two?”
“It was one little kiss!”
“I know what your kisses lead to,” he replied, far too loudly for propriety’s sake. “Or have you forgotten that?”
Forgotten? No, she’d not forgotten. Nor would she ever forget. Woodleigh’s kisses were forever seared in her mind, marked on her body. They had lit a flame deep inside her and ruined her taste for other men. Indeed, after a thousand years she was not likely to forget about that.
“Of course I’ve not forgotten.”
He watched her, his face displaying a dubious distrust. She would have liked to look away from him, to be less reminded of what his kisses had done to her, but she just could not force herself.
“Perhaps you need a reminder,” he said at last.
She hadn’t the time to make sense of his words before he quickly moved toward her and pulled her tight into his arms. It was as if a warm wind had just blown over her, enveloping her in its stifling heat and knocking the air out of her lungs. She had to wrap her arms around him or risk being blown completely away.
Then his lips were on hers, and she was right back in her father’s paddock, her senses taken over by this conceited gentleman who seemed to be the only one on the planet who could make her feel quite this way. It was infuriating and heavenly all at the same time. She pressed herself closer to him, drinking in his kisses and imagining that everything else could just disappear.
“You taste like strawberry tarts,” he said quietly when his lips left hers and began to kiss her eyes and her neck and whatever other part of her he could locate easily enough.
“I’ve been rather a pig, I’m afraid,” she mumbled, not quite coherently. “I ate two of them tonight.”
“I love strawberry tarts,” he said, his lips finding their way back to hers.
His tongue toyed with her, teaching her a game they could play that left both of them breathless and eager. But she wanted so much more than his kisses. Her knees were beyond weak, and she hung on him, afraid that at any moment she might beg him to toss her into the hedgerow and finish what they had started in Beldington.
He seemed to feel the same way, as he moved her off the walk and into the shadow of the garden wall. The stone was still warm from the day in the sun, and she was glad for the support it gave her. She could focus all of her energy on exploring Lord Woodleigh. She wanted to touch him, to taste every part of him. Until someone came along to discover them, she was going to give it her full effort.
“I want you, Prudence,” he whispered.
Her given name sounded good on his lips. The fact that he wanted her sounded very good, too. They were racing to satisfy that want before people or reality might step in to stop them.
She was slightly surprised when he pushed away from her. She glanced around, half expecting to find his mother or some other patron glaring disapproval at them, yet they were alone. The moonlight still filtered through the garden around them, and she was still panting, desperate for more of his touch, more of whatever he’d been giving her.
“Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t kiss Archer ever again.”
“What?”
“Promise me, Prudence. I would hate to murder my best friend.”
“But…don’t you think he’ll expect me to kiss him at least sometimes, once we’re married, I mean?”
“Once you’re…You mean you and Archer? Married?”
“That’s why he brought me into the garden,” she explained, still not fully in control of her breathing. “He asked me to marry him.”
“He asked you to marry him?”
“Don’t be so surprised. It’s not that unreasonable, is it? I am a gentleman’s daughter. I’m not unsuitable for him.”
“You are unsuitable for him! You are completely unsuitable! Good God, you didn’t say yes, did you?”
“I said I’d consider. Why should you be so adamantly against it? Am I too rustic, too uncultured for your friend? I’ll not be a credit to him,
“It was one little kiss!”
“I know what your kisses lead to,” he replied, far too loudly for propriety’s sake. “Or have you forgotten that?”
Forgotten? No, she’d not forgotten. Nor would she ever forget. Woodleigh’s kisses were forever seared in her mind, marked on her body. They had lit a flame deep inside her and ruined her taste for other men. Indeed, after a thousand years she was not likely to forget about that.
“Of course I’ve not forgotten.”
He watched her, his face displaying a dubious distrust. She would have liked to look away from him, to be less reminded of what his kisses had done to her, but she just could not force herself.
“Perhaps you need a reminder,” he said at last.
She hadn’t the time to make sense of his words before he quickly moved toward her and pulled her tight into his arms. It was as if a warm wind had just blown over her, enveloping her in its stifling heat and knocking the air out of her lungs. She had to wrap her arms around him or risk being blown completely away.
Then his lips were on hers, and she was right back in her father’s paddock, her senses taken over by this conceited gentleman who seemed to be the only one on the planet who could make her feel quite this way. It was infuriating and heavenly all at the same time. She pressed herself closer to him, drinking in his kisses and imagining that everything else could just disappear.
“You taste like strawberry tarts,” he said quietly when his lips left hers and began to kiss her eyes and her neck and whatever other part of her he could locate easily enough.
“I’ve been rather a pig, I’m afraid,” she mumbled, not quite coherently. “I ate two of them tonight.”
“I love strawberry tarts,” he said, his lips finding their way back to hers.
His tongue toyed with her, teaching her a game they could play that left both of them breathless and eager. But she wanted so much more than his kisses. Her knees were beyond weak, and she hung on him, afraid that at any moment she might beg him to toss her into the hedgerow and finish what they had started in Beldington.
He seemed to feel the same way, as he moved her off the walk and into the shadow of the garden wall. The stone was still warm from the day in the sun, and she was glad for the support it gave her. She could focus all of her energy on exploring Lord Woodleigh. She wanted to touch him, to taste every part of him. Until someone came along to discover them, she was going to give it her full effort.
“I want you, Prudence,” he whispered.
Her given name sounded good on his lips. The fact that he wanted her sounded very good, too. They were racing to satisfy that want before people or reality might step in to stop them.
She was slightly surprised when he pushed away from her. She glanced around, half expecting to find his mother or some other patron glaring disapproval at them, yet they were alone. The moonlight still filtered through the garden around them, and she was still panting, desperate for more of his touch, more of whatever he’d been giving her.
“Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t kiss Archer ever again.”
“What?”
“Promise me, Prudence. I would hate to murder my best friend.”
“But…don’t you think he’ll expect me to kiss him at least sometimes, once we’re married, I mean?”
“Once you’re…You mean you and Archer? Married?”
“That’s why he brought me into the garden,” she explained, still not fully in control of her breathing. “He asked me to marry him.”
“He asked you to marry him?”
“Don’t be so surprised. It’s not that unreasonable, is it? I am a gentleman’s daughter. I’m not unsuitable for him.”
“You are unsuitable for him! You are completely unsuitable! Good God, you didn’t say yes, did you?”
“I said I’d consider. Why should you be so adamantly against it? Am I too rustic, too uncultured for your friend? I’ll not be a credit to him,
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