Gail Eastwood by A Perilous Journey

Author:A Perilous Journey [Journey, A Perilous]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Brinton moved into the semidarkness under the branches of the ancient beech tree beside the clearing, trying to focus on his task instead of Miss Kentwell. He desperately needed to put some distance between her and himself. He scooped a handful of leaves from the soft carpet beneath him, crushing them in his fingers to see if they were dry enough to cushion her from the ground. He tried not to think of how her body had felt cushioned against his own.

From the shelter of the shadows he watched her move around the fire to attend her brother. The affectionate way she adjusted Cranford’s coat and smoothed the hair away from his eyes sent a stab of longing through the earl. How often he had watched his eldest sister minister to her children with that same sort of tenderness! Perhaps it was time he began to think of settling down, after all, and siring offspring of his own. A vivid image of Miss Kentwell in his bed at home flashed unbidden into his mind. The full force of those innocent sea-blue eyes struck him as he pictured them fluttering open beside him, still clouded with sleep.

Devil take it! He turned back to his task, kneeling down to garner leaves. Whatever had possessed him to take her into his arms? She was supposed to be betrothed to his uncle! It was the worst mistake he had made yet, and he seemed to be caught up in an endless parade of errors that had started the first moment he had laid eyes on her.

He was still shaken by what had passed between them. He had never come so close to ravishing a woman in his life. Stopping when he did had required every ounce of willpower he possessed. He had never experienced that kind of overwhelming passion with anyone before. How had it happened? He had merely intended to comfort her.

Why don’t you just admit that you are falling in love with her? demanded an aggravating voice in the back of his mind.

Brinton clenched his fist so hard that the leaves in it were crushed to a powder. I don’t want to be in love with her, he argued. There was no place in his life for the luxury of such an emotion. He was the ninth deRamsay to bear the Brinton title, and the combined dignity of all the previous holders weighed heavily on him. His wife would have to stand beside him as a pillar of Society and even appear at Court. Miss Kentwell possessed rare qualities of courage and spirit which he admired, but he could not picture her as Countess of Brinton, even if she was the daughter of a viscount. He must marry a woman with the most sterling qualities—patience, diplomacy, and social expertise foremost among them.

What was he going to do? He had had no right to touch her. She was so young and inexperienced! He had not been content with an

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