His lips were soft. His touch achingly gentle as he cupped her cheek. Yet the emotion both conjured was as intense as it was unexpected. As his mouth brushed over hers, his free hand sought hers at her side. That touch, too, felt profound, their laced fingers an acknowledgment of the strength of their feelings in a way no mere embrace ever could be, but also an admission that they both knew that whatever this was between them was never meant to be.
Neither of them hurried to increase the contact. The moment was too special for that. Instead, they strung the poignant kiss out, marveling at its intensity while mourning the cause of it.
Goodbye.
So final, yet …
Minerva sighed against his mouth, then melted against him, needing to deepen it, needing to feel his body against hers just this once before she had to let him go. Slowly, she traced her fingers over his face, searing it onto her memory for all the empty years to come. Then, because it was necessary, she did the same with his shoulders, then his arms and chest, while his hands toyed with her hair.
Beneath her flattened palms, she could feel his heart beating again, a sure and steady rhythm that seemed to echo the sound of her own beating erratically in her head. His skin radiated warmth through the thin linen, the muscles in his chest too intriguing not to explore with her fingertips. She felt them tremble a moment before he moaned her name against her mouth and his arm snaked around her waist, tugging her closer still until their bodies touched from ribs to hip.
Time had no place. She lost all concept of it as his lips slanted against hers, oblivious of everything except the way he made her feel. She had been kissed before, and more than once. Yet those chaste, innocent, brief touches of lips all those years ago fell woefully short of Hugh’s. His was a wholly different and potent experience, which opened her eyes to all manner of things she had not really understood before.
This kiss was both physical and temporal. Both passionate and painful. Making her body yearn while her heart wept.
Who knew a kiss could say things no words could? Filled with longing, sadness, regret, joy, understanding, and gratefulness all at the same time. Or that the line between tender and heartfelt, and passionate and all consuming was so fine or so precarious it could change in an instant? Like the world shifting on its axis, this kiss had the power to alter everything immeasurably, and she knew nothing would ever be quite the same again.
When his tongue teased hers, she welcomed it, plunging her fingers into his hair to anchor him in place, not caring that the blatant need in her breasts would be obvious, flattened as they were against his chest, or that her greedy hips had pushed themselves wantonly toward his so that she could feel his desire.
Entwined, they stumbled back into her bedchamber, and one of them must have kicked the door shut, because she felt the cold wood against her back while his hands smoothed unhindered down her shoulders and rib cage before he filled them with her bottom.
She didn’t recognize the bold woman whose hands burrowed beneath his shirt, who was suddenly impatient with the barrier of her nightgown, whose palms raked over his bare skin as if her life depended upon it. Her body now controlled her mind, reacting in a way it had never reacted before—even when she had thought herself in love.
It welcomed him. Wanted him. Molded against him, until she could discern the full size and shape of his hardness, reveled in it and ached to feel it inside her. Then his hands found her breasts, and she had moaned into his mouth. Moaned and writhed because it felt so glorious. Then all at once his was gone.
Hugh had broken the contact and now stood breathless, blinking and stunned. “That was … unexpected.”
She had no earthly idea if that meant he regretted it, but the distance between them made her suddenly self-conscious, so she reached for her shawl.
“No…” His raised hand stayed her. “Please don’t. Let me have the memory of you exactly as you are now.” His eyes, still darkened with passion, dropped to her lips, then greedily raked her body before they changed and swirled with something else. Something deep and complicated that she didn’t understand. He took another step back, shook his head, and smiled with regret. “I shall miss you, Minerva.”
“And I shall miss you, too, Hugh.”
As the door opened, he turned, stared deep into her eyes as if searching for something, then sighed. “For what it’s worth, I have adored having you as my fiancée.”
Minerva stared down at her tea. Had she sugared it already? If she had, she didn’t remember, so she spooned some in to be sure and stirred it idly, returning to the same thing she had been mulling over all night.
That kiss.
Thank goodness she had the breakfast room to herself, because all these hours later she was still not fully over it or fit to be seen in company.
Obviously, it had been a goodbye. A thank-you. An acknowledgment that the attraction between them had been mutual. Bittersweet, too, tinged with regret that their enjoyable interlude was at an end but also accepting of the fact that they could never be more. Under all normal circumstances, a carefree earl who owned this palace and a cynical girl from Clerkenwell would never have met, let alone spend almost a week ensconced in one another’s company. She was in no doubt, life for them would move on—but oh my goodness! That kiss had been something!
