side, he drew a deep breath. A mistake as his lungs soon filled with the evocative essence of gardenias and moonlight. “He’s a good chap. Strong, reliable, and true.” His words rushed. “A good judge of horseflesh, I’m told.”
And other flesh, his body reminded him, as the breeze stirred the gathered drapes of cloth covering her chest, bringing his gaze back to that enticing nub. His mouth watered with the urge to coax the titillating swell into something harder, firmer. His body responded with a rise of its own. “Some women find him handsome.”
“Do they?” Inexplicably, and with a certain measure of awkwardness, she stroked the lapel of his jacket and tilted her head back as if expecting to be kissed.
Shocked, he had intended to raise his hand to force release of his lapel, but his fingertips reached instead for the dewy skin of her cheek. He traced the soft curve of her jaw and ran his thumb lightly across her full lower lip, wondering if he dare taste what she offered.
Remembering the excessive comforts evident at the cottage, gold and silver, the floral towers and abundant champagne, the thought suddenly registered that perhaps this goddess was meant to be his for the taking. A smile pulled at his lips. These Americans, they think of everything. The frog mask slipped from his grasp and thumped to the ground. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.
“I’m not sure how these things are accomplished here . . .” he whispered, letting the urgent nature of his needs take over. After witnessing the opulence at the ball, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover a bed hidden beneath the cover of trees, a gilt-edged bed at that. He dragged his lips tenderly across her forehead, inhaling her sweet scents and preparing for an outright assault on her tantalizing mouth. “But if you’re offering what I believe—”
A sudden clamor of footsteps behind him interrupted. His spine stiffened. Dallying with a light skirt was one thing, but he did draw the line at public performances.
“Francesca Winthrop!” a woman’s shrill voice wailed. “Francesca, you foolish girl, what are you doing?”
Four
SHE HADN’T INTENDED TO LOSE CONTROL OF THE flirtation. While she had hoped that a minor indiscretion
would lead to discovery and cancellation of the engagement contract, she hadn’t expected to enjoy indiscretion quite this much. His British accent played like music to her ears, while the expressive quirk to his eyebrows touched her deep inside. He had a secretive smile, as if he found humor in the most mundane things. His wide shoulders and strong frame seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps they reminded her of the knights in her illustrated copy of Arthur’s tales. Yes. That must be it, she reassured herself. Like those knights of old, tonight he was saving her from a future not of her choosing.
However, even with all these vaguely familiar physical attributes, his eyes managed to captivate her more than the rest. The night obscured the color, but she saw an interest in the depths that melted her bones and wobbled her knees. Randolph’s glance had never produced that effect and for the first time she felt gratitude at being unencumbered. Once the stranger had wrapped his arms about her and pulled her into his warmth she struggled to keep her wits about her. A clean, masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her eyes closed, her lips parted to receive an eagerly anticipated kiss. She waited . . . she waited . . .
Fluttering her eyes open, she saw his gaze turned to the left. With a subtle pressure on her side, he shifted her behind him as if to protect her from some savage beast. She bent to peek around him and saw he was indeed facing the most cunning and savage of all opponents—her mother.
“Francesca. It will do no good hiding behind this stranger. The damage has been done. Come out now and face the consequences.” Her mother harrumphed.
Although her handsome paramour tried to keep her
And other flesh, his body reminded him, as the breeze stirred the gathered drapes of cloth covering her chest, bringing his gaze back to that enticing nub. His mouth watered with the urge to coax the titillating swell into something harder, firmer. His body responded with a rise of its own. “Some women find him handsome.”
“Do they?” Inexplicably, and with a certain measure of awkwardness, she stroked the lapel of his jacket and tilted her head back as if expecting to be kissed.
Shocked, he had intended to raise his hand to force release of his lapel, but his fingertips reached instead for the dewy skin of her cheek. He traced the soft curve of her jaw and ran his thumb lightly across her full lower lip, wondering if he dare taste what she offered.
Remembering the excessive comforts evident at the cottage, gold and silver, the floral towers and abundant champagne, the thought suddenly registered that perhaps this goddess was meant to be his for the taking. A smile pulled at his lips. These Americans, they think of everything. The frog mask slipped from his grasp and thumped to the ground. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.
“I’m not sure how these things are accomplished here . . .” he whispered, letting the urgent nature of his needs take over. After witnessing the opulence at the ball, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover a bed hidden beneath the cover of trees, a gilt-edged bed at that. He dragged his lips tenderly across her forehead, inhaling her sweet scents and preparing for an outright assault on her tantalizing mouth. “But if you’re offering what I believe—”
A sudden clamor of footsteps behind him interrupted. His spine stiffened. Dallying with a light skirt was one thing, but he did draw the line at public performances.
“Francesca Winthrop!” a woman’s shrill voice wailed. “Francesca, you foolish girl, what are you doing?”
Four
SHE HADN’T INTENDED TO LOSE CONTROL OF THE flirtation. While she had hoped that a minor indiscretion
would lead to discovery and cancellation of the engagement contract, she hadn’t expected to enjoy indiscretion quite this much. His British accent played like music to her ears, while the expressive quirk to his eyebrows touched her deep inside. He had a secretive smile, as if he found humor in the most mundane things. His wide shoulders and strong frame seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps they reminded her of the knights in her illustrated copy of Arthur’s tales. Yes. That must be it, she reassured herself. Like those knights of old, tonight he was saving her from a future not of her choosing.
However, even with all these vaguely familiar physical attributes, his eyes managed to captivate her more than the rest. The night obscured the color, but she saw an interest in the depths that melted her bones and wobbled her knees. Randolph’s glance had never produced that effect and for the first time she felt gratitude at being unencumbered. Once the stranger had wrapped his arms about her and pulled her into his warmth she struggled to keep her wits about her. A clean, masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her eyes closed, her lips parted to receive an eagerly anticipated kiss. She waited . . . she waited . . .
Fluttering her eyes open, she saw his gaze turned to the left. With a subtle pressure on her side, he shifted her behind him as if to protect her from some savage beast. She bent to peek around him and saw he was indeed facing the most cunning and savage of all opponents—her mother.
“Francesca. It will do no good hiding behind this stranger. The damage has been done. Come out now and face the consequences.” Her mother harrumphed.
Although her handsome paramour tried to keep her
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