the desperate, fiery kiss they’d shared before. This one was slower, deliberate. She seemed to ask a question and offer him the answer at the same time. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she let her warm palm linger against his skin. Then she traced her fingers in a featherlight caress down the line of his scar.
Cassian reached for her waist—unable to stop himself—as if anchoring her would anchor him too.
He deepened the kiss, determined to convince her that, yes, their first kiss had been real. All of it had been real. Every look. Every moment he’d spent with her. And if he were a better man, it might still be.
But he wasn’t.
He forced himself to stop, to break the kiss. As both of them breathed raggedly, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“I still have to go to Berkshire,” he told her, his voice rough.
She pulled back, blinking as if confused. “What?”
“I won’t allow Julian to read of Selina’s engagement in some gossip rag.”
Hurt rushed into her eyes again like a tide, turning the vibrant blue darker. “Loyalty.”
“Yes.” He leaned back, pulling away from her, though it felt as if something inside him was ripping apart. “But I need the distance too. And you…” His voice caught, then he forced himself to say, “You deserve more, Daphne.”
“Why do you get to decide what I deserve?”
“Because I know what I am.” He stood and crossed to the fireplace, bracing a hand against the mantel. “You saw me as some polished nobleman, but I’m not that man. I’ve lied, manipulated, taken advantage of your kindness.”
“Cassian…”
He turned. “You should hate me, Daphne.”
“I don’t,” she said softly, standing up from the settee. “I suppose that’s the problem.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Allow me to do the right thing and go. If I stay, I’ll want more. And I can’t seek more when I have nothing to give.”
They stood in silence. She seemed to be waiting for something—no doubt for him to be the man she thought he could be.
Finally, he stepped closer. “You make me wish I were a better man, and you must know that I’ll never forget these few days, or you.”
He reached for her hand and lifted it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, then he let her go.
“Allow me to find a hansom for you and Ivy. I need to know you’ll get back safely.”