Thanks to Hugh, she now knew a kiss was not just about lips—but teeth and tongues, bodies and hearts as well.
Somewhere she had offered him both and gave them freely, expecting nothing in return. Because what was there to expect? He lived in his world and she lived in hers, and never the twain should meet. There was no future, no past, only that moment. A moment she had lived in fully.
In truth, if he hadn’t been the one to tear his mouth away, she realized she would have given him more. Allowed him greater liberties, Lord only knew how many, because her body had craved them and in that moment it had felt right.
She smiled and added more sugar to her tea. Because Hugh had been as stunned as she at the spontaneous passion that had erupted like a volcano between them. Wonderful, poignant, perfect but as impossible as it was impractical. As soon as her door had clicked quietly closed, she had staggered to the chair at her dressing table. And there she sat for a good ten minutes before she allowed her eyes to finally focus on her own reflection in the mirror, and barely recognized the wanton creature who stared back.
Her hair was a tangled disaster. Her lips plump, swollen from his kisses, while the proper nightgown she had dressed for bed in had somehow undone itself at the neck and had slipped down, exposing one entire naked shoulder and an improper amount of flesh between her chin and the upper swells of her breasts. If that hadn’t been scandalous enough, two very erect, very greedy nipples were prominently poking through the filmy linen, the dark shadows of them something he had to have seen when his eyes had possessively raked the length of her just before he left.
Hours later, those same nipples kept pebbling each time she remembered how she had craved his hands on them—so persistently, she had wrapped her thickest new shawl around her upper body in case they announced her shameless behavior and carnal desires to the entire household with their blatant erectness.
“You’re up early.”
Minerva jumped, then felt her face heat guiltily at the sound of his mother’s voice. “I am an early bird by nature, my lady.” Hugh’s mother was the last person she wanted to see in her current state. Not when she was still in the undeniable throes of residual lust for her son. Self-consciously, she checked the shawl around her shoulders and gave the sturdy knot she had tied a tug in case it shifted and gave the game away. “I have never been very good at sleeping in.”
“Me either—and please, call me Olivia … until we are officially family, at least.”
“Very well … Olivia.” It was very hard to appear normal when her bosoms felt so heavy and she was in the midst of guiltily recalling every scandalous moment of that eye-opening embrace.
“Is everything all right, Minerva?”
Good gracious! Was it obvious she had been thoroughly ravished and had enjoyed every second of it? She had no choice but to brazen it out. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” To prove it, she took a sip of her tea and nearly gagged at the sickly-sweet taste of it. Exactly how many sugars had she put into it whilst mooning about Hugh? It was like treacle. But for the sake of appearances, she had to choke it down regardless.
“I am probably imagining it, I am sure, but I thought I sensed a bit of an atmosphere yesterday at dinner. Have you and my son had a falling-out?”
Minerva almost sagged with relief that her heavy, wanton bosoms hadn’t given her away. “I confess, we had a little tiff just before you arrived. Nothing serious.”
“Serious enough for you to shoot daggers at him down the table all evening when you assumed nobody was looking.”
“Ahhh—you saw that, did you?” Brazen it out. Hugh wanted her to be less enamored of him to give credence to tonight’s elopement. “I had thought I was being subtly peeved.”
“Oh, you were subtle, my dear, but not much gets by me. I see you have tea, so I shan’t offer to pour you another.” Minerva frantically choked down more tea in a bid to be rid of it as Hugh’s mother fixed herself a cup from the sideboard. It tasted worse than the first sip. “Hugh was trying too hard to engage you. You were the perfect hostess, chatting away to everyone but him.”
“It was only a little tiff. I am too headstrong and he can be…”
“Maddening? Stubborn? Selfishly unreasonable?” The older woman smiled, evaluating her openly over the rim of her cup. “To be frank, my dear, I was heartened to see it. It shows he cares. I have never trusted those couples who claim never to argue. I think it shows a lack of depth in their relationship and a grave imbalance. People who love one another argue. People who are indifferent don’t.” Then she grinned, displaying the exact same mischievous dimples as her son. “Jeremiah and I have had some stinkers over the years. I once threw a hairbrush at him.”
