Page 52 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“Certainly not me. I learned that lesson.” He grimaced at the memory of his former attorney.

“The knowledge of their professions are all things that can be taught,” Verity continued. “That’s where your intelligence is useful. Your ability to win people over is quite handy. You are resourceful. You can plan. You have courage.”

“Perhaps you should hire me,” he joked.

“Maybe I will,” she tossed back.

Nathan leaned down, cupping Verity’s face in his hands, and gazed into her eyes. “You are all of those things and more, yourself.” Not to mention beautiful and desirable. “And I very much appreciate all you just said.” He kissed her forehead lightly, then couldn’t resist brushing his lips against hers, as well. He was filled with the urge to lift her up into his lap and kiss her much more fully. The thought of sinking into her warmth, her comfort turning to desire, tempted him beyond measure.

But no. I cannot do that. Nathan refused to play upon her sympathy and warm heart in order to pull her into something she was uncertain about, something which would now be even more foolish for her. Verity was so much more than just a balm to his pain, a quick way to fill the emptiness that now opened inside him.

He was already indulging himself a great deal by staying here and pouring out all his doubts. They had found the proof. The whole matter was over, and he should simply walk away, even though the thought made his heart clench in his chest.

Nathan’s hands fell away and he started to sit back, but Verity reached up and grabbed his lapels, jerking him back. “Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get to cry off that easily.”

“I wasn’t—”

She stopped his words with a kiss. Her kiss was long and deep, leaving no more uncertainty as to what she wanted, and every good intention Nathan had flew away from him. He went down onto the floor with her, his knees on either side of her legs, and pulled her up into him. The momentum threw them off balance, and they toppled over.

Nathan twisted to take the brunt of the short fall, pulling Verity atop him, never breaking their kiss. Verity laughed and sat up. She moved so that she was astride him, his rigid flesh pulsing against her. That was exactly where Nathan wanted to be...only without all the bothersome clothes between them.

He looked up at Verity. Her face was flushed, her eyes glowing, a few stray strands of her hair loose and falling around her face. Nathan knew he had never seen anyone as beautiful. His entire body ached for her. But he struggled for one last shred of sanity and said, “No, we shouldn’t—”

“Shh...” Verity said softly, laying her forefinger across his lips for silence. Her smile was pure temptation. “I don’t care what we should.” She bent and kissed him.

“You don’t want—”

She kissed Nathan again, longer this time, then murmured, “What I want is you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NATHAN LET OUT a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t want me?” Verity raised an eyebrow.

“No. God, no. I want you. But I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to...just because you feel sorry for me.”

“Well, now you’re just being daft.” Verity had wanted to lose herself in Nathan. To ignore all that had happened today. She had wanted to give Nathan comfort, wanted to take away her own worries, if just for a little while. And when he had kissed her so softly, she would have tossed away her doubts and taken him to her bed just for that.

But when he had sat back instead of trying to seduce her with her own sympathy—in that instant, Verity had known. It wasn’t about drowning out her swirling thoughts or even about making Nathan happy. Verity felt fairly certain that she would at some point have exactly the opposite effect on him.

Nor did it matter what might happen, how this affair might end, or whether her heart would break. The only thing that was important was being with Nathan. She wanted to melt him with her kisses, to make him groan with desire. She wanted to feel his breath on her neck as he moved within her. To know that she drove him to distraction in the same way he did her.

Nathan couldn’t be hers in the future. But right now, at this time and this place, he was.

She gazed into his eyes—those heart-melting, good intention–destroying eyes—and murmured, “Make love to me, Nathan.”

He smiled then, a lazy, sensual, almost smug smile, and his hands slid over her dress slowly, up her thighs and onto her torso, moving with a deliberateness that made her ache for more and at the same time filled her with such pleasure that she wanted it to last forever. Nathan cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the fabric lightly, teasing her nipples into hardness. Verity leaned her head back, arching her chest against his hands.

She heard him suck in a little breath, and she looked down at him. His eyes were dark with desire, a flush rising in his face, but still his fingers moved languidly on her, slipping beneath the neckline of her dress to tease at her bare flesh. Two could play at that game. She circled her hips against him. Light flared in his eyes, and he shot up, one hand curving around the back of her neck, and kissed her.

And then, with a twist of his body, Verity was on her back, and he was kissing her as if there was nothing in the world but her mouth and this moment and the hunger that roared through them. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her throat, his hands tangling in her hair. His lips moved across her skin, exploring her throat, working downward to the swell of her breasts above her dress.

Verity’s hands slid under his jacket, but it wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t close enough. She wanted to feel Nathan’s skin beneath her fingers, to learn each contour and line of him. Frustrated, she tugged at his neckcloth, undoing the intricate folds, then moved on to the buttons of his waistcoat. Why did gentlemen wear so very many clothes?

She pulled at the ties of his shirt, and there, at last, she found what she sought. His flesh was warm and smooth, and it jumped a little beneath her touch, a low moan sounding deep in his throat. Her hands glided up his front, over the hard ridges of his ribs and the padding of muscle, finding and circling his flat nipples.

“Verity...”