And then his lips pressed into hers, light and warm and soft and everything she imagined they would be. She could feel the slight scruff of his facial hair and barely taste the flavor of mint. In that moment, she couldn’t move. She was frozen—a stone statue, engraved with the words, “Hopelessly devoted to Oliver Turner.” Now and forevermore she would be a permanent fixture in his home. Never would she leave. This was where she belonged.
Except, her stone cracked and life fluttered within her as Oliver’s mouth slowly and delicately slid across hers, coaxing her lips to move with his in a graceful dance. Elizabeth had never felt so loved or protected. Sharing this with him was both familiar and comfortable, but also completely unnerving and electric. She had never experienced anything like it in all the world. Embroidery was forgotten; kissing Oliver would be her new hobby.
All too soon, he paused and pulled away, lingering only a breath from her mouth. “There,” he said, his voice gravelly and restrained.
But no. She wasn’t ready for that to be it. If this was going to be the only time she ever got to feel Oliver’s lips against hers, she was going to make it count.
Elizabeth’s eyes opened and she slid her hand up his chest, over his shoulders to the back of his neck, taking a moment to appreciate the corded muscles she felt there. She took a small step away from the wall to close the distance between them. Oliver’s brows pulled together and he looked more unsure now than ever. She raised her other arm to wrap around the other side of his neck, and lifted up onto her tiptoes to reach his mouth again. She took in his guarded expression before closing her eyes and pressing her mouth to his for another soft kiss.
His lips wouldn’t move, but she wasn’t deterred. She knew that Oliver wanted this kiss as much as she did. She could sense it. Her mouth silently begged him to respond. To show that whatever was between them—wasn’t only in her imagination. But he wouldn’t move. His hands hung at his sides and his mouth, unmoving.
She broke away and looked at him. His eyes were still open and he looked—fearful. As if he were restraining himself with everything he had.
“Oliver,” she said, moving a hand to rest on his jaw. “Kiss me.”
His eyes bounced between hers, a debate running through them, and then his hands grabbed her waist and pulled her to him and he kissed her. Really kissed her. Passion and fervency wrapped around her in the form of his arms, tightly encircling her waist as his mouth moved with hers. They both conveyed all of the tension and feeling and heat that had never been spoken between them. Elizabeth tightened her arms around him in return, relishing the feel of being held firmly within his strong arms and wishing he wouldn’t ever let her go.
He broke away, breathless, gripping the back of the jacket she was wearing. “Elizabeth,” he sighed, a look of utter pain etched in his face.
Elizabeth’s heart dropped. He was still holding her, but she could feel him emotionally moving away. His blue eyes looked into hers, trying to say something, but unwilling to actually voice it. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Pain pushed through Elizabeth like a knife. “What do you mean?” she asked, blinking back tears.
He let go of her and backed away. Elizabeth wanted to reach out and grab him, pull him back, beg him to love her as she had been so certain only a moment ago he did. There was more between them than simply friendship, she knew that now. But why Oliver was still pushing her away, she didn’t understand.
Elizabeth watched him continue to back away from her, looking at her as if she were something he had just broken but could not put back together. “I’m sorry. You need to leave right now.”
Elizabeth felt like anger and embarrassment and hopelessness all at once. She looked down to her boots as mortification swept over her. What had been the most wonderful moment of her life was quickly becoming the worst.
Her heart was throbbing in her chest as she pushed away from the wall and past Oliver. She sailed through the foyer, feeling her unruly curls bounce around her face and shoulders, and moved as fast as her legs would allow until she was out the front door. She heard Oliver’s footsteps behind her but she didn’t stop or look back. Hot tears rushed down her cheeks and everything felt terribly wrong. Embarrassment clung to her like skin and she wanted to claw it off.
“Lizzie, you cannot ride back alone. Wait for me to fetch my horse and—”
“Leave me alone, Oliver. I can manage on my own,” she yelled over her shoulder, feeling something snap inside of her.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Lizzie. That’s the last thing in the world I wanted to happen. It’s why…” his words trailed off.
Elizabeth placed her right foot in the horse’s stirrup and mounted. She looked down at Oliver’s face for what she somehow knew would be the last time as an unmarried woman. She wiped her tears and forced her breath to be steady. “This is goodbye, Oliver.”
His lips pressed together—still red from their stolen kiss—and his brows creased deeply. He shoved his hand through his hair and looked as if he wanted to speak what was on his mind, but some emotion was holding it prisoner. He shut his eyes. “Goodbye, Lizzie.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The golden sun was resting on the horizon and Elizabeth watched the rest of its ascent with a wool shawl wrapped around her arms. She hadn’t been able to sleep after leaving Oliver. Hadn't even bothered trying. Instead, she had changed into a dress, taken up her shawl, and mindlessly made her way to the garden outside of Addington Hall where she’d sat down on a bench and stared numbly into the sky until it went from black to pink to orange.
Everything hurt. How was it possible for her body to physically ache when it was only her heart that had been broken?
The sound of gravel crunching nearby shook Elizabeth from her numb trance. It was officially morning. She turned her head down the path of the garden and saw Wesley approaching. He was dressed in a deep green jacket and tan waistcoat. A soft smile on his mouth. Somehow his smile only made her ache more.
He was a good man, and he was handsome, and he was kind, but she didn’t love him. She was terrified that she never would.
“Good morning,” he said as he came to stand in front of her. He bowed slightly and she offered the warmest smile she could muster. “May I?” He gestured toward the bench.
“Of course.” Elizabeth’s voice came out hoarse and she hoped Wesley would not know it was because she had spent the entire night crying on that bench. What must she look like at that moment?
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked as he sat down beside her. She almost couldn’t believe he was willing to have this small clandestine meeting with her.
She swallowed, afraid that her pain would bubble over again. She shook her head mutely.