Page 66 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
Eleanor could see his eagerness and his loss, the poignancy of all those missed years written in every line of his face.
The golden heart was warm in her hand. When she flipped the necklace over she saw the Bromley family crest had been engraved on the back of it. Another effort that told her of his hopes.
His hair was wet, the curls falling with loose dampness upon the white of his collar and the jacket he wore was tight enough to define the muscle beneath the fabric.
How easy it would be to simply move forward and fall into his arms. With hope. But she had to know him first, had to understand what it was he wanted of them.
Was Lucy the only thing that held them together now? Just the promise of her? Eleanor drank the wine and liked the feeling of how it bolstered her courage. Ever since he had come back she had drunk much more than she had before.
Another difference. She struggled for a further topic, but he spoke before she could.
‘How did we meet, Eleanor? I remember you only as the much younger sister of Jacob whom I seldom saw?’
‘I had gone to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens with my grandmother and her friends to see the fireworks and you were watching me. When Grandmama was busy, we spoke.’
‘Just spoke?’
‘You touched me.’
And I thought I had been burned by flame.
‘How?’ He had moved closer now.
‘You took my hand and kissed the inside of my palm. The darkness allowed it. I knew you, of course, but at first you did not know me. The orchestra was playing Handel and when it was supper I escaped to eat it with you. Cold meats and cheese and puddings. You held a silver pass for the season and pots of beautiful red and blue flowers hung from every tree above our heads. The air smelt of fireworks.’
‘You remember details.’
Every single one of them, she felt like saying, but didn’t.
* * *
He wanted to remember so badly.
‘Did I kiss you?’ His finger reached out to touch her lips softly.
‘Not properly.’ She blushed bright red as she said this and he thought such reticence did not sound like him. When he desired something he had usually taken it without worrying about consequences. Then.
‘You kissed my hand and my wrist. Just there. Then Grandmama came to find me and you disappeared.’
Interrupted as he would not be tonight.
‘Can I try again? Now?’
Staying just where she was, she lifted her hand and he turned it over, his thumb stroking the patterns there carefully.
He could feel her draw in a shaky breath and was glad when her eyes came up to meet his, the blue in them as startling as he always found it.
‘And then you say I kissed it?’
She nodded, fear overwritten by something else entirely.
‘Like this?’
She tasted of lemon and salt and woman. His tongue drew along the same pathway his thumb had just left and he could smell the violets imbued in her skin.
The yellow gown was long sleeved so he pushed away the fabric to measure the pulse there with his lips. Fast and shallow. His own was probably much the same.
The first salvo was fired and, releasing her hand, he took his wine from the table nearby and held it out to her.
