Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride (Whitby Weddings 2)

‘Do they say that?’

‘They might.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought it sounded persuasive.’

Her heart sank. Persuasive. That was all his words were then, empty words intended to charm and convince her. He’d probably used them a hundred times before. It was just a casual kiss for him, nothing more. After all, he wasn’t attracted to her. He was happy to wait seven years...

‘And...’ he seemed to read the scepticism in her face ‘...because you look quite enchantingly pretty.’

‘In spectacles?’

‘You can take them off if you want.’ He moved yet another step closer. ‘Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’

She swallowed, trying to keep her head. Enchantingly pretty. She ought not to be charmed, but he didn’t look as if he were either mocking or toying with her. He looked serious. He looked as if he were really about to kiss her and she, apparently, was going to let him. Her legs were showing no signs of bearing her away. On the contrary, she was afraid that if she tried to move, then they might simply give way beneath her.

‘May I, Violet?’

He said her name softly, like a caress, and she nodded. Slowly, he raised both hands to her face, cradling it between his fingers as his thumb trailed a light path over her skin, leaving a trail of heat that seemed to penetrate deep into her body. She closed her eyes as he leaned in towards her, then his lips were on hers, pressing gently, as if he were taking deliberate care not to disturb her spectacles. His mouth felt tender and yet hard at the same time, barely touching her at first and then starting to move, nudging hers to respond.

For a few seconds she didn’t know what to do. Then the heat seemed to build in intensity until she couldn’t not move any longer. Instead she responded instinctively, moving her lips against his in a way that made all her insides turn to liquid at once. Her mind seemed to go silent as her body took over. The tip of his tongue slid inside her mouth, stroking the edge of her lips and she reached her own tongue out to meet it, sucking and tasting and exploring as her hands found their way up around his neck.

She felt his own hands move away from her face and slide down over her throat, down the sides of her breasts and around her waist, scooping her up off the floor until she was standing on tiptoe, pressing against him so closely that she could feel the taut, muscular lines of his chest and something else, even harder and more muscular, pushing between her legs.

He released her abruptly and she was able to start thinking again—if it could be called anything as coherent as thinking, that was. Her mind seemed to be in turmoil, only slightly less than her body, which seemed to have received some kind of violent physical shock. Her limbs were all quivering with the after-effects.

‘There you are, Mrs Amberton.’ His voice sounded distinctly husky. ‘Consider yourself kissed.’

She opened her eyes. Why had he stopped? She’d had the impression that they were just getting started... Except that maybe he wanted to stop, she thought in mortification. Maybe he’d had enough. He was smiling as if it had been easy for him to stop when her whole body was still trembling with desire.

‘Our young friend also found something else you might like.’

‘Really?’ She forced her scattered thoughts to focus. ‘That sounds mysterious.’

‘Wait here.’ He walked to the door and reached for something just outside. Judging by the shape and size it was clearly a painting, though with the back of the canvas towards her, she couldn’t see what the subject was.

‘This was in the attic, too.’ He turned the frame around slowly, his gaze fixed on her face the whole time. ‘Judging by the resemblance, I believe it must be your mother.’

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. It was undoubtedly her mother. The similarity was more striking than she could ever have imagined, as though she were looking into a mirror, at a serious-looking young woman with white-blonde hair, luminous blue eyes and large, wide-set features that perfectly matched her own. She felt a stinging sensation behind her eyelids, as if there were tears pressing against them.

‘Violet?’ Lance sounded concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You haven’t.’ She shook her head, hardly able to express what she was feeling. She seemed unable to drag her gaze away even as he placed it to one side, leaning it against a chair before coming to stand just in front of her. ‘It’s just a shock.’

‘Then you’re pleased?’

‘Yes. I just never knew...never imagined...’

‘That you were so much like her?’ He looked down at her intently. ‘You are. You’re just as beautiful, too, Violet. Would you like to hang it in here?’

‘Yes.’ She rubbed a hand across her face as a lone tear escaped and trickled downwards. ‘How about over there, instead of the seascape?’

‘Wherever you like.’ He lifted down the old painting and hung the portrait in its place. ‘There. What do you think?’

‘Perfect. I think she looks perfect. I could look at her all day.’

‘Then what if we eat dinner in here tonight? You’ve made it so cosy, it seems almost a shame to go downstairs.’

‘That would be lovely.’ She gave a small start. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost six o’clock.’