“This is a mistake,” he said, even as he nudged her lips apart with his own.
She melted against him on a sigh of unabashed surrender, her soft breath spilling into his mouth, teasing his tongue with the promise of sweetness. “No, this is an adventure in wantonness.”
He growled, stealing past her lips to brush his tongue along hers. And if not for her shy retreat, he might have forgotten this was new to her. He withdrew, wanting to take his time, to taste her in slow sips before delving into the dewy shallows of her mouth. But then she issued this seductive purr in her throat, welcoming him with an ardent, untutored urgency, and all his better intentions turned to plundering instead.
Winn was passionate and playful, tugging on his bottom lip with a grin. And when she gently raked his flesh through her teeth, the ring around her hazel eyes smoldered with unbanked fires.
All at once, every drop of heated blood in his body descended in thick pulses to his cock. He tilted her hips against his and . . . Damn.
His head fell back on a groan. He was hot and hungry. Every part of her tempted him beyond reason—her voice, those lips, her laugh, those curves. His fingers flexed possessively, and he knew he could gorge himself on her and still want more.
“Is it acceptable to kiss you here?” she asked, her mouth grazing along his jaw, trailing kisses down his throat. Experimentally, she laved the hollow niche beneath his Adam’s apple, inviting him to imagine what it would be like if she consumed him completely. “Mmm . . . you taste delightfully of salt and your skin is so very warm. I feel like I want to climb inside you. Is that a strange notion to have?”
He rasped inarticulate sounds of acquiescence, wanting the same. Unable to form words, he answered with a searing kiss instead, then lowered her onto the bed of wildflowers.
Her red-gold hair spilled out in untamed waves, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glazed with passion. He felt himself slipping irresistibly into their depths as he stretched out alongside her and took her lips once more.
She was a feast for his senses. Breathing her in, he pulled her closer, his hands roaming over the lush curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, and up to the enticing heat emanating from the underside of her breast. His thumb traced the bottom seam of the gusseted silk, then drifted higher. Barely hidden behind transparent cambric, the button of flesh puckered at the first touch. He spurred the tip with the pad of his thumb and her soft gasp filled his mouth.
Ravenous, he swallowed it down and cupped her flesh. The ripe swell spilled to the very edge of his splayed fingers and he muttered an oath of appreciation. He loved how she arched into each touch, her fingernails rasping against his shoulders, drawing him closer.
“You’re driving me completely mad,” he said, burning a path of kisses down her throat and feeling the vibrations of her purrs of pleasure against his lips. Her responses only intensified his craving. “I have to taste you.”
With a quick tug, he exposed the milky flesh to the sunlight. A perfect pink berry awaited his kiss, and he closed his mouth over her ruched flesh, tasting her silken sweetness on his tongue.
She clutched his head and cried out, her voice raw and desperate. “Asher.”
Her hips rolled forward, her body bowing to meet his, seeking more with innocent welcome. Lifting his mouth from her breast, he hooked his hand beneath her knee, dragged her leg higher, and rolled his hips against her sex. The friction was so keen, so pleasurable, that they both groaned.
She fit him perfectly. Somehow, he’d known she would. They matched each other in so many ways—both of them stubborn and cynical, determined and driven. And their passion was explosive.
She lifted her hand to his cheek in a tender caress, breathless wonderment in her expression. “Is this what it’s like to be desired? To be seen as a woman and nothing else?”
“I could kiss you for days,” he said in answer.
Taking her mouth again, he reveled in the plush give of her lips beneath his. He could spend eternity right here, feeling her every heartbeat rise up to meet his own, their low, heavy pulses seamlessly aligned. For further proof, he rocked against her.
She gasped and pulled away marginally, her breaths short. “But that isn’t an answer. Even Mr. Woodbine has kissed me. Though, of course”—she blushed—“not nearly as wickedly as you have done.”
