"We know so very little about him, Miss Clare. I would hate to have your reputation ruined by not doing my duty as your chaperone."
"I'm eight and twenty, Miss Sinclair. No one cares what I do or how I go about. You forget what it was like for me in London. Other than my friends, no one cared about me at all. I was not titled nor rich, practically invisible."
"I do not think your parents would agree, Miss Clare. Think of your cousin. She was lured in by a pretty face and false promises. I do not want to see the same happen to you, and God knows, Mr. Armstrong has a face akin to wickedness. What a handsome man, and one who knows how to use such looks, I'm sure, when the need arises."
Molly chuckled, unable to disagree with her companion's summations. "A pretty face will not fool me, but even so, Mr. Armstrong is a gentleman and has been very kind to me. But I promise you, Miss Sinclair, that I shall not do anything that will harm my family or myself. I will not make the same mistake as Laura."
"He promised her marriage, Miss Clare. She thought herself in love."
"I know what Laura thought." Molly knew firsthand what her cousin had been promised, and the heartache her friend had gone through before her son's birth. The death of them both only a few days later had left the family scarred and cautious.
Lord Farley, the Duke of St. Albans's younger brother, was a fiend who did not deserve to breathe as far as Molly was concerned. If only she could tell the prig to his face that she hated him, that what he'd done had ruined her friend and her future.
Had caused irreparable damage to the family that they struggled to this day to live with.
Molly wasn't naïve enough not to know Laura too was at fault, she had allowed things to go too far between them before they were married, but still, when one falls in love, she could see how very difficult it would be to deny oneself what one desired.
Just as she now desired Mr. Armstrong above anyone else. He could be her downfall, the man who made her want to throw all caution aside and simply live, love, and play to her heart's content.
As much as she did not understand her cousin’s emotions or what made her do the things she had done with Lord Farley, she could understand them now. After kissing Hugh, she could understand the desires of the heart were sometimes too great to resist.
The carriage rocked to a halt before the villa, and Miss Sinclair continued to look displeased with her. "He's taken a fancy to you. The staff can see it as plain as day, and so can I. He's a man, his risk is nothing to yours. Please keep your head about yourself when with him. That is all I ask."
Molly reached across the seat and clasped Miss Sinclair's hand. Her anxiety on Molly's behalf doing her character and position justice. "Mr. Armstrong's attentions will not injure me, I promise. He's an honorable man. I may be a little long in the tooth, but I think he's genuine. He'll not play with my heart unless he intends to keep it for himself. There is hope yet, Miss Sinclair that I may have found my match."
Molly smiled and turned to alight from the vehicle. The villa door stood ajar, and inside the home's walls stood Hugh, waiting for her in the afternoon sun. His shirt was free from his tan breeches, the arms rolled up about his elbows and showing off his golden-hue skin and muscular forearms.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and she stifled a sigh of delight at the sight of him. How could a man that she'd only known a few days be so consuming? Make her feel like a green girl experiencing her first Season and being courted by London's most handsome man.
She walked up to him, unable to stop the smile that formed on her lips. "Good afternoon, Mr. Armstrong. I hope you had a productive day as you'd hoped."
He guided her over to a part of the garden that housed a small marble alcove and bench. Vines grew above the seat, giving the occupants privacy. Molly sat, pulling her shawl about her shoulders as the temperature in the hidden niche was cooler than in the courtyard.
"I was able to finish what needed attending, but I could not concentrate."
"Really?" Molly frowned up at him. He sat beside her, the side of his leg touching hers. Her skin prickled in awareness, and she took a calming breath, needing to control herself and her reactions to him. He did not need to know that she liked him perhaps more than she ought to like a man she hardly knew. "Why could you not concentrate?"
He reached out, sliding his thumb across her bottom lip, and she leaned into him, wanting more of his touch. To have his thumb replaced with his lips. "I could not concentrate because I knew you were walking about Rome without me. I fear that you can never return to London as I'll miss you too much."
His sweet words made a pang of regret and panic take flight inside her. She could not stay, not unless he offered marriage, but she was unsure if he asked whether she could live so far away from her friends and family. Even with the intoxicating, consuming man that was slowly taking her heart and making it his.
"You tease," she said, making light of his words and not wanting to face just what they did mean, what they could imply for both of them.
He shook his head, closing the space between them. "No, I'm not. I've never been more honest."
The moment his lips touched hers, Molly was lost. She gave herself to his kiss that turned demanding and wicked, and unlike the other kisses they'd shared so far. This one took her breath away. His hand spiked into her hair, making her gasp. The moment she did, he took advantage and thrust his tongue against hers, pulling her into a world of desire, needs, and wants.
Her body ached for his touch. She clasped his side, anchoring herself lest she float away and never return to her body. Faintly, she was aware of his other hand, sliding up her waist. A moan burst free when it covered her breast, kneading the aching flesh. His thumb and forefinger found her nipple. He rolled it through the fabric of her dress, and she moaned.
She crossed her legs as she leaned against him, trying to appease the deep, thrumming ache between her legs. It did not help. She wanted him to touch her there as well. To tease and kiss her and bring that desire to heel.
"You're the sweetest woman. It is confirmed you must stay. Forget London and stay here with me."
Molly pulled back, hoping he was playing while a little of her wished she could be so brave. "You'll have to convince me harder than this, Hugh."
"Hmm," he said, grinning at her, his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones reminiscent of the many statues of gods that littered Rome. "Is that a challenge, Miss Clare?"
Molly stood, pulling him to stand before starting back toward the villa. "It most certainly is. Change my mind, and we'll see."
"I will win, you know. I'm very persuasive."
She chuckled, not caring that Miss Sinclair stood on the balcony above and saw their interaction or the closeness of their friendship. She had not done anything so very wrong. A kiss was not the end of her reputation or the end of the world. And it was not like Miss Sinclair was not embarking on a love affair of her own. "We shall see, will we not?"
"We will," he said, kissing her hand and throwing her a wink.
Chapter 7
Late that evening, a knock sounded on her bedroom door and, having dismissed Miss Sinclair some hours before, Molly slid from atop her bed where she had been reading, placing the book down before seeing who was there.