Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Anthony.”

  He frowned. Nevertheless, quicker than the snap of one’s fingers, his smile reappeared. “Why don’t you walk with me? You can scold me for my forward behavior and brazen disregard for propriety. Then when done, you can tell me all about yourself and what has brought you to this bucolic but rather dull village.”

  She took another step back. “I should return to my room.”

  “You would deprive me of a walk with the most beautiful creature I’ve ever set eyes upon?”

  “I have a feeling you’ve whispered those exact words on many a garden path.”

  He pressed his palm over his heart. “Oh, you wound me. Do you really think I’m so carefree with my admiration?”

  She fought a smile. “I do.”

  He sighed. “Smart and beautiful. I fear I’m doomed to fail where you’re concerned.”

  “You are.”

  He withdrew a small leather book from his coat pocket. “You won’t even let me entice you with a few of Byron’s verses under the moonlit sky?”

  “Do the love poems usually bring about success when you seek a woman’s favors?”

  His grin broadened. “Should I be ashamed to admit they do?”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the rascal.

  “Ah, I believe you are thawing a bit, Miss Armoire.” He rubbed his chin as he gazed intently at her. “I think there is some deception going on with regard to you.”

  A burst of nervous energy exploded within her. Had she met this young swell in London? “I’m not quite sure what you refer to, sir.”

  “I observed several Benedictine nuns in Rome, and none of them looked or spoke as boldly as you. That story about you is a falsehood, isn’t it?”

  She folded her hands before her, attempting to look solemn and pious. “No, it’s true.” She should have experienced a twinge of guilt for continuing with this farce, but she couldn’t see a way around it.

  One of his brows rose a fraction. “If so, I beg you tell me why you acted so startled when you saw me. You were searching for my brother, weren’t you? A midnight rendezvous?”

  She stared into the depths of the dark garden, knowing how her appearance looked. Her long hair was unbound, she wore no gloves, and she’d not even slipped on her petticoat, so her gown clung to her hips and legs. Well, she’d have to add to her sins by telling another tale. “I—”

  “No need to explain. My brother has lived the life of a saint for far too long. Whatever is going on between the two of you is none of my concern. Though I must say”—his gaze swept boldly over her—“I am soundly jealous.” He offered his arm