The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,79
my heart piece by piece, and there it was now, reflecting back at me from his eyes. How had I missed it? Why hadn’t I been more careful? It was just like the day I had chosen to read my book in the alcove. I should have known Papa’s temper, that he would have confronted Mr. Baker about his unkindness to me then. Those little mistakes had led to me losing Papa, just like my little mistakes with Mr. Hill had led to me losing my heart.
“You do not want to marry me,” I whispered again, shaking my head against his hands.
“Yes, I do.” His voice was firmer now, more determined. “You cannot tell me what I want and what I don’t. I want you. I have never been more certain of anything. This courtship has never been false to me. Not really. The moment it began I regretted ever starting. You made me too blasted happy to ever consider sending you back home.” He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger when I looked away, bringing my gaze back to his. “I will admit how very wrong I was, thinking I couldn’t fall in love, or that I didn’t want to. I stand here with no pride, and with nothing to prove besides how much I am willing to try to change your mind.”
My stomach flipped at his words, and emotion gripped my throat. It wasn’t my mind that needed to be changed. It was my station. My identity. My life. I could not stand here and let Mr. Hill confess his love to a lady’s maid. It would break his heart either way—if I told him the truth, or if I lied and told him that I didn’t love him.
I closed my eyes for a short moment, letting the moisture disappear behind my eyelids. I didn’t have the strength to break him, to speak the words that I knew would. But I couldn’t lie either. “If you are no longer opposed to marriage, please consider Miss Downsfield,” I said. “She is much more inclined to the idea than I am. I have also considered that Miss Coppins might suit you best—”
Mr. Hill groaned, cutting my words short with his lips. They pressed against mine like an iron against silk—gently, as if he were afraid I would burn if he kissed me with any less care. My head spun. His kiss was like one might approach a bird, slow, restrained, so as to not risk the creature flying away. I wasn’t going anywhere. The roots of the tree might as well have encircled my feet, and Mr. Hill’s lips might as well have been two anchors. So long as he was kissing me, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
His boots crunched over the twigs. I flattened against the tree. The chain holding my heart at bay snapped just like the twigs beneath Mr. Hill’s boots, and I touched his neck, near the corner of his jaw, the skin warm and thrumming with his pulse. My fingers slid into his hair, and my toes lifted me higher.
I might have scolded myself, but I kissed him instead, weakened by the feeling of his gentle fingertips in my hair and his mouth moving slowly with my own. His kiss deepened at my encouragement, forbidden as it was.
Two female voices met my ears from the distance, growing closer with each second that passed. It sounded like Miss Downsfield and Miss Benham, but I didn’t trust the accuracy of my judgement at the moment. Mr. Hill pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. I caught my breath, eyelids heavy, heart racing. My lips tingled.
“We mustn’t be seen,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. I pushed against his chest, but it was a weak effort, my fingers curling into limp fists instead.
His eyes found mine, and he took my hand, pulling me past the large tree and into the thicket, where the shadows were much heavier, despite the slow rise of the sun. I had to run to keep up with his long strides, but my legs shook, and I almost laughed.
Almost.
Our kiss had been interrupted, and Mr. Hill was nothing if not determined. He led me several paces into the trees before stopping and turning toward me. “We can’t go back until I’ve changed your mind,” he muttered, his eyes serious and unwavering. His dark lashes swept downward, and he cupped my face in his hands. His thumb traced over