Yesterday, she’d have let that enigmatic remark go unchallenged. Not now. She’d been reticent once, and paid for it with endless longing. However unpalatable the truth she uncovered, she’d never let reticence poison her life again.
The turmoil inside her roughened her voice as she stepped toward him. “Who burned my letters?”
“Good God, Flick.” Looking aghast, he reached for her arm, but she wrenched out of the way. “What in Hades are you thinking? Whatever it is, it’s utterly muddle-headed.”
“I can’t believe it was you.”
“Of course I didn’t bloody burn them.” He slid the packet of letters inside his coat, as if shielding them from her. “If I did, why the hell would I carry them around as my most precious possession? Stop this.”
His most precious possession? If that was true, how did her letters end up in such a sorry state? She sucked in a shaky breath. “Please…just tell me what happened. I won’t be angry.”
He lunged forward and grabbed her hard by the shoulders. Obstinacy hardened his jaw in a way that alarmed her. “God, give me strength.”
A reckless glitter lighting his eyes, he tugged her forward and kissed her hard and thoroughly under the mistletoe bough. He wasn’t hurting her, but his lips were fierce, and his touch was adamant.
Confused, unsure, she struggled to pull away. “Let me go,” she muttered under his lips.
“Never,” he said, lashing his arms around her in a bear hug.
Gradually his touch eased, until he cradled her in his arms, and he no longer demanded she kissed him back, come hell or high water. Instead his lips wooed, beseeched, coaxed. His warmth enveloped her and his evocative scent filled her senses. He kissed her as if he’d rather die than stop.
Curse him. Mere hours from his bed, she was ripe for more seduction.
With a helpless moan of acquiescence, she curved into him and kissed him with all the unspoken, irresistible love in her heart. When after a long time, he raised his head to stare down at her with dazed gray eyes, she came close to forgetting what brought her here.
“Damn it, Flick, are you ready to listen to me now?” He was panting, and he couched the question in a low growl.
The letters… Of course, the letters. She struggled to sound implacable, but her voice emerged as a husky murmur. “It had better be a good story.”
He kept hold of her shoulders, but his touch was tender. If she wanted to, she could escape. She found she didn’t want to.
He sucked in an unsteady breath. “It’s a love story.”
Love? She frowned, still lost in a mist of sensuality. “I don’t understand.”
Edmund sighed and released her, to her regret. “I know you don’t. And it’s mostly my fault. But I’ve always been so terrified of my powerful feelings frightening you away, that I’ve been infernally dishonest with you, my darling.”
She liked being his darling. Almost as much as she liked his kisses. However, this didn’t sound good. She frowned. “You’re not afraid of anything.”
His laugh was hollow. “Of course I am. I’m afraid that you’ll never love me.”
Silence crashed down. Felicity stared into his face, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Edmund—”
He spoke over her. “I told you there was a story. Well, here it is. It starts with a bumptious brute of an army captain, who thinks he has the world at his feet. Then he meets a beautiful, innocent girl at a ball in London, and he realizes she’s the only world he needs. Against all odds, he wins her for his wife, but she’s so fragile and fine, he fears that he’ll hurt her. He wants her too much, needs her too much…loves her too much.”
“My dear…” she started, wondering if she was dreaming. After nearly eight years without him, and then last night’s extraordinary pleasure, this gift he offered her seemed too generous, too rich.
He raised his scarred hand. “Let me finish while I still have the nerve to speak. Anyway, back to our two lovers. Before our army capta
in can work out the best way to proceed, his country sends him hundreds of miles away from his bride. His only contact with her is a string of amusing letters that say nothing about love or longing or loneliness…”
“I didn’t know you loved me.” Under his intense stare, she trailed off, letting him go on.
“Luckily our hero survives the war to return to his wife, many hard years later. And he finds time has made no difference to his feelings. He loves her just as much and wants her even more. And this time, he can see that she’s ready to meet him as an equal.”
She blushed as she recalled the morning’s activities. “She certainly did that.”
“But that makes him even more terrified, because he’s as much under her spell as he ever was. And now he’s back to his real life, and they have to work out a way to go on together. He’s burning up with love for her—how can he bear it if she feels nothing for him, except duty and lukewarm liking?”