“And it hit me here.” Right on cue, Mr. Peabody sauntered in tapping his temple. “The darned thing was made of solid silver, too, so I had to suffer the indignity of a giant, purple bump for a good week afterward.”
“It wasn’t giant.” His comment was regally waved away. “He is exaggerating. It was barely the size of a quail’s egg.”
“You say quail’s egg, I say more duck egg. Either way it made me a laughingstock.” He winked at Minerva. “Good morning, future daughter-in-law. You look well today.”
“I feel well.” If a strange throbbing in the nether regions and obscenely pointed nipples were the definition of “well.” “I see you are an early bird, too, Mr. Peabody.” Where was everyone else? Suddenly, being Hugh’s Minerva all alone made her nervous.
“Hardly. But as my wife is determined to learn all about you as quickly as possible, I hurried down to save you. Seven o’clock is far too early for an interrogation.”
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Peabody, but I didn’t need saving. We were having a perfectly lovely chat.”
“Never be fooled by that, young lady. The pleasant chat is merely the preamble. Think of Olivia much like a spider. She’ll build an innocuous, almost invisible web, lull you into a false sense of security, and before you know it, she’s lured you into her trap and then she’ll eat you alive.”
“Are you trying to put her off me, Jeremiah?” Although, by her amused expression, Hugh’s mother didn’t appear to have taken offense at the gibe.
“I am merely stepping into the breach until Hugh arrives—to shield the poor girl from the worst of your incessant prying.” He sat directly opposite his wife and then handed her his cup, grinning. “I cannot help but notice this is empty, my darling.”
“Something which is just as well, or you would presently be wearing it, dearest.” Blue eyes, so like Hugh’s, twinkled. “You see, Minerva—devoted couples argue all the time.”
Mr. Peabody rolled his eyes as she got up to fix his drink. “I knew she wouldn’t be able to leave it alone despite my repeated warning it was none of her business. She bored me to sleep last night speculating on what she believed was the peculiar atmosphere between you and Hugh.”
“And I was right. They had a tiff. But it is over now.” She plonked his cup in front of him, and he gave it a tentative sniff before taking a sip and sighing.
“There is nothing like the first cup of coffee in the mornings, is there?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m a tea drinker.” A fresh cup of tea appeared in front of Minerva, and she almost sighed aloud, too. She pushed away the cooling cup of treacle and measured just the one scant spoon of sugar into the new cup with more precision than it needed. “Coffee always tastes so bitter to me, Mr. Peabody.”
“Gracious girl, we are about to be family. Please call me Jeremiah.… And coffee is not for the fainthearted. It’s a strong drink. A man’s drink…”
“What he means is, it’s an American drink. My husband is radically opposed to tea. On principle.”
“Of course I am! My grandfather was a revolutionary. He was there at the Boston Tea Party, standing up for fairness and patriotism. He risked his life for it! He’d be spinning in his grave if he knew I allowed that British muck past my lips.”
“Assuming he isn’t already spinning like a windmill in a gale because you conveniently forgot your proud revolutionary heritage when you chose to marry an Englishwoman.” Hugh strode in looking effortlessly handsome, and her lips, alongside other parts of her, started to tingle with abandon. “Somehow, I think he would find the occasional cup of tea more palatable than a blue-blooded daughter of the British establishment. Good morning, everyone.”
His eyes flicked to hers only briefly before he kissed his mother’s cheek, but this morning they looked at her differently. They dropped for just a second to Minerva’s lips before they pulled away, and she knew in that instant he was having recollections about last night’s kiss, just as she was.
“How is everyone today?” As his eyes kept darting to hers, Minerva answered.
“I am well, thank you.” She wasn’t well at all. She was all over the place, completely at sixes and sevens and severely lacking sleep. That was all his fault. “I trust you are well, too?”
“I am. Excellent, in fact…” There was longing in his eyes, and once again they dropped to her lips. “Excellent…” Hugh rapidly turned to Jeremiah with an overbright smile. “And how are you? Recovered from your travels, I hope?”
“Your mother is prying. Your fiancée is politely tolerating it, and I wish I was still in bed.”
“And what is she prying into, pray tell?”
