A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(18)

"Not at all," he replied. "In truth, most of them can go to the devil for all I care."

"Then why are you afraid to be alone with me?" she asked softly.

"I'm only trying to protect you from those who live to destroy others," he answered.

His chest squeezed as her gaze grew misty. "I don't belong here. Don't you understand? Can you even imagine how it feels to be sought out only because you have property and a fortune? How will I ever know if someone actually cares for me?"

Nick stifled a groan. The anguish in her beautiful blue-green eyes unraveled his last threads of self-restraint. He drew her into his arms, knowing he was making a mistake, maybe the biggest of his life, but the kiss was his fate. It was as inevitable as the rising sun and as unstoppable as the ocean tide.

"How will you know?" He moved in slowly, deliberately, until their faces were mere inches apart, until the sweet sough of her breath caressed his face. He couldn't hold himself back now if his next breath depended on it. "This is how."

Cupping her face with both hands, he finally claimed the soft, sweet lips that had tormented him since he'd seen her in Lady Russell's garden. Her kiss was the tenderest torture. Although unschooled, her lips were indescribably sweet. He wanted to lose himself in the drugging pleasure of them forever. He resisted the urge to probe with his tongue, knowing if he took this any further, he'd never be able to pull away, and he had to. He couldn't let it go on. One long and lingering kiss was all he would allow himself . . . because anything more could never be enough.

***

As Nick's warm hands held her face, Mariah shut her eyes, wishing for the kiss with all of her being. His musk-and-bergamot scent wafted over her, teasing her senses just before his lips brushed over hers. It was her first kiss, and he was the only man she'd ever dreamt of kissing. Soft and warm, delicious and divine, his mouth moved over hers, sending rapturous ripples racing through her body. Was there ever anything more wonderful than his kiss? Their mingling breaths made her light-headed and giddy, and she wanted it to go on and on forever, but just as she thought he would deepen the kiss, he slowly disengaged and withdrew. She opened her eyes to find him staring back with a dazed look.

"Lady Mariah," he began helplessly, "I am so sorry. I never should have—"

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because it's dishonorable when I can't offer you marriage."

"But I told you I don't wish to talk of marriage. I don't wish to talk at all. I only want you to kiss me again. Please, Nick," she pleaded softly. "Will you kiss me again?"

He shook his head and mumbled, "I'm sorry." Turning abruptly away, he strode toward the terrace door.

Her stomach knotted at the realization that she'd just thrown herself at a man who'd only kissed her out of pity. How could she have been so stupid to think he might care for her? Her throat and eyes burned. This entire night was just too much to bear. She tried to hold back the tears, but suddenly it was impossible to keep them at bay. Stifling a sob, she gathered up her skirts and fled down the stairs and into the gardens.

***

His chest heaving, Nick stood with his back to the terrace door. He'd done the right thing, the honorable thing. Yet he'd never felt like a bigger cad in his entire life. He'd left her alone on the terrace with kiss-swollen lips and rejection in her eyes. He stationed himself at the door, determined to watch over her from a safe distance until she came back in, but the seconds drew into minutes. His concern for her grew as the minutes lengthened to a quarter hour. Why had she not come in? Should he go back and escort her inside?

He was deliberating just that when Lady Russell approached with a look of censure. "My dear Needham, where is your coat?"

His coat? He looked down to find himself in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He hadn't even realized he'd forgotten it. "I gave it to Lady Mariah," he said.

"To Lady Mariah? Why on earth would she need a gentleman's coat?"

"She desired some air and had no shawl."

The furrow between her brows deepened. "You let her go into the night unescorted?"

"She is only on the terrace, my lady. I thought it best, for propriety's sake, to wait for her here."

"Then you are a fool, Needham."

"Excuse me?"

"What young woman wants to be alone on a moonlit terrace? Indeed, we are both fools, for I never should have encouraged her to accept Rochford."

"Why is that?" he asked. "He's one of the most eligible bachelors in England."

"Who I have every reason to believe is presently cavorting with Lady Cumberbatch. She pled a headache a while ago and left the card tables. Shortly after that, Rochford also disappeared in her direction. It is no secret they were once lovers. I do not believe that Mariah has the temperament to suffer such a marital arrangement. She desires affection and fidelity, and I don't believe Rochford is capable of either. You, however . . ."

"Me?" he repeated, aghast. "What are you suggesting? You know my circumstances."

"Pshaw! A man's circumstances can change, Needham—especially given proper motivation."

Proper motivation? What did that mean?

"Dear me, it grows late." She suppressed a yawn. "I do believe I should like to retire now. Would you be so kind as to retrieve my errant charge? I won't rest unless I am assured she is in your safe hands."