He wasgenuinelygood.
Toogood.
She scowled into the darkness. “No doubt whenyoulook in the mirror, you see an archangel. St. Michael, perhaps, with his sword of justice, ready to take on the demon hordes in an epic battle for the triumph of truth over evil.”
“I wish that were my problem.” He huffed. “Demon hordes don’t interest me in the least.”
“No?”
“No. But thereisone ruinous thing I cannot get out of my mind.”
He did not elaborate. But, again, he pulled her yew-maze close. Back then, he’d been the one to turn away first. She had been too startled, too confused, to tell him that she hadn’t been being reckless. That she’d only been confused. Why?
Because she had felt the very first stirrings of what she now understood must have been desire. Buthehad known. Had he thrust her away, not because he did not want her, but because he was suffering from the same affliction?
Was he still suffering from it now?
“No hordes,” she repeated. “But, perhaps, one demon?”
“Not a demon. Just one infuriating young lady entirely too sure of herself.”
She could lay the same charge against him. Being sure of himself, that was. And, though she did not consider being confident an insult, at present, she wasn’t entirely sure of herself, either.
She still wanted proof he cared.
She cupped his cheek, liking the feel of his jaw flexing beneath her fingers. The moment felt inevitable, as if they must finally face what they’d been running from since the maze.
“What are you doing?” he asked warily.
She hardly understood herself. She felt driven by a force she could not control. A force entirely at odds with her plan to be free of the obligation to marry. Then again, she couldn’t remember what the details of her plan had been.
She only knew Neville, too, had hurt her, and she wanted him to make things right.
He’d hurt her in the yew maze, pushing her away. He’d hurt her with his subsequent stinging insults. He’d hurt her when she’d realized he had come to the theater with that beautiful woman.
And all because he could not admit what was between them.
“If Ihadbeen touched by something demonic,” she said slowly, “certainly, someone so solid, so…moralas you, could set me straight.”
He made a scoffing noise. “You don’t want instruction from me.”
“You’re right.Instructionis not at all what I want.” She paused to consider. “At least not in the moral sense.”
“God in heaven, Millie. Cease your teasing. I cannot… You don’t understand…”
What did he mean? She wasn’tteasingat all.
“I’ve vowed to protect you,” he whispered. “When you tease, Icannotdepend on my better self. And you’ve just suffered—”
She touched her lips to his ear, just to prove she was not teasing.
His jagged breath contained just a hint of a whimper. A shiver passed through his whole body, shaking the stubble beneath her hand. All of him was rough. Rough and exciting.
“Augustus,” she whispered directly into his ear.
He inhaled, quick and deep. “How do you know my middle name?”
“Debrett’s.” She recalled the dark block letters. “Ambrose Augustus Merriweather,” she said as if reading. “Ambrose may be your Christian name, but Augustus fits you better.”Augustussounds strong. Reliable. Much more like Neville thanAmbrose.