Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
not to give in to tears tore at his heart. ‘Max, please, just hold me.’
He could fight himself, but it seemed he could not fight her. Max went to her side, took her hands and lifted her to her feet. Bree smiled at him fleetingly, then simply slid her arms around him, under his coat, and leaned into his body with a tired sigh as though she was coming home after a long journey. His arms went round her, held her tight, and with a sigh that echoed her own, he laid his cheek on her tousled hair.
‘That’s better. I feel safe now.’ She gave a shaky chuckle. ‘I was an idiot. You are being very forbearing in not telling me so.’
‘You were an idiot,’ Max assured her gravely. And so am I. ‘Bree, we really ought to get back.’
‘Who will miss us?’ She seemed quite content to hold a conversation with his top waistcoat button. ‘Mr Harlow will distract Rosa. Everyone will be having a rest after luncheon, or strolling about admiring the views.’
Max lifted his head, found her chin and tilted her face up so he could look at her. ‘And they’ll be coming round that corner at any minute to find you in my arms.’ Just don’t kiss her …
‘Oh.’ She looked up at him, her shock temporarily forgotten in her concern. ‘That would put you in an awkward position. I am sorry to be so thoughtless. Max, I really do not feel ready to go back. Is there somewhere we can sit, just for a little while, so I can compose myself?’
There was his drag, parked, as far as he could calculate, just beyond the edge of this copse. One might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
‘Yes, of course. My drag is just through here.’ He gently disentangled himself. ‘I think you had better put on your bonnet and try and reorder your bodice.’ Bree gave a gasp, tugged at the wayward neckline and restored herself to modest order. Max handed her the bonnet, then, when it was tied in place to hide the worst of the damage to her coiffure, tucked her hand under his elbow and began to walk back. ‘If anyone comes, faint.’
‘What?’
‘Faint. You strolled this way to see if there was a view. You saw an adder. You screamed, I heard you, rushed to your side and am just escorting you back. If you faint, then that will cover up any amount of disorder to your gown and hair.’
‘And what were you doing in the woods when I screamed?’ Bree was sounding far more like herself now.
‘That is the sort of question no lady asks,’ Max said repressively and was rewarded with a gurgle of laughter that choked off as she struggled for control.
‘I am sorry. I would have thought I could deal with something like that with ease, but I feel so shaky. It is truly feeble of me—I send young bucks to the rightabout every day at the inn.’
‘Why should you not feel shocked and distressed?’ he asked brusquely. ‘When you trust someone you do not expect them to attack you, or to betray your confidence. Snubbing young fools in a crowded inn yard is quite different from dealing with a determined attempt on your virtue, I would have thought.’
‘True,’ she agreed sadly. ‘I thought he was my friend, which only makes it worse. Did you know he was … unreliable?’
‘I have never liked him, and it is mutual. If I had thought you in the slightest danger from him, I would have warned you.’ Could I have guessed? Should I have said something? That incident with her gloves in the park … ‘Here we are. Would you like to sit inside and compose yourself and I will go and fetch you a drink?’
The drag presented a safe wall between them and the open slope. Max opened the door and flipped down the step. Bree let herself be handed in, then turned, clutching his hand. ‘Max, please don’t go, just sit with me while I tidy my hair and find some balance.’
With a sensation that he was about to step off a cliff, Max followed her in and pulled the door shut. The solid shutters of the drag’s windows were closed. He found the strap for the one on the side facing the wood and ran it down six inches, letting in enough light to show him her face.
Her big blue eyes were wide in the gloom, her mouth full, trembling as she smiled at him. Bree untied her bonnet, laid it on the seat next to her and began to unpin her hair. It was the stuff of his fantasies, of the heated dreams that had woken him, sweating and rigid with desire, for nights after their first encounter. In the stage, her unravelling plait had transfixed him. Now, helpless, Max watched the golden silk slide free, down, over her shoulders, and knew he was lost.
‘Do you have a comb? I have just realised I left my reticule on the rug.’ Freeing her hair, the routine of unpinning it, beginning to gather up its weight in her hands, was strangely soothing. She was a fool to be so feeble about this, Bree told herself. It was not as though she were some sheltered miss.
It was that kiss that had so revolted her, polluting the lovely memory of Max’s lips on hers, turning something wonderful into something sordid and disgusting and violent. Max had given, Latymer had tried to take.
‘Yes. Here.’ Max held out a comb and she took it, their fingertips touching. His hand trembled, just faintly.
‘What is it? Max?’ Bree tossed the comb on to the seat beside her and caught both his hands in hers. His eyes glinted in the half-light, his expression was tense, focused.
‘Your hair.’ He freed one hand and reached out to touch it, just the very ends of it. ‘I dream about your hair.’
Instead of answering, she lifted her hand, the one still holding his, and pressed his palm against her hair. ‘Touch it then.’ It seemed to enchant him. She did not understand, but she knew she wanted his hands on her, somewhere, everywhere. Her reservations, her certainty that she wanted nothing but marriage, wavered, shook under the impact of the reality of his closeness.
Max froze, then his hands slid into her hair, cradling her head. They were so close, opposite each other in the carriage, that her knees slid between his.
‘Bree.’ His voice was husky. ‘Bree, I want to behave every bit as badly as Latymer did. I want to kiss you. I want to more than kiss you. Do you understand? You should not be alone with me. I should never have brought you here.’
They were not the words of love she dreamed about, and knew she would never hear from him. But they were words of desire. Max wanted her. She wanted him, loved him, and knew there was only one way she was ever going to have him. It went against everything she had been brought up to respect, it could ruin her if anyone ever found out. But suddenly she knew with utter conviction that she wanted it more than anything in the world, other than to hear him say I love you.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said steadily. ‘I understand what you want, and I want it too.’
‘Bree.’ His hands tightened in her hair. ‘Bree, think what you are saying. If I am not careful you could be ruined. I could get you with child—’
‘Then be careful,’ she whispered, twisting her head to bring her lips against his wrist. Under the sensitive swell she felt his pulse, wild, hard, demanding, and knew she had to answer it.
‘God. Bree—’ Max did not move, as she had expected, to take her into his arms. Instead he just looked at her and in his eyes she could read a vast indecision. It seemed alien in someone as assured, so strong. It was as though he were weighing up a monumental choice. ‘Damn it, ten years,’ he murmured, so softly she was not certain she had heard him correctly. ‘I must be free.’
Before she could puzzle any more he leaned towards her and took her lips. Her previous experience had been so limited to his kiss on the terrace and, just now, Brice Latymer’s assault, that she would not have expected to be able to read anything into a kiss.
But this, she realised quite clearly, was a claiming. He wasn’t rough, but he left her in no doubt that if she was thinking about any other man, then that was a mistake, because she was his.
She was crushed against his body, although quite how she got there she was