Free Web NovelChapter 259: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Eight
It was the kiss of a man who was terrified of losing his entire world, pouring all of his unspoken apologies, his deep fears, and his intense, burning possessiveness into the physical contact.
His lips moved against hers with demanding urgency. He held her tightly against him, making sure there was absolutely no space left between their bodies, silently declaring to the entire room that she was his, and his alone.
The fabric store instantly plunged into a state of shock.
Allen, who had just been smiling smugly a second ago, stopped suddenly. His jaw dropped so far open it almost hit the floor. The piece of mango cake fell from his fingers, hitting the floorboards with a soft splat. He stared at the scene, his eyes bulging in disbelief.
In Damon’s arms, Camilla was utterly paralyzed.
Her eyes were open to their maximum limit. She stared blankly at Damon’s closed eyelids, his eyelashes resting against his flushed skin.
Her brain stopped processing information. The taste of the sweet mango cake on her tongue was instantly overwhelmed by the clean, sharp taste of him. The warmth of his mouth, the solid, hard wall of his chest pressing against her, and the strong, unyielding grip of his hand in her hair completely short-circuited her mind.
She just stood there, pinned tightly against his chest, her eyes wide with disbelief, while Damon kissed her with all the desperate fear and burning passion he possessed.
Then, her brain finally snapped back to reality.
Camilla raised her small hands. She placed her palms flat against his chest and pushed him away from her with a sudden, forceful shove.
She broke the kiss.
Damon stumbled backward a half-step. He let his arms fall from her waist. He looked down at her, his chest heaving rapidly. His dark brown eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of raw desire and sudden panic that he had pushed her too far.
Camilla stood in front of him. Her lips were slightly parted and visibly swollen from the intense pressure of his kiss. Her eyes were still open to their maximum limit. She was breathing very fast.
She did not yell at him. She did not slap him and her mind was in too much chaos to form an insult.
She quickly turned her head away from his intense gaze. She looked across the table.
She turned to Allen.
Allen was still standing shocked on the other side of the display table. His mouth was hanging open. Allen’s brain was completely fried.
"I’m going home," Camilla spoke out loud. Her voice was slightly shaky and breathless. She forced herself to sound practical. "It is late."
She grabbed the skirts of her dress.
"And I won’t be coming tomorrow," Camilla added quickly, taking a step toward the open front doors. "I am exhausted."
Allen just stared at her. He blinked his eyes slowly. He nodded his head up and down in a very slow motion. He could not find his voice to say goodbye.
Camilla did not wait for Damon to say anything. She did not even look at him. She kept her eyes focused on the street outside. She walked quickly past Damon’s tall figure, her shoulder brushing lightly against his military coat.
She walked out of the fabric store, climbed quickly into her waiting carriage, and slammed the door shut.
The carriage driver cracked his whip, and the horses pulled the carriage away instantly.
Inside the store, Damon stood alone with Allen.
Damon slowly turned his head. He looked at his younger cousin.
The passionate, desperate look in Damon’s eyes vanished. It was instantly replaced by a cold, deadly, stern warning. Damon glared at Allen. His dark eyes clearly communicated a silent, terrifying message: If you ever look at her again or provoke me, I will finish what I started.
Allen swallowed hard, shrinking back against the table in fear.
Damon did not speak a single word. He turned his back, walked out of the store, and headed straight to his horse. He pulled himself up into the saddle, grabbed the reins tightly, and rode hard toward the mansion, desperate to catch up to his wife.
Inside the dark, moving carriage, the atmosphere was quiet.
The wheels bumped rhythmically against the stone streets of the city.
Camilla swayed on the soft velvet seat as the carriage moved.
Slowly, she raised her trembling right hand. She brought her pale fingers up to her face. She gently touched her own lips.
They felt warm. They were a bit swollen and sensitive. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his mouth. She could still taste the clean, sharp, masculine scent of him.
Camilla stared blankly at the wall of the carriage.
She thought to herself, her internal voice sounding shocked and slightly dreamy.
"That tasted good," Camilla admitted secretly in her own mind.
She remembered the firm, demanding way he had moved his lips against hers. She remembered the strong, unyielding grip of his hand in her hair, holding her still so she could not escape.
"He is actually very good at this," her thoughts continued, a warm, dangerous heat spreading slowly through her stomach. "I almost melted in his arms. My knees actually felt weak."
For a brief, crazy second, she wanted to go back. She wanted to feel his strong arms around her waist again.
But then, her sharp training violently kicked in.
Camilla forcefully dropped her hand from her lips. She slapped her hands down hard onto her lap. She sat up straight on the velvet seat.
She reprimanded herself severely. Her internal voice turned incredibly strict, cold, and punishing.
"Get a grip, Camilla," she scolded herself harshly in her mind. Her eyes narrowed sharply in the shadows. "Do not allow yourself to fall for such romantic nonsense. You are losing your mind over a simple kiss when you have had plenty in the past and felt nothing ."
She forced herself to remember her past life.
"Remember what happened the last time you allowed yourself the luxury of falling in love," Camilla warned herself, a dark, painful shadow crossing her face.
In her past life, attachments had only brought her deep pain and terrible betrayal. Love was a massive weakness. It made people foolish. It made them blind to danger. She was once a slave to it but survived because she did not trust anyone again with her heart.
She squeezed her hands into tight fists. She took a slow, deep breath of the cool carriage air. She needed to build her walls back up immediately before Damon breaks them down, leaving her vulnerable.
She closed her eyes and began to chant a mantra to herself. She repeated the words over and over again to calm her racing heart.
"I don’t feel anything for him," Camilla chanted silently in her head. "He is just a handsome man. I can never feel anything for him except basic, human lust. He has a very good body, and that is it."
She nodded her head slightly, forcing herself to believe the practical lie.
"I can only have his body, not his heart," her thoughts finalized the rule. "I do not need his heart anyway. A heart is useless to me. I just need his gold and whatever his body can offer."
By repeating this mantra, she finally succeeded in calming her rapid heartbeat. The warm, fluttery feeling in her stomach was pushed down into a dark, locked box. When the carriage finally turned onto the road leading to the Benson estate, she felt calm once again.
The carriage rolled through the high iron gates and stopped in the center of the large, paved courtyard.
The footman opened the door.
Camilla stepped down onto the stone pavement.
Even though she had convinced her brain that she felt absolutely nothing, her physical body was still acting strange.
She did not walk proudly up the main stairs like the Lady of the house. Instead, she hunched her shoulders forward. She kept her head down. She began to walk very quickly, taking light, sneaky steps on her tiptoes. She looked left and right, her eyes darting around the courtyard shadows.
She looked exactly like a guilty thief trying to sneak out of a wealthy house with a bag of stolen silver spoons.
She just wanted to get to the room and lock the door before Damon arrived.
But her sneaky, tiptoeing walk did not go unnoticed.
Standing near the grand front doors, holding a warm yellow oil lamp, was Mr. Murry. The older housekeeper watched his mistress creeping across the courtyard like a frightened mouse. He frowned deeply in confusion.
Murry stepped forward.
"My Lady," Murry spoke out loud. His voice echoed slightly in the quiet evening air. "Is everything alright?"
