An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Eighteen

Hartley closed his eyes and slid his hands across the bodice of Charlotte's gown. It wasn't a fine material - slightly rough and stiff beneath his fingers - but as his touch moved upwards, seeking out her skin above the neckline, it only served to make the contrast between the rough fabric and the softness of her bare throat all the more startling.

He wanted to touch her, every inch of her. He wanted to strip her of her gown and undergarments and whatever other bits and pieces she wore and simply glory in the sensation of her body against his. It was such a simple desire; to be with her, to feel her, to lay his head on her breast and listen to the racing of her heart.

Her heart...

This wasn't merely lust, he realized. If it were, he could continue on without a hint of guilt. Simply use her, discard her, and walk away. But he wanted her heart as well as her body. He wanted to be worthy of her, and if he allowed things to progress now, if he risked even the slightest chance of ruining her, he would never forgive himself.

His lips found their way to her collarbone. He allowed himself a final taste of her, his eyes closed as he breathed in the smell of her skin mingled with the singular aroma of a chill night that clung to her gown. "I cannot do this," he whispered, his cheek nestled in the curve of her shoulder.

She stiffened but did not pull away. God, she would be insulted, wouldn't she? No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to prevent himself from making a mess of everything.

"I left Ellesferth for you." He straightened up until her head was tucked beneath his chin, his words teasing the loose hairs on her head. She had attempted to pin the mass of dark brown waves into a bun, but her journey from Bedford Square had shaken loose the pins she'd used and left the strands to begin their descent towards her shoulders and the middle of her back. "As much as I told myself it would be better for me to keep away from you, I found that I had come to rely on you too... too much." Was it weakness, he wondered, that left him clinging to someone else in order to assure his survival? Or could he hope that it hearkened some measure of strength that he could admit as much to the both of them?

"And what now?" She tilted her head back until she looked up at him, dark lashes framing eyes that appeared unusually large above her cheekbones.

What now, indeed? He chided himself for not having thought that far ahead. To marry her? To seduce her? He couldn't bring himself to imagine a future beyond the moment they currently inhabited. She was warm against him, her small frame somehow managing to support him as they stood together, the fire dying down to ash behind them.

"You should return to your home, to your own bed," he said. And still - still! - he would not step back from her, would not remove himself from their embrace.

Her hands slid around to his back, seeking out the hem of his shirt which had already worked its way loose during his restless nap on the chair. Her fingers found a strip of bare skin above the edge of his breeches, and then her palms followed, sliding upwards over his rib cage and to his shoulderblades. "What happens if I stay?" she asked, while her hands continued their maddening circuit across his back.

Hartley sucked in a deep breath and groaned aloud at the sudden rush of blood towards his groin - and away from his head, where he needed it most. "You risk everything."

She laid her head on his chest, and he felt the warmth of her breath even through the linen of his shirt. "You forget, I have nothing. No retinue of suitors in my wake, no place in society worth saving. I am invisible."

"But a scandal would turn everyone's head towards you." He leaned back enough to look into her face again, a face he feared he'd come to love without even recognizing the sensation before it was already upon him. "And even should I offer for your hand before the gossip made its rounds through the drawing rooms and salons..." He shook his head. "It's not a mark I wish for you to bear."