Page 31 of A Devilish Element
“Two,” Jem corrected.
“Why are you down here?” Eliza asked. The paste was thickening nicely.
“Hm, well, let’s see. The only interesting person in the entire household abandoned me at the breakfast table with Mrs Prattlebox and a fop set upon eating his own weight in pigeon pie.”
“It was rather good.”
“So good you left most of yours.”
Her stomach gurgled over the memory. She would dearly have liked to have lingered longer at her breakfast but couldn’t not seize the opportunity provided by Bell’s intention to see Jane.
“’Tis lucky you know an observant gallant.” He held out his hand to her, revealing the remains of her pie, wrapped in a napkin.
Eliza gave a longing groan. “Hang on to it for me.”
“I’ve a better idea—bite.” Jem held the pie so that she didn’t need to stop her mixing. She took a nibble and then another, finally giving in to her hunger. Jem watched her chew, head thoughtfully cocked. “Here,” he reached out and dislodged some crumbs from around her mouth with his bare fingertips.
“Oh. Um,” she sighed, flustered by how close he was. She was no petite flibbertigibbet, being quite tall for a woman—her whole family bore the affliction except for Caroline—but Jem was easily six feet, perhaps even an inch or two taller, and he was standing exceedingly close. Close enough that she was conscious of the warmth radiating off him, and the scent of the millefleur soap he used to shave. Crushingly aware too of where his fingertip had brushed against her lips. This was not the first time they’d been thus positioned, nor the first she felt the draw in the pit of her, tempting her to further close the gap. At Stags Fell, there’d been too many people about, likewise at Lauwine Hall for all but the swiftest of pleasures, but now, here at Cedarton, there were barely a handful of people rattling about a property meant to house at least thrice their number, surely, they might carve out a moment of privacy without fear of being stumbled upon.
Could they not?
Dare she? What was the purpose of being allowed the freedom of travelling without a chaperone, if she was not to take full advantage of it?
Jem’s gaze lingered on her face. His gold-and-green-flecked irises glittered with promise. She wasn’t one to have her head turned by a man, but Jem posed a special kind of lure.
Her hands stilled; preparation forgotten. She hardly dared breathe as he traced the shape of her lips.
“Eliza Wakefield. What is it about you that draws me so?” He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as her. “I’ve not forgotten our last meeting.”
Nor had she. She’d kissed him, and Joshua, both, and not felt an iota of guilt over it. Now she leaned into Jem’s touch, wanting to experience that thrill all over again.
Why did he not act? Press his suit? Why did he have to choose to be a gentleman in this moment stymied by chivalry and a code of honour, rather than a thoroughly despicable rake?
“Jem,” she sighed, straining towards his touch. If he did not act soon, she would take matters into her own hands, and he could thank her for it later. It did always irk her how one came to be forever waiting around for gentlemen to apply themselves.
Eliza wetted her lips. Prickles of desire were chasing over her skin. Her pulse beat loudly in her ears. Dramatically enough he too could probably hear it.
“This is madness,” he murmured, warm breath buffeting her cheek.
The only madness was that he wasn’t already kissing her senseless when she desired it so very badly. His finger still rested at the corner of her mouth, and he was gazing at her in a way that left nothing to interpretation. This wasn’t simply a connection of minds forged over a mutual love of learning, it was physical. It had her heart caught in an iron fist.
She could do it. Kiss him right here and now, and no one would ever be the wiser. Her family were many miles away, no one here at Cedarton was watching over her. She was entirely free to make her own choices.
Jem slid a hand around the back of her head. “Tell me I shouldn’t. Tell me to release you.”
Eliza clasped the edges of his coat, and instead tugged him closer. “What if that’s not what I want?”
“Then we’re both cursed.”
She kissed him, rising onto her toes to reach, and groaning at his urgent response when their mouths met.
This… this was what had kept her awake and restless through numerous nights since they’d last seen one another. This possibility. This rightness in the way they fit together. It was a ridiculous impossibility, of course. When Freddy talked of finding suitable matches for her and her sisters, she never saw herself as part of that compact. To wed was to agree to a very specific set of expectations, and while she thought she would like children of her own someday, she did not want them to be the totality of her future, not when there was so much to learn, so many other things she might discover or engage with to leave her mark upon the world.
“Oh, God… Eliza. What is it that you do to me?”
Mayhaps the same thing he did to her, drove rational thought aside.
“We can’t do this… we shouldn’t,” he muttered. “We have to stop.” Yet how readily he slid his tongue between her lips, clove his body to her. Eliza startled, feeling the ridge of his desire press fast to her front. It made her feel hot and heavy in a very specific place, and eager for something she knew she shouldn’t even contemplate while unwed.