Frowning, he pressed his mouth to hers again. He had a peculiar need to make her forget all about Mr. Woodbine’s kiss. Obliterate that name—and any other—from her lips.
Woodbine never deserved her, anyway. The man was an arse, and only a complete fool would plan to keep a mistress when he might have had this warm, lush woman in his bed every night.
Asher kissed Winn deeper still, and felt triumphant when she hitched against him. If she were his, he’d pamper her in whatever way he could. Give her ten thousand drugging kisses. Awaken her body to shuddering ecstasy. Tell her in a myriad of ways just how desirable and priceless she was. And he would do these things, and more, every day for the rest of his life . . .
Asher broke from the kiss. Panting, he looked down at her, jolted and confused by the intensity of his thoughts.
On a sigh, she twined her arms around his neck and looked up at him through her lashes. “Kiss me like that again.”
Instead, he rolled to his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to catch his breath. Needed to remind himself that she wasn’t his. He was only delivering her to her aunt’s.
“Winn, if I kiss you like that again, I’m likely to take your innocence here on the grass. And only a scoundrel would use your delightful body to sate his lust, all the while knowing that you’d never see him again after tomorrow.”
“Are you not a scoundrel?”
“Not as much as I would like to be,” he muttered with a regretful exhale, his body still pulsing and eager.
“Oh,” she whispered and surreptitiously reached down to cover her breasts. “I understand. I suppose I forgot who I am for a moment.”
He rose up on his elbow and gazed down at her flushed cheeks. “You’re a beautiful, desirable woman.”
Unable to resist, he pressed one more kiss to her lips, wanting to drink down another of her sweet sighs as if he were a drunkard and she was the last dram of whisky in the bottle.
But she didn’t kiss him back.
“You don’t have to tell me falsehoods, Asher. I know what I am. And fear not, you’ll still get your money.”
Asher cringed inwardly, trying to shut out a painful truth. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances, but that doesn’t alter the fact that you are beautiful and desirable.” And when she rolled her eyes in disbelief, he took hold of her chin and held her gaze. “Not like a sketch from a ladies’ magazine, all tied up in the latest trappings. And you’re not like those willowy, porcelain-skinned debutantes that all the matrons fawn over each Season.”
“Thank you ever so much.”
“Damn, I’m making a muck of this. What I’m trying to say is that none of those other creatures have what you possess.”
“Legs like tree trunks and—”
He brushed his thumb over her frown, silencing her. “Your legs are lithe and strong. I’ve been admiring them—and the sway of your hips—for many a mile. And I don’t know any other woman who would set a course for adventure and be capable of walking the entire journey.”
She stared stubbornly back at him. “For a well-bred young woman, that quality ranks about as high in society as being plump.”
She hiked her chin and pressed a hand to her bosom as if daring him to deny it. He didn’t bother to. Instead, he laid his hand over hers, guiding her to cover one magnificent swell.
“Feel how exquisitely formed you are,” he said, urging her to squeeze her own flesh. And when she did, her breath stuttered past her lips. As he spoke, he rose up on his elbow and drew her hand over to her other breast, then down the soft rise of her stomach and to the shadow of her sex. “Your beauty is like a flame, Winn. Warm and begu
iling. Untamed and uninhibited. Every part of you, from your fire-kissed hair to every delectable inch of your divine figure, is dangerously irresistible.”
He withdrew his hand, watching passion simmer in her gaze as she lingered, unmoving, in that heated nook. She stared at him without blinking, as if he’d stunned her.
Good, he thought. It was about time she started appreciating herself.
Asher sifted his fingers through her tumbled hair, removing stray pieces of straw and a few flower petals. “And the sounds you make when we kiss could very well lead to your ruin.”
He leaned down to press his lips to hers once more. This time, she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. A smile bloomed on her face, radiating such rapture that he felt the blast of it pound inside his chest.
All at once, the beats of his heart thudded in quick, heavy succession. Unprepared, his breath came up short.
