Page 31 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
She appreciated his concern but was tempted to remind him that she’d lived alone for more than a year and had looked after herself well enough. She knew, however, that he could simply bring up the night that he had rescued her as evidence to the contrary.
“As you can see, I’m quite well, my lord.”
“Kit,” he corrected, and with one large hand pressed on her door, he pushed it open. She stepped back as he came inside her small dwelling.
“Is it just as you remembered?” she asked.
“Yes, still as small as a broom cupboard.”
“So youadmityou were the man who saved me that night,” she said with no small amount of triumph.
He snorted softly, as if this was all a game. “Youknewthat I knew that you knew that.”
“I just wanted to hear you admit the truth.”
Her choice of words put a slight frown on his face, a hardness. Yet if there was any kindness and compassion left in him, it lay in his decision to rescue her that night. It reminded him that he still could choose a path other than vengeance.
Kit prowled around her small room, his eyes drifting from the bed to the little table where she had her meals, then to the small wardrobe that held her few dresses and a cloak. He lingered longest on the handful of colorful hair ribbons that were draped over the back of one chair. He reached out and stroked the green ribbon, the one he had thoughtfully returned to her.
Kit noticed the easel and approached it with a curious look on his face. He folded his arms over his chest, studying the rough outline.
“Who is your subject?”
“A friend of mine, a man named Jude. He works as a stagehand alongside Henry.”
He seemed rather interested. “Ah, so this is how I shall look?”
“Well, I’ve only just started this one. I begin with a base color of a neutral tone, like light brown, and layer in many colors in succession. Then I finish it with three layers of glaze to make it shine and feel as though one could reach out and touch the subject.”
As she was explaining all this, Kit watched her, those intense eyes onherrather than the painting of Jude. She soon stopped talking when she could no longer ignore his intense focus.
“Wouldyouwant to touch me?” he asked. His voice was low, soft, almost husky, but she heard a hint of a plea in his question that was impossible to ignore.
“Would Iwantto?” she echoed, her own voice slightly breathless. She wanted to, yes, but she was also afraid of what touching him would do to both of them.
That memory of him kissing her, so faint yet intense, and the way he’d kissed her fingers, so innocent and sinful at the same time... She had done her best to pretend it had never happened. But she’d dreamt of it last night. She was unable to forget the feel of his mouth gently sucking on her finger and how his eyes had burned with raw passion.
“I promise to hold very still and behave... if you wish to touch me,” Kit said. There was no coldness to his words, and she saw none of the callous wild rogue in his gaze now. There was only a plea shining from those dark brown eyes.
Jude’s words about love and compassion being the way to quell a man’s tempestuous rage at a world that had so wronged him echoed in her mind. How long had it been since someone touched him with love?
“Yes... I want to touch you.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. She wanted to touch him with love, love from one person to another who was hurting. She desired him as a woman could desire a man, but her need to touch him now... it came only from a desire to share compassionate love. One soul to another with the hope to heal.
He pulled out one of her chairs at the table and sat down to face her. His hands lay on his thighs as he waited for her to come near. Drawn by the temptation of touching him without fear of consequence, Suzannah stood between his knees as he parted his legs.
With a trembling hand, she brushed the hair out of his eyes. A breath of excitement rippled through her like a meadow filled with butterflies suddenly taking flight all at once. It filled her with a swirl of color and the faintest whisper of destiny on their gossamer wings.
Suzannah trailed her fingers along his cheekbones, traced his proud nose with the pad of a finger, and dared to shape the lines of his mouth. Only then did he react to her touch. His dark lashes closed as she stroked his lips, and he let out a soft sigh.
It was the sound of someone finding their way home after having been lost a very long time. The relief, the gratitude and pleasure of seeing one’s front door after such a long time away. She knew that sound because it was the sound she had made when she’d first seen her sets on display at Drury Lane. As the theater had darkened and the crowd hushed when the music began, the scenes she had made rolled on stage and she’d felt like she’d found home again.
Kit had suffered seven years without the comfort of feeling like he was home. And it was her touch that had made him feel it once more. She knew this to be true, but she didn’t understand how she could make him feel that way, only that she felt the sense of it mirrored in her own heart.
“Please don’t stop,” Kit whispered, and his eyes opened. She saw the ghost of tears in their depths. She was never quite sure who moved first, but she was soon sitting upon his lap and had brought his head to hers. She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his closed eyelids, and the tip of his nose and his straight chin before at last placing her lips to his.
Somewhere in the dark, secret part of her that had fallen into shadows of grief over her father’s loss, a light blossomed to life. It was as though lightning had struck the dry ground of her soul, and a fire was born again, burning defiantly against the darkness.
Longing and loneliness blended with the pleasure of that single kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer to him, holding on and plunging deeper into the feel of himsurroundingher. Kit’s mouth grew bolder, as if he too felt that spark between them.
