Forever a Lord by Delilah Marvelle Page A

glowing from within. He strode into a very feminine-looking bedchamber, with pale pink walls. On the right was a dressing table covered with a white lace runner and various crystal perfume bottles, painted pink tins and jewelry boxes. On the other side, against the far wall, was a large four-poster bed covered with white linens and an array of plush pillows.
    The room personified her. Tranquil and pretty.
    Striding over to the bed, he gently lowered her onto the linens, slipping his bare hands out from beneath her. He tried not to linger on the feel of those curves.
    Holding his gaze from where she lay against the pillows, she smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
    The way she looked up at him, so trustingly, made him lean down and gently kiss her smooth forehead. “You’re welcome,” he murmured against her skin. Something about that quiet, oval face and those stunning bright hazel eyes that had clearly seen so little of the world had made him want to swallow her whole and remember a time when all that mattered was skipping a stone across water.
    He’d never kissed a woman on the forehead before. He’d licked it, and nipped it, but never kissed it for the sake of kissing it.
    Even worse…he didn’t stop there. Nor could he. He gently kissed the side of her temple, then trailed his lips to her soft cheek and kissed that, and then trailed his lips to her chin and kissed that. She smelled like fresh rain and lilies. It reminded him of the dew-ridden fields outside of New York where he’d lie in the grass for hours whenever he wanted to escape the bustle of the city.
    Though she drew in a notable breath that made her breasts rise up toward him, she didn’t move.
    Nathaniel did everything he could to keep himself from burying himself into her and that scent. His chest tightened with the awareness he was overstepping his bounds given her innocence. He straightened and stepped away from the bed.
    She stared, her cheeks flushed. With both hands still flat against the linens, she whispered up at him, “Why did you do that?”
    He shifted his jaw, feeling like he had disrupted her peace. The peace he’d been trying to absorb, he realized. “It doesn’t matter.” He stepped back again. “I suggest you get out of those wet clothes.” He paused and added, “After I leave.”
    He turned and strode out of the room, closing the door behind himself to ensure he didn’t look back. His pulse raced as he tried not to think about what he had just done, though it was rather tame given his nature and what he usually inflicted upon a woman. Nathaniel was infinitely relieved when he finally made it outside, closing the entrance door behind him.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I could have done a great deal better, Sir,
but I was afraid I might hit you
too hard and you should be affronted.
    —P. Egan, Boxiana (1823)
    N ATHANIEL GLANCED TOWARD the sky that was lightening at the edges of the darkness that had once been. He could hear the chirping of birds against the pulsing silence.
    It was like the dawning of a new life.
    He felt so oddly empowered after having kissed Imogene. Like he could face anything and do anything.
    He set his jaw. Waiting be damned.
    Now that he had had a chance to kiss heaven, it was as good a time as any to finally kiss hell. He was done waiting. Like Matthew kept telling him, he wouldn’t be able to move forward in his head or in his life until he did this.
    Jogging down the wide stairs, he made his way down the gravel carriage path and out past the gates. He walked and walked and walked in jaw-tightening silence until—
    Recognizing the square up ahead enclosed by wide, pristine roads and tall, stone houses, he slowed. It was exactly where Weston said it would be when he had asked if he knew where the Sumners held their residence.
    Nathaniel crossed the cobblestone, splashing up water that reflected the morning sky brightening to yellow-pink against the rising sun.
    The Sumner House.
    His pulse roared. The brass lion knocker