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He'd learned a lot about himself since the debacle with Miss Marina Thompson - now, somewhat unhappily, Lady Crane. But perhaps the most important was the moment Pen's dress got caught in the carriage door and rode up her thigh. Baring pale, rose-mottled flesh for all the world to see.
She stumbled, feeling the snag as her skirts didn't follow her to the ground. Displaying her thigh in all its glory. Sculpted to perfection in tight white muslin. Highlighting the soft pocket of flesh that rested atop the lace like a forbidden crown.
Oh.
The steward's grip visibly tightened around her hand. Keeping her upright as Pen and her maid frantically attempted to unsnag her dress from the door latch.
If he'd been younger, he might have laughed at the awkward hilarity of it all. If he'd been a gentleman, he would have adverted his eyes as propriety demanded. Pretending not to notice as he made some excuse to turn away and give the lady her dignity. He could have commented on the shrubbery. Anything. Instead, he stole the sight and kept it for his own.
Her cheeks were scarlet. But he barely noticed. Too busy staring at every inch of her. The blue ribbon woven cheekily into the lace of her stockings. How the thick of her upper thigh looked perfect enough to set his teeth into. The way the arch behind her knee was pink with humid-heat. Then there was the fold of her thigh itself. So ravishing it made him feel like a god. A delicious thickness he wanted to trace his finger across, just to know what it felt like to drown.
In truth, it was a rather inconvenient realization. Especially considering last season he'd vowed to never marry her. That his affections were nothing but brotherly and wouldn't - couldn't - be anything more.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek.
He deserved this.
Because deep down, he knew her feelings.
He'd known for years.
How could he not?
She was not chaste or hidden in her love. Like with everything, she loved him with a fierce, but quiet openness.
Perhaps it was inevitable. After all, the more one was loved, the more the lover embraces the same. And he felt it. He felt like he was floating in the desire he had for her. Every generous part. Every inch. He wanted to explore her. Claim her. To show her there was not one flaw or blemish he didn't find remarkable. Desirous. That didn't threaten to shame him as his want only grew with every new curve.
Because this was the beginning of his end. And he knew it intimately.
He could recognize it enough, especially after Anthony. This was how his brother must have felt. He'd seen it on his face. Watched it change his movements, his responses, everything. The only difference was that Anthony's love for Kate had been a sudden, roaring bonfire. What he felt for Pen had been simmering slowly. Waiting in the embers for as long as he could remember.
If love lived anywhere, it was shaped to soft, ivory perfection under her skirts.
Perhaps it was only just that fate would see him eat his words. Haunted by a want he'd never expected and was instantly overcome by. Looking back, the truth shamed him. He'd hurt her for her love. Hurt her every time he'd pushed down that feeling. Every time he refused to choose bravery when she looked at him in that way she had. Like he was the only thing that mattered in the world.
A crow flew overhead, its caw like a raucous laugh.
He could hardly fault it.
Because even now, he knew he would be seized by the memory of her bare thigh in the privacy of his rooms. Later, when the dark would hide the worst of his transgressions, he knew he would abuse both of them by taking himself in hand. Exorcising the image from his thoughts without any real hope of relief. Imagining how the pillowed crush would feel, as she mounted his lap and-
"You made good time. I don't think your mother was expecting you until supper."
He forced his face into an innocent mask when Pen cleared her throat. Giving him leave to act like he'd noticed nothing. Her skirts and person fully back to rights. The only evidence was the embarrassment glowing on her cheeks as he smiled and offered his hand. Everything different now as the backs of his knees threatened weakness when she took it.
His voice wasn't anywhere close to level. But if she noticed, she had the grace not to comment. Launching into an animated telling of her holiday as her maid fanned herself in the background. No doubt relieved at narrowly escaping her lady's social ruin.
If he had the stones, he might have smirked.
As it was, he could barely breathe evenly.
Even so, he smiled when their hands parted. Knowing he'd kept hers a fraction too long when she looked up at him searchingly. Her bright eyes so piercingly blue it was a wonder he'd ever been able to escape them.
"Did you get my last letter?" she asked, long curls framing her face. "I'm afraid the post was delayed. I sent ahead that my Grand Uncle was coming on the next carriage. He mentioned having known your mother years ago. I believe he intends to call after his business in 'ton. Is that alright?"
He nodded. Unfazed. Forgetting to acknowledge that he hadn't received the letter. Too busy caught in the tangle-trap of his own thoughts.
Torment had a new definition he intended to scrawl into every margin in every dictionary in 'ton. It would be her name and nothing else. The rest would remain a secret promise. Waiting for the day he could tell her how foolish he'd been. And perhaps, even amuse her with the memory of this very moment. The one where he fell suddenly, dreadfully, absurdly in love with her.