Page 31 of The Dove
She just did not think she had it in her to tell him exactly why.
His smile was blinding in its joy, making her heart sink even lower into the pit of her gut. He expected her to accept his proposal, seeming all but certain that he’d have her. She felt like the worst sort of person for what she was about to do to him.
“I am looking forward to it,” he said.
After that, they spent the rest of their time engaging in small talk. He asked about her new home, and she told him how much she’d enjoyed her independence thus far, hoping it would serve as a hint of how she would answer his inevitable question. He did not seem to notice, telling her about the suite of rooms he’d rented since his mother had elected to remain behind at their country estate. He asked after Bertram, and she swiftly changed the subject to the Bellinghams’ musicale and the pieces she’d played.
By the time their second dance had ended, they’d exhausted every topic outside of the massive elephant taking up space between them. But then, they would have to wait until they had privacy tomorrow to discuss that. He left her with a kiss upon the hand and his promise to call upon her at ten in the morning.
She turned away as he was swallowed up by the crowd, only to find herself confronted with the front of a man’s stark, black waistcoat. Her heart lurched as the scent of cedar and cigar smoke wrapped itself around her, and the heat emanating off the broad body blocking her view of the rest of the room made her skin flush.
Lifting her gaze to meet his, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her heart taking up a rapid cadence against her breastbone. He grinned at her, that primal motion of lips and flashing of teeth that made her feel as if she were about to be devoured. And she could only stand, trapped in his thrall like some helpless animal about to have its throat torn out by its predator. If he’d decided to sink his teeth into her shoulder just now, she would not have fought him. She would have gone weak in the knees and clung to his neck, letting him bite and taste her until the ache in his gut eased, until he’d had his fill.
“Are you ready to perform for your adoring public, little dove?” he teased, offering her his hand.
It was time for their waltz.
She felt eyes on them, even the couples who gathered around them to partner for the waltz unable to tame their curiosity. Placing her hand in his, she acquiesced with a nod. He used her hand to pull her toward him, molding their bodies together from chest to hip while wrapping his arm around her waist. She bit back a moan at the things his proximity did to her, making the tips of her breasts go hard and her womb pool with liquid heat. His cock flared to life between them, pulsing with blood, throbbing with promise. It was all-too potent a reminder that she hadn’t had that long, hard length inside of her the last time they’d been together. Her inner channel clenched with longing, that primitive part of her not caring what he’d done or who he was—simply recognizing him as her counterpart.
There must have been music, because then, he was twirling her, spinning her about in that hypnotic sway and dip that so characterized the waltz. The world around them whirled, the little pinpoints of candlelight blurring together.
“They love you almost as much as they hate you, you know,” he murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on hers as they moved, back and forth, round and round. “These people … the women, especially. They want to despise you, but they can’t quite manage it. You are too beautiful … too enchanting … too mysterious.”
She lowered her gaze to his tiepin, a huge chunk of black onyx stabbed through the snowy white linen of his cravat. “Is that how you feel about me? You hate me?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating and resounding from his body and echoing through hers. “What makes you think I hate you, little dove? I have no reason to hate you … even when you vex me to no end. Even when you refuse me.”
She glanced back up at him. “It is the queerest thing … I cannot seem to hate you, either, even when you give me every reason to.”
What was she doing? What was shesaying?
It must be the music, or the dizzying feeling of the waltz, or the champagne she’d drunk, or …
She could not fight whatever it might be. It made her reckless.
She might as well proclaim out loud that she loved him.
The notion was so ridiculous, she almost burst out laughing.
“I could not blame you if you did,” he murmured. “But it would not stop me from claiming what’s mine in the end.”
She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge. “Yours?”
“Aye, little dove,” he confirmed. “You. You are mine. What I cannot understand is why you continue to fight it.”
“Perhaps it might have something to do with you moving into Fairchild House,” she countered. “Or your trotting me out to Hyde Park and waltzing with me tonight … your inability to see past your disdain for my family. It is over for me now … I simply wish to move on.”
His hand tightened around hers, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “It will never be over for me. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I do. Which is why I cannot accept your offer. Aside from the fact that I have no wish to be any man’s mistress, I simply cannot allow you to turn my entire life into your battlefield.”
The hand at her back tightened, his fingers digging into the curve of her waist. “Fairchild House … it could be yours. You could live there again. I’ll give you whatever you want. A harp in every room, a stable full of horses to ride, swords to fence with … name it, little dove, and it is yours. What more could I promise to get you to accept my offer?”
The one thing you could never give.
Aloud, she simply said, “There is nothing you could offer, Adam. I have made up my mind.”
His arm tightened even more, making it difficult to breathe. He was practically carrying her across the floor now, her feet barely touching the tiles as they whirled. Her lungs burned, and her breasts tingled, the valley between her thighs aching, pulsating.
