Page 87 of The MacGregor's Lady
Did a man who loved a woman try to hold her against her will with words?
Even honest words?
“Hold still.” Hannah fished in his pockets, produced a handkerchief, and dabbed at herself. She folded the thing over to use on his stomach, then arranged his softening cock in his clothes and fastened his trousers.
“You are proficient at that, Hannah Lynn Cooper.”
She tossed a look up at him, as if she’d say something, then changed her mind. When she would have ducked around him, left him on the platform without so much as a good-night kiss, he caught her hand.
“What were you about to say?” He could not read her expression, but he could feel her unhappiness with every instinct he possessed. “Tell me, Hannah, because this is as much privacy as we’re likely to find, and if you were going to say this mustn’t happen again, I agree. It must not. Ever.”
***
Whatwashesaying?
Hannah put her hand to Asher’s cheek, as if by touching him she could gain powers of divination to defy the darkness around them. Against her palm, his jaw was rough with the beginnings of a beard, and warm.
She craved that warmth.
He captured her hand in his own and gently removed it from his person. “Shall we sit, Hannah?”
He gestured to a bench fashioned on the side of the platform nearest the ladies’ car. A simple, flat surface such as a man might use to enjoy a cigar or to escape from the confines of the train’s cramped compartments.
Hannah took a seat, gathering Asher’s coat around her. He settled beside her, making no move to put an arm about her shoulders or draw her close.
Sothat’s how it was to be?
“You said this must not happen again, ever. What did you mean, Asher?” Was she to go back to my-lording and Balfouring?
“I want to touch you. It’s a distraction not to.” He took her hand, though his tone was truculent. “I meant, Hannah Cooper, that after the Alcincoates’ ball, we had a discussion, and that discussion led to indiscretions such as we just enjoyed moments ago.”
Passionate lovemaking was an indiscretion. He spoke the truth—a truth—but she wanted to pitch him off the train before he could say one more word—or perhaps jump from the train herself.
“My lord—”Wrong.For this discussion, all wrong. “Asher, I owe you an apology.”
He brought her knuckles to his lips. “You will explain this apology.”
The nature of their misunderstanding was apparently clear to him, and yet, she wanted to be the one to acknowledge their mistake. “When we had that discussion, I should have been clearer about my position. I was not accepting your proposal of marriage.”
“I know that now. You were announcing your intention to take ship. So why are you still here, holding hands with me?”
And committing further indiscretions? Between them, that question was fair even if the answer lay beyond Hannah’s grasp.
“I learned you had procured that license. Malcolm must have guessed, and he let it slip. I could not find a way to tell you…” That she loved him, that she wanted to spend the rest of her days and nights with him, but that she was leaving him all the same.
“So you’re telling me now, after scrambling m’ wits in five minutes flat?” That he could manage any pretensions to humor was a testament to the depth of his gallantry.
“My wits were scrambled the moment you stepped onto the platform, sir. They’re scrambled still.”
His arm came around her shoulders. Her throat began to ache.
“Not scrambled enough, I’ll warrant. I’m sorry, Hannah. It’s harder when we know what we’re giving up.”
How could he be so damnably philosophical?
“So we’re not engaged? That license doesn’t create an engagement?”
His lips grazed her temple. “It’s just a piece of paper. You’re free to tend to your responsibilities, and I’m free to tend to mine. I’ll squire you about Edinburgh for a couple of weeks, maybe show you Balfour if you’re interested, and then put you on one of my fastest ships bound for Boston.”