He sat opposite her, forcing Minerva to smell his cologne. The spicy, obviously expensive scent had been mixed with crisp fresh air as if he had been outside. There was something about the combination that made her want to bury her nose in his neck and sniff. “Our little argument yesterday.” Why was it so hard to meet his eyes? Probably because only a few hours ago, she’d allowed her wandering hands free rein on his body and made no secret she had craved his on hers.
“It was hardly little, dear, if it lasted throughout dinner. What exactly did the pair of you argue about? Despite all my prying, Hugh, your fiancée has been annoyingly scant on details.”
“It was nothing, Mother. Just as Minerva said. A tiny lovers’ tiff.” Their eyes finally met properly across the table, and his were amused. “All that matters now is that it’s all sorted.”
“Then if it’s in the past, I see no reason why you cannot share it with us. Once finished with, silly arguments make such wonderful entertainment. What did my horrid son do, Minerva?”
His mother really was like a dog with a bone, one she was unlikely to let go of unless she was thrown a few treats to replace it. “If you must know, we disagreed about the wedding venue.” Hugh’s cup paused midway between the table and his mouth, which made her immediately feel stupid at her hasty fabrication, but she was committed now. Backtracking would be impossible.
“Hugh suggested he wanted us to marry in London while I thought I had made it perfectly clear I would prefer to marry here … in Hampshire. Saint Mary’s is so beautiful…” His mother’s eyes had lit up. Minerva apparently couldn’t have picked a better topic to appease her, although she also recognized his long-awaited marriage was his mother’s dream and his worst nightmare. “I thought his devoted tenants should get to enjoy the day…” Her voice trailed off, and she took a nervous gulp of her tea. It was so hot it brought tears to her eyes.
“Well, of course you should marry in Hampshire!” His mother glared at her son. “I am staggered you would even consider London, Hugh! I hope you conceded Minerva was right?”
“Of course I did. London was merely a suggestion.”
“A stupid one. As well as unnecessarily complicated. It will be devilishly difficult to plan the wedding from such a distance.” She patted Minerva’s arm. “I am entirely on your side in this. No wonder you shot daggers at him throughout dinner. Had I been in your shoes, I’d have probably hurled the silverware.” Then she shuffled her chair a little closer. “Have you finally set a date?”
“No…”
“Probably just as well, as there is much to arrange and until we know about the availability of Madame Devy, it would be silly to commit to a date.”
“Madame Devy?”
“The modiste, dear. The very best modiste in the whole of England. She is highly sought after and a veritable genius with silk. She must make your wedding gown! I shall send word to her today and tell her it is an emergency. She owes me many favors.… But once she has all your measurements, I am certain she will be able to turn things around by Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“Well, obviously, this far from summer, it stands to reason in the absence of a June wedding you should have a Christmas wedding.” She clapped her small hands together and beamed. “What do you say, Hugh? Wouldn’t a Christmas wedding be perfect?”
“Yes, excellent…”
“Have you thought about colors, Minerva?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and then his mother cut her off. “No! Silly me. We cannot discuss colors with Hugh present. It’s bad luck for the groom to know anything about the dress. We shall talk about that later.… But we can talk about guests, can’t we? And bridesmaids. I suppose you will want your sisters as your bridesmaids, won’t you? And I shall assume that rapscallion Giles will be your best man, Hugh?”
It was as if Minerva had inadvertently opened a gate and allowed a flock of crazed sheep to escape. Hugh’s mother was in her element, firing off ideas and questions she clearly expected no answers to. Her husband seemed to give up the ghost and withdraw into his coffee, while poor Hugh gripped the handle of his teacup so tightly, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he suddenly snapped the thing off.
She cast him a mournful glance, hoping he could see the apology in it. Then Lord Bellingham walked in, and she watched Hugh practically sigh with relief.
“Giles! Thank the Lord! You couldn’t have timed it better. Please save me from this living hell. My mother is planning wedding dresses. Come! Sit! You must be starving!”
“I am not hungry.”
“What? Has the world ended? I’ve never known you to not be hungry.”
“Might I have a word, old boy?” He smiled to the table, then stared pointedly at Hugh. “In private?”
“Of course.” The wretch was up and out like a shot, beyond eager to escape when he had only just arrived, leaving Minerva alone to deal with the rabid monster she had inadvertently constructed.
“We’ll hold the wedding breakfast here, at Standish House, then have an evening feast for the village.…”