A Passion for Pleasure(115)

Then it happened. His eyes flickered to the creamy swell of her bosom. And lingered.

A surge of triumph filled Talia. She steeled her shaky courage and pressed forward with the speech she had rehearsed.

“I couldn’t a-allow you to leave yet again without knowing the truth of my…my feelings for you,” she stammered. “I love you, James. I’ve loved you since I was a girl, back when we used to climb trees and play hoops and ride horses. I loved you when you went off to university, and every time you set forth on one expedition or another. I’ve waited for your letters, longed for your return, and…and when I heard you were leaving again, I knew I had to tell you the truth. By rights I ought to have married already, but I’ve never…never wanted to marry anyone except you. Because I love you.”

He managed to pull his gaze from her bosom and look at her. Shock rather than desire filled his eyes.

Talia grasped the mantel with one hand and tried to pull air into her tight lungs. “I know this is sudden, that you’ve always looked upon me as a friend, but I—”

“Talia.”

The strangled tone in his voice caused a resurgence of fear. Her fingers tightened on the mantel. Words crowded in her throat.

James pushed to his feet and approached her, his boots soundless on the thick carpet. For an instant, Talia dared to believe her long-held dreams would come true, that he would gather her in his arms, confess to his mutual love, and then press his mouth to hers...

“Talia!”

The stench of burning silk filled Talia’s nose the second James grabbed her shoulders. Instead of crushing her passionately against his chest, he yanked her away from the mantel. Talia stumbled, her heart catching in her throat. James cursed.

She spun around back in horror. Flames leapt from the hearth and ate through her discarded shawl, the fringed edge of which had fallen perilously close to the fire.

James ran to the sideboard and grabbed a flower vase. He dumped the water, flowers and all, onto the shawl while stamping out the flames beneath his boots. Blackened water spilled over the carpet. Smoke billowed from the scorched fabric.

James coughed. He picked up another vase and doused the material again, then hurried to ring the bell pull.

“My lord?” The footman, Hamilton, opened the door, alarm crossing his features at the stench of smoke and burnt silk. “My lady?”

James stepped in front of Talia, blocking her from the footman’s view. He gestured to the sodden, smoldering wrap. “Hamilton, fetch Kemble and attend to this, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Embarrassment scorched Talia’s cheeks. She turned away as another footman hurried into the room, though James remained standing as her shield. Male voices conferred as the servants cleaned the mess and ensured there was no further danger.

Then the door clicked shut again. Silence as loud as thunder filled the room. Talia pressed her hands to her face and wished she could disappear. She felt James’s presence behind her but could not turn to face him. Cold shivers racked her body.

A wool coat slipped across her shoulders. The fabric smelled like James—sea air and a touch of something exotic. Cinnamon and cloves. Indian tea. Dark coffee. She breathed in the scent and allowed the familiarity of it to ease a bit of her despair.

“My dear Talia.”

His voice was gentle—not pitying or, worse, amused. Talia forced another breath into her lungs and turned. He stood right behind her, close enough that she could see the gold flecks of his irises and the faint scrape of stubble on his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her throat aching.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He put his hand on her cheek. “Please believe me when I say you honor me deeply with your admission.”

Talia stared at him. She’d half-expected him to stammer out some sort of excuse, to find a way to be rid of her and have the whole debacle finished with. While he hadn’t done that, Talia sensed he had more to say…and none of it would be what she desperately longed to hear.

Fear seized her anew. Her heart raced.

He was so close to her. His palm was warm on her cheek. She stared at his mouth. How often had she wondered what his lips would feel like against hers?

Before he could speak again, Talia closed the scant distance between them and pressed her lips to his. Surprise stiffened James’s shoulders. He started to retreat, but Talia gripped the front of his shirt and increased the pressure of the kiss. Heat bloomed through her at the realization of a moment that had flourished so passionately and so often in her dreams.