The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

“Loved. I shan't deny it. Perhaps the man I loved never truly existed. Perhaps I was in love with something imagined or someone you created that was not true. Perhaps this”—she gestured to his person—“is the real you. Cold, cruel, controlling.”

He seemed like he didn't wish to argue with the first two points.

It was the last that shook him.

“You must understand, Philippa, I cannot be who you say,” he defended, his voice breaking. “I am against men like Captain Adams and your father. I cannot be one myself.”

“Then don’t be,” she bit out. “Do not be like that. And then you shan't have to worry about it. But if you rant at me and tell me to leave to protect me from you, how are you different? Have I not eyes? Have I not sense? Can I not tell for myself what is best for me? Or do you think I have so little intelligence or judgment?”

He swallowed. His hands softened on her shoulders. As he realized how hard he was holding her, a look of horror crossed his face.

“Forgive me,” he breathed.

“I shouldn’t,” she replied honestly. “You threw away what we had. As if it was nothing. Do you think that such a friendship occurs every day? I have seen the way men and women are together. It is so seldom that they have the kind of understanding that you and I have. Even Augusta and her husband. It took them months to share even a small understanding, which led to love. And yet you and I understood each other from the beginning. Why would you cast that aside?”

“It’s not because it’s nothing,” he rasped. “It’s because what we shared is so much. I cannot indulge in it.”

“Indulge?” she queried.

“Philippa, I have so much that must be done, and I am not the man I was. I have changed. I have been hardened into a sword by what I’ve seen.” He swallowed, the muscles of his throat working. “I worry that I will hurt you.”

“I see,” she whispered, truly seeing at last. “You wished to drive me away to make certain that I do not see your weakness.”

“You think me weak?” he barked.

“Indeed, I do at this particular moment.” She met his gaze. “You certainly seem to think you are. As if you have so little power over yourself that you will harm me with the sword that you have become. I believe you are far stronger than you say.”

His eyes crackled like lightening. “I should show you how strong I am.”

“Go ahead,” she urged. “Do whatever you think it is that will show me how strong you are.”

She tensed, determined to trust her own instincts and the honor of the man she’d come to love. She truly believed in him, even if he did not at this moment.

As he leaned over her, there was nothing sword-like about him. His face softened. His grip smoothed and slid to her back.

“I will show you that I can hold you,” he offered, his voice a warm rumble. “I could not show you that yesterday. I could barely stand, but today. . . Today, I can show you how strong I am.”

And with that, he folded her into his arms, and he took her mouth with his in a searing kiss.

Chapter 8

The cruelty and magnificence of the kiss was too much to take. Philippa drank it in, loving every moment of it, for she did not know when it would end and if it would be taken away from her forever.

She held onto him carefully, knowing that jarring him might change the trajectory of the kiss and could end it in a single instant of pain.

She opened her mouth to him, taking that kiss, savoring each breath, loving it moment for moment. He devoured her mouth, and she welcomed it until she was devouring him in turn.

Nothing existed except the two of them, their souls, their hearts, their breaths, their lips, their mouths giving and taking.

It was everything that she had always dreamed of with him. That kiss just the day before, it had been but a taste compared to the fullness of this, and she wanted so much more.

She wanted it to never end.

But finally, at last, he lifted his head. He gazed down at her with lust-drunk eyes, eyes that clearly wished to have so much more of her.

She felt languid in his arms, and yet a tension was now taking her as she waited for him to make some brisk comment suggesting that she go, again, just as he had done the day before.

This time she dared herself.

She dared herself not to yield easily or to be intimidated by him or his strength.

“I don't have to have you forever, Anthony,” she whispered. “I don't have to have all of you. But at least let us have a moment in time that is more than a few letters exchanged and a kiss.”

He blinked. “More,” he repeated and then his gaze grew hot and full of hunger. “Yes, more,” he growled. “I want more of you.”

He hesitated. “But I worry, Philippa, what if—”

She placed her forefinger to his lips. “Do we need to worry about what will happen in days or weeks? For right now, this is all that we have,” she reminded. Surely, he knew that better than most. “Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Let us savor each other in this instant.”

“But. . .you are a lady,” he said.

She shrugged. “Who cares?”

“I care,” he said softly. “Will you have me ruin you and make it impossible for you to get a good marriage?”

“Truly, I know I said I might, but I do not know if I shall ever marry,” Philippa replied, choosing truth now. “Honestly, I don't see why I should. I have the financial support of Augusta's husband, and I do not wish to put myself into the hands of a man who is so mercurial that one day he says he loves me and the next