What was happening to him? He felt as though he were in the grip of some new form of panic, a thousand times worse than being chased by henchmen. Five hundred times worse than losing her at the Spotted Hen. And thinking of that, remembering all she’d been through, his conscience reared up again.
“And you deserve more.” Disentangling himself, he rolled onto his back again and pressed a fist to his aching sternum.
“Mmm . . . I think I’d like more,” she murmured against the side of his throat, kissing him with tender suction that made him forget his own name.
He gripped the grass at his side, trying to resist.
She draped her leg over his, pressing the enticing weight of her breasts to his chest. Nudging his fist aside, her delicate fingers trailed over him, slipping beneath the open neck of his shirtfront. And the scoundrel in him didn’t stop her. He loved feeling her hands on him, even though the pleasure in her touch was nearly unbearable.
Boldly, she splayed her hands to explore every inch of his chest, pausing to study the flat discs of his nipples. He’d never been particularly sensitive there and yet her tentative exploration sent spears of urgency to his engorged shaft. Then, parting the fabric, she kissed him there, too.
At the first kitten flick of her tongue, he hissed, his hips arching reflexively. He was staggered by the force of his response to everything she did. Unable to rein in this teeming passion, his hands wove into her burnished tresses, lifting her for a deep, searching kiss.
Her hips tilted toward his. Her knee rose higher, dragging over the turgid length of him with such exquisite, searing slowness that he nearly begged her to do it again.
On his groan, she broke away. Her attention veered to the thick form straining against the fall front.
Curiosity flared in her desire-darkened eyes. Then she nearly unmanned him with another, though more tentative, glide of her knee.
“Not the handle of a hayfork at all,” she whispered in astonishment, her gaze darting up to his.
A guilty chuckle left him. He shrugged, casting all the blame to her. “You’re a tempting armful.”
Another puffed exhale of disbelief left her, bemusement in her expression.
Her brazen fingers coasted lower on his abdomen and his muscles rippled in anticipation, tightening. But a lingering shred of his conscience bade him to gently stay her.
He laid his hand over hers. “If we go on, your book will have a chapter you never bargained for.”
She swallowed. Then her fingertips curled ever so slightly toward her palm, and he lifted it for a kiss.
Winn settled down on the grass beside him, resting her head just beneath his shoulder, where there seemed to be a cozy spot designed solely for her.
She absently brushed her soft fingertips in the springy dark hair at the center of his chest. “Jane, Ellie and I believe that our friend Prue may have been swept away by passion. In a garden and during a party, no less. Her parents sent her away. She wasn’t there the night that Jane and Ellie . . . um . . .”
“Tied me to a chair? Put a sack over my head?” He laughed, squeezing her closer.
“Purely by accident.”
“I should hate to know what your friends do on purpose.”
She grinned and sketched a ticklish design over his heart. “Yes, you would. It’s simply terrifying to think of all the plots we can concoct when we’re together. Though Jane is typically the one who sees them through.”
“Until now.”
“Until now,” she repeated on a shaky breath, her hand lying still. “I understand how easy it is to be overcome.”
He murmured his agreement, pressing a kiss to her hair.
“I’m a bit stunned that I’ve run away from my life, too. Though, at the same time I’m glad that I’ve chosen my own path. It’s empowering.”
“It is.” He was glad that she’d found the inner resolve to run away from her wedding. A prig like Woodbine didn’t deserve her. He’d have smothered this wildness out of her, suffocated her spirit.
“It’s also a bit . . . frightening.”
He reached out and lifted her chin, scrutinizing her wide eyes. She shook her head and turned slightly to press her lips to his inner wrist. He felt his pulse respond with a kick, rising to meet her. “Are you afraid?”
“Not now. Not when I’m with you.” She paused on a breath, drawing his hand away from her face and lacing her fingers with his, palm to palm. “Although, I imagine I will be when you leave.”
“You’ll be glad to be rid of me.”
And yet, he was conflicted over how much he wanted it not to be true. How much he wanted her to miss him, to think of him.
“But what if I lose this new part of myself when you’re gone? After all, I’m going to be secluded for the rest of my life in Avemore Abbey.”
Asher’s conscience flooded back, full force. Dropping his head down to the grass, his breath rushed out of his lungs until he felt empty.
“You won’t lose any part of yourself, Winn,” he said, wishing for it to be true. But his throat constricted on a lump of guilt as he thought of the bargain that he’d struck with her father.
The day before her wedding, he’d met with Lord Waldenfield and told him everything he’d overheard while tied to a chair, including her plan to run away in a waiting carriage. Then Asher had agreed to deliver Winn back to her father.
Yet, when circumstances had forced them to flee London, he’d sent a missive from the Spotted Hen, informing Waldenfield that he fully intended to adhere to their agreement, albeit with a slight alteration. He would have to deliver her to Avemore Abbey instead.
At the time, Asher had meant every word. Now things were more complicated.
Out of all the underhanded deals he’d ever made, this might be the one he regretted the most.
* * *
“This makes no sense at all, Julian,” Imogene said from across the carriage. Beyond the window, the sun hung low on the horizon, gilding the worry lines on her finely sloped brow as she studied the scrawled missive in her grasp. “It’s difficult for me to believe that Winnifred ran away, but it’s simply unfathomable that you hired this Lord Holt fellow to wait outside the church.”
“As I explained before, Holt approached me with information,” he said in defense, recalling the dark-haired young man in a black cravat introducing himself just as he’d been about to enter White’s. “At first, I refused to grant him an audience. After all, his reputation as an excessive gambler preceded him.”
“Oh, yes! Now I recall the name. Gambling is a sickness in that family.” She skewered him with a hard stare. “And you trusted him with our Winnifred?”
Julian straightened his shoulders, hackles rising. “You weren’t there. When he explained that our daughter planned to run away from her own wedding, there was something compelling about his sense of urgency. Not only that, but he was patently embarrassed about being hoodwinked by a pair of debutantes and left with empty pockets.”
“Winnifred would never have stolen money from Lord Holt. Whatever would she do with such a paltry sum? She doesn’t even en
joy shopping.” She scoffed, brushing her hands over her skirts in irritated swipes.
“I wouldn’t put it past those friends of hers. If you ask me, Jane Pickerington and Elodie Parrish have either too many brains between them or not nearly enough. And, quite frankly, it was far too easy to believe that they’d concocted the ludicrous scheme he relayed to me.”
“But what if this . . . miscreant thinks he’ll gain a great deal more money by kidnapping our daughter and taking her to Gretna Green?”
Eyes glistening, Imogene looked at him the way she used to years ago, imploring him to allay her fears. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, to console and reassure her. Yet there were many obstacles between them—so many times he’d failed her—that no simple gesture could overcome their past. And his empty fist remained at his side.
“I made it perfectly clear to Holt that he wouldn’t see a farthing unless he returned Winnifred to me wholly unspoiled. I’ve known too many opportunists in my day to take the chance,” Julian said with a firm resolve that belied his own worry.
He looked down to the missive. The rain had blurred the address, delaying its delivery until late last evening. Upon reading it, he shuddered to think of what may have happened to drive them out of London. Holt had not elaborated, and the hired investigator was still piecing it together. But Julian was damned certain he would have an answer as soon as he caught up with them.
He’d been prepared to leave at once. Then Imogene insisted on coming along. Which was understandable, of course. But having her here made him anxious. Not only because he wasn’t sure what they would find once they arrived in Yorkshire, but also because it was difficult to be in such close proximity.
He wanted to take a breath that wasn’t filled with her alluring rosewater perfume. To stop noticing the sapphire pendant resting in the hollow niche at the base of her throat. To stop remembering that he’d bought the necklace for her on their honeymoon and how she’d spent days in bed with him wearing no other adornment.
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