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He felt the way Marina went completely motionless beneath the kiss, before her mouth gradually answered. Her hesitation melted into something warmer, her fingers tightening at his waist, in a way that made his restraint fracture. Her lips parted underneath his, and her soft breath made him groan against her warmth.

Their mouths parted for a second, only to press together harder; he caught her lower lip between his teeth until she gasped. His fingers tilted her head, deepening the kiss. She responded without hesitation, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. Somewhere in his mind, Ambrose knew he should stop, but he had no idea how to make himself do it.

When at last he drew back, their lips separated, but neither made any attempt to step away, and from the look in Marina’s eyes, Ambrose suspected she had not nearly had enough. Her eyes were still hooded, her hands still locked around his waist, as though she shared his fear that the moment would dissolve like mist once they let go.

He brushed his lips along her jaw, then lower, tracing the pulse of her throat. When he raised his head, his eyes locked on her face. She was beautiful, far too bewitching for his peace of mind. Ambrose wanted to tell her exactly what she did to him. He wanted her to know that every glance, every smile, every touch from her was threatening enough to make him lose his composure.

Her gaze drifted past his shoulder, and a soft chuckle slipped from her lips. “Is that mistletoe?” she asked, amusement brightening her eyes.

Ambrose turned his head and found a small sprig hanging above the balcony doors.

“Who put that there?” she asked again, her giggle a little steadier now.

He looked back at her, and the corner of his mouth lifted smugly. “Does that mean we are obliged to kiss again?” he asked lightly. The look in his eyes made the question far less innocent than his words suggested.

He stepped closer, returning his mouth to where it belonged. On hers. Her hands lifted, pressing against his chest. With every stolen moment, his hand around her waist drew her even closer, and every suck against her lower lip made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then in a heartbeat, Marina forced herself to step back. She dropped her hands, breathing hard, her shoulders rising and falling. Her face turned away from him, but he caught a glimpse of her eyes. She looked angry now, but there was more beneath.

She looked uncertain. He frowned at the realization.

“What am I exactly to you?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

The question caught him off guard, and the furrow between his brows deepened.

“I do not know what you mean. Have I said something to offend you?”

“Not yet. But I fear you shall. Every time we have grown closer, you have pulled away. I wish to know where I stand,” she continued, her voice growing more agitated. “You give me nothing but this wretched uncertainty.”

She thought he was playing with her. In truth, he had been cursing himself over and over for falling so deeply.

“Do you truly believe I do all of this for amusement?” he growled. “Do you imagine I kiss you merely because I have nothing better to occupy my time?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” She stepped back. “I shall return inside,” she stated. Her eyes caught the mistletoe above them, and her mouth twisted bitterly. “Damn the mistletoe.”

Marina turned away. Ambrose watched her take two steps before his heart finally won out over his pride.

Chase her, you fool.

For once, he listened to his better senses.

By the time Marina reached the corridor, he had caught up with her and taken her wrist. He turned her back to him, wrapping his fingers around where her pulse throbbed. The sudden closeness made her step back half a pace, and her back met the wall.

He took a step closer, caging her without touching her anywhere but where his thumb caressed the tender skin of her wrist. And when he spoke, his voice was roughened by the fury of wanting her and the terror of losing her.

“You are wrong,” he told her matter-of-factly.

Her eyes lifted to his, wide and glittering in the moonlight slipping through the window. He stepped closer, then closer still, until the solid line of his thigh grazed hers.

“Every time I kiss you,” he confessed quietly, his fingers tightening around hers, “every time I touch you, I remember exactly how impossible it is to remain indifferent to you. You have become a part of me, Marina. A part I cannot remove without tearing myself apart.”

She stared at him, lips parted, her breaths growing shorter. He shook his head, and the movement brought his mouth even closer to hers.

“The day I said I could not share your bed, it was not because I did not want you. It was because I was afraid.”

“You know very well what I fear. You do not know what it was like when I was a child. Locked away, despised, pitied, and looked down upon with only a maid and a footman for company.”

She frowned.