The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(51)

“But it’s happening right now. I’ve leaned in.” He reached out, brushed her skin. “I’m touching your cheek.”

She turned almost imperceptibly into his hand.

Andrew felt his voice grow husky, even before he formed words. “It’s no longer what would you do but what will you do.”

He moved even closer, so close that his eyes could no longer focus on her face. So close that he could feel the light touch of her breath on his lips.

But still not a kiss.

“What will you do, Poppy?”

And then she leaned. She swayed. Just a little, but that was all it took for her lips to brush softly against his.

It was the lightest of kisses.

It shot through his heart.

His fingers landed on her shoulders, and some very small corner of his mind realized it wasn’t to pull her close, but rather to keep himself from doing so. Because if he did . . .

And heaven knew he wanted to.

Dear God, he wanted so much. So much of her .

He wanted the length of her body against his. He wanted the curve of her back beneath his hand, the heat of her as he nudged his leg between hers.

He wanted to press himself against her, so that she would feel his desire, so that she would know it, and she would know what she had done to him.

He wanted all that, and then he wanted more, which was why he drew an unsteady breath and stepped back.

To continue would be heaven.

To continue would be madness.

He turned away, needing a moment to catch his breath. That kiss . . . it had lasted less than a second, but he was undone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough and scratchy in his throat.

She blinked several times. “You are?”

He looked back at her. Her fingers were lightly touching her lips, and she looked dazed, as if she wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.

Welcome to the club.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, because it seemed slightly kinder than saying it shouldn’t have happened. Although he wasn’t sure why.

“It’s . . .” Her brow wrinkled, and she looked as if she was thinking very hard about something. Either that or she couldn’t figure out what she ought to be thinking about.

“Poppy?”

Her eyes flicked back to his, as if something inside her had woken up. “It’s all right,” she said.

“All right?” he echoed. That sounded . . . tepid.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I kissed you .”

“Please,” he said patiently, “we both know—”

“I kissed you.” She said it firmly, between her teeth. “You dared me to.”

“I—” But he said no more. Was it the truth? Had he dared her? Or had he just been making sure she had wanted it too? Because even just one kiss . . . it could ruin her.

It may well have ruined him.

“That’s what happened,” she said. “That’s what happened, and I don’t regret it.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Weren’t we just discussing the irony of my being bored while on the adventure of my life? You are many things, Captain James, but you are not boring.”

His mouth might have gone slack. “Thank you?”

“But we will never speak of it again.”

“If that is your wish.” It wasn’t his wish, but it should be.

She regarded him with an oddly penetrating expression. “It has to be, don’t you think?”

He had no idea what he thought any longer, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “I bow to your judgment, Miss Bridgerton.”

She gave a little snort, as if she didn’t believe that for a second. He supposed he deserved it; he was usually employing some degree of irony when he said such things.

“Very well,” he said. “We shall pretend it never happened.”

She opened her mouth as if she might argue—and in fact he was quite certain she wanted to argue; he’d seen that expression on her face enough times to know what it meant. But in the end she didn’t say anything. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded her agreement.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation, so Andrew just stared off at the horizon, barely discernible in the moonless night. They’d made good time; barring an unexpected change in the weather, they’d be in Lisbon by morning. Which meant that he needed to get some sleep. He had to be off the ship and into town first thing.

“I’m afraid I need to take you back down below,” he said to Poppy.

She could not hide her disappointment, but at the same time, it was clear she’d been expecting this. “Very well,” she said with a sigh.

He held out his hand.

She shook her head. “I can manage.”

“At least allow me to help you up from the beakhead.”

She did, but the moment she was on the main deck, she pulled her hand from his grasp. He let her lead the way back, and soon enough, they were at his cabin door.

“I just need to gather a few things before I go to Mr. Carroway’s cabin,” he said.

“Of course.” She stepped to the side as they entered, and it was all very polite, and strangely not awkward.

Rather like nothing had happened.

Which was how they wanted it.