That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,31

with the last of the letters that had arrived in that morning’s post, he leant back in his chair. ‘I will be very busy next week, once the house party begins,’ he said. ‘I won’t have time to think about anything except entertaining my guests, so I am giving you a week’s holiday.’

Cicely felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment. The relief she understood, but the disappointment . . . that was something she did not want to understand.

‘Very good,’ she said, pleased that her voice sounded business-like, instead of reflecting her contradictory emotions.

‘We will carry on as usual once my guests have gone.’ He hesitated, as though he were about to say something else, but then a formal mask dropped over his face and the moment was lost. He stood up. ‘Until after the ball, then.’

His hand began to rise in a reflex action, as though to shake hers, but then he suddenly dropped it again.

Cicely flushed. From the revealing expression that flashed across his face it was obvious he was remembering the electrical sensations their contact engendered and damaging as it was to Cicely’s peace of mind, she was remembering it, too.

She hurriedly gathered up her things, and waiting only to wish him an awkward farewell she swept out of the room. Her exit would have been perfect, if only she had not dropped her notebook. She chided herself inwardly, but it had been inevitable, for she had been shaking so much at the memory of what his touch had done to her that she had not been able to keep hold of it.

She bent to pick it up, only to realize that he, too, had bent to retrieve it.

Her face turned towards his as though it were being pulled by an invisible string, and she found her lips almost touching his. Their eyes met, and held. She forgot to breathe, so transfixed was she by the sight of him. His rugged skin was full of light and shadow, and she had to fight an urge to reach out and touch the stubble that was deepening the shadow around his jaw. How would it feel? she wondered. Would it be rough, and prickle against her sensitive fingertips? Or would it be soft and silky, inviting her to touch him even more?

And if she did, how would he react? Would he take her hand and kiss her palm? Would he caress her, as she caressed him?

Her mouth dried, and her eyes locked even more deeply on his own.

This was dangerous. She felt the peril, and knew she must resist, regaining control of herself before the situation escalated into something uncontrollable. She tried to speak, knowing she must break the enchantment, but as her lips moved over dry lips, no sound came out.

As his eyes dropped to her mouth she felt a wave of tingles wash all over her body and her eyelids began to close. There was a moment of unbearable anticipation as she waited breathlessly for what was to come . . . and then she felt, rather than saw, him pull away from her. She experienced a moment of frustration, even as her mind felt a wave of relief. And then she heard him say, in a voice so throaty as to be almost unrecognisable, ‘Allow me.’

She knew what the effort of speaking had cost him and was determined to play her part in bringing the situation under control. Fighting down the sensations that were threatening to swamp her, she made a decided attempt to salvage the dangerous situation. She would get up; take her things; thank him. And then she would walk out of the room.

She sent the command to her body, but it would not obey. She was held captive by the super-charged forced that bound her to him, and when she thought she had risen she found that she had remained as she was.

She saw a battle of emotions playing itself out on his face, and then with a seemingly enormous effort of will he wrested his eyes away from her own and his hands closed around her notebook.

Cicely, released from the spell that bound her, commanded her body once more to rise. It protested, but at last it obeyed her instructions, and she found herself standing in front of him. But now it was worse. She was so close to him that a piece of paper could not have been slipped between them. And then his hand rose and took her chin.