Her hand moved almost unconsciously to the silk at her waist.
“You gave me this,” she added, softer now. “You shared your table. Your forest. Your confidence.”
She swallowed, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, she added…
“This wasn’t only work to me.”
But he remained tightlipped and silent.
She could only shake her head.
Foolish, foolish Rosamund. To have imagined…
“So that is it,” she said softly. “I’ve been nothing more than an inconvenience. Something to be endured.”
“You have done what you asked. More, in fact. But this… it’s over.”
The finality of it—how neatly he cut her out—hurt more than she cared to admit.
“Then I shall not trouble you further.”
Her chair scraped violently against the floor. And as she half stumbled away from the table, she nearly tripped over her skirts.
Just as she reached for the door, his voice stopped her.
“Miss Belle.”
She swiped at her wet cheeks, sniffed once. “I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m angry.”
Her hand closed around the door handle.
But before she could pull it open, two hands landed flat against the wood, caging her in.
The vibration of the impact hummed through her spine, and shewas instantly engulfed by him—not just by his heat, but by the scent of woodsmoke and spice that seemed to radiate from his very pores.
“I’m well aware of your tendencies to try a person’s patience,” he said, quieter now. “Keeping mine has not been easy.”
Heat radiated at her back, searing through her gown. His breath stirred the loose curls at her nape, and suddenly she was engulfed—not only by the sheer wall of his body, but by the essence of him.
Slowly, she turned, her sleeves brushing against the corded muscle of his forearms.
And even though her voice trembled, she was sure. “Maybe I want you to… lose control.”
“You don’t know what you are saying.” His gaze held hers, searching.
“I want to know…” She licked her lips. “I want to feel it.”
His lips parted, almost in disbelief, and then…
His mouth crashed onto hers with a force that stole her breath, driving her backward until her spine met the solid wood of the door.
The impact startled her.
The kiss did not.
This was the intensity she had glimpsed beneath his restraint—the contained storm she had sensed in the tight line of his jaw, in the way his hands flexed when he thought no one noticed.
Raw. Unfiltered.