Three Kisses Before Christmas by Wilde, Tanya (good novels to read .txt) 📗

the acquaintance ran between them, Wolfstan had to know. Rebecca was his. His.

He willed the rigidity to ease from his shoulders, directing his mind to their last kiss. The anger faded.

“I suppose I could let the matter go—”

“I am not kissing you.”

He raised a brow. “Mightily forward of you to assume.”

“Your eyes dropped to my lips. You were thinking about kissing me.” Her eyes widened. “There! They dropped again.”

He smiled at that. “Have you always been this outspoken? I cannot recall.”

REBECCA LIFTED HER chin. His eyes shackled her in place and her belly contracted with nerves. Longing nipped at her heart but she fought it off. She sensed her story fell short. Could offer him no more than that. “It seems foolish not to speak my mind after all that’s transpired between us.”

Lord, the knot in her belly still hadn’t quite unraveled since their eyes locked back in the tavern. She’d told Wicke she had never gambled in her life but she had lied. Ever since Rebecca had procured Knightley’s she gambled every day. Gambled with her reputation.

How had the conversation gone from Mr. Lance to kissing so suddenly? Underneath her gloves, pearls of moisture collected on the inside of her palms.

“Kissing me should come as second nature by now.” He grinned. “Will you deny it?”

Rebecca did not trust that blinding smile. It was the sort of wolfish grin that said nothing and spoke volumes at the same time, and Rebecca found herself once again immersed in fantasy. If she had her sketchbook handy, she would have drawn rough outlines of them, in this moment, laughing at each other.

“Second nature is a bit of a stretch,” she said snappily.

He settled back into the seat and crossed his legs over one another. “Only a bit?”

She refused to answer. He was too close, too attuned to the slight nuances of her nature not to catch a lie. She wanted to kiss him. But if she admitted the truth, he would not allow her to walk away from it. Rebecca was certain of it.

And there was still Knightley’s to consider. The fact that Wicke did not know all of her. His reaction to Mr. Lance. And if this encounter had shown her anything it was that Wicke would never accept the role she had placed herself in Knightley’s.

Disappointment pushed at her shoulders, and she dragged her eyes away from him. Could a woman fall in love in just a few short days? Was it enough for her to give up Knightley’s? She could scarcely look him in the eyes without replaying his confession in her mind a thousand times. The man across from her loved her. He wanted to marry her.

She could tell him now.

Tell him about Knightley’s.

She did not. “I cannot marry you, Wicke.”

He stared at her a long while, the emotion in his eyes unsettling. The space between them crackled with tension. Rebecca held her ground.

“Because of Langley?” he asked, voice pitched low. “What about me? What about the boy who fought Jim Parsons for you all those years ago? What about the boy who never wandered too far from your side to protect you?”

“Not because of Langley,” Rebecca denied. “I have no wish to marry Langley.”

He frowned. “The sketches you drew . . .”

“Were a young girl’s fantasies about her first kiss.” She fished out a carefully folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. She could not give him marriage, but she could at least give him one other thing he had asked for. “This is for you.”

She watched as he unfolded the paper and studied the picture she had sketched of them in an archery lesson. Not one twitch betrayed his expression as he traced the lines of her work.

The scene was an intimate one. She held a bow and arrow in her hand, aiming at the target, and he was behind her, keeping her arms steady with his own while she gazed over her shoulder at him.

Wicke had somehow, most unexpectedly, awakened a spark within her. An all-consuming need. The more he kissed her, the more she wanted him to kiss her.

Hard, glittering eyes lifted to meet hers.

“Why did you sketch this?”

“I . . . Rebecca blinked. Confusion swamped her. She had thought the drawing would make him happy. “You wanted me to sketch you.”

“You will draw any man who asks?”

“No!”

“Then why? If you won’t marry me, why bother in the first place?”

Rebecca’s lips parted and shut again. Because . . . She . . .

He reached out to rap on the roof.

Rebecca furrowed her brows as the driver brought the carriage to a slow stop.

“Get out.”

Her eyes widened. “I beg our pardon.”

He glowered at her. “I said, get out.”

“This is my carriage!”

“I don’t give a damn.” He reached to open the door. “Get. Out. Now.”

Rebecca gathered her skirts, exiting the carriage with a small jump. She turned to glare at him. “You are seriously leaving me at the side of the road? Am I to walk home?”

“You’ve walked longer distances.”

“It’s cold!”

His dark eyes bore into her. How had she never noticed their tumultuous intensity? “It’s a good thing you are wearing a cloak.”

“Wicke!”

“Thank you for the picture, Rebecca.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“Yes.”

Her belly knotted with panic. “Do not dare leave me like this.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Goodbye, Rebecca.”

Rebecca inhaled a sharp breath. “Wicke—”

He shut the door in her face, and the carriage shot forward, leaving Rebecca to stare at its departure with growing frustration.

That clodpole!

She could not believe how dangerously close she had come to reveal her secret to Wicke.

Rebecca turned and started home.

Chapter 12

Seven days later

Twelfth Night Ball

Willoughby Castle

THOUGHTS BREED EXCUSES. Actions breed results.

Rebecca held onto Caroline’s words like a lifeline. She hated crowds.

“Everyone is staring.”

Langley laughed. “I daresay that is because you look ravishing tonight, and well, you have prettily retained your blushes to a rosy pink all the while dancing with me.”

“Have you always been so free with your words or have I