Page 28 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
“I should not have kissed you,” she said. “Not when you are so…confused.”
“I should not have returned the kiss,” Aaron replied.
He paused, leaning forward, resting his face in his hands. “Though I’m glad I did. You are an excellent kisser.”
Arabella looked away, colour in her cheeks. “I learned from one of my father’s stable hands. He was older than I and an excellent teacher,” she paused and tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling. “In hindsight, I should not have told you that.”
Aaron laughed, then winced and stopped. “I’d like to shake that boy by the hand,” he said. “In my dream, your father wanted to hang me.”
“Hang you? Whatever for?”
“I was taking a diabolical liberty with your person,” Aaron replied with a wry smile.
Arabella felt the colour bloom in her cheeks like the rising of the sun. “Oh,” she said, lost for words.
The thought that he had been dreaming about her and clearly not a gentile or respectable dream was exciting. She was vaguely aware that the proper response was to be outraged. Even to slap his face. But she was merely intensely flattered.
“Had you had such a dream about Helena, she would have you put in the stocks,” Arabella said.
“Ha! She was the one with the noose!” Aaron barked, again wincing afterwards.
“I think you should be in bed,” Arabella said.
Aaron could only nod. She went to him and offered him a hand to help him to his feet. Then she lent him a shoulder to lean as she struggled to help him into the bedroom. Struggled because his tall frame was slabbed with muscle, while lacking the strength to move himself about safely.
They both almost fell to the bed, though Aaron fell alone. Arabella contented herself with sitting on its edge and pulling a blanket over him. As she did, Aaron reached out and his hand found hers.
“Thank you,” he said, “for helping me.”
“My family blame me for your condition. Helena probably thinks I deliberately sabotaged your carriage to prevent the two of you marrying.”
Aaron pushed himself to his elbows, the sheet falling from one shoulder to show an enticing view of a hard pectoral muscle.
“Please, don’t remind me of that. Not at the moment,” he said in a pained voice.
“If you don’t like thinking of it, you can always call it off,” she said.
Aaron looked at her through the pain in his eyes. “That, I cannot do,” he said.
“Why not?”
He pushed himself upright so that he was sitting next to her. The blanket fell away entirely, exposing a body to rival that of Michelangelo’s greatest work. Arabella had to force herself to look away, wanting nothing more than to stare and stare. And touch. She hoped that her breathing did not seem to him to be as ragged as it was to her.
“A promise. To a man to whom I owe much.”
When Arabella looked back at him, she could see the sadness in his face, the regret. Their eyes met and locked, as though drawn to each other by magnetism. Time stretched, its flow becoming glacial. Arabella found herself studying the angular, harsh lines of his face. The stony planes that made him seem so hard but which she could now see softening. There was emotion beneath the iron.
There was passion and humour and humility. She wanted to look forever, wanted to be held captive by those eyes to become his slave. Dominated by his desire. She bit her lip and for some reason Aaron’s eyes widened and colour flamed into his cheeks.
Arabella wondered what it was about that facial movement that so enraptured him. She continued to bite and he leaned closer, his eyes on her lips.
Then he was pulling away and the disappointment within Arabella was potent.
“I should go,” she said abruptly, standing.
But Aaron reached out and seized her hand, holding tightly.
“I knew it!” Helena screeched, suddenly standing in the doorway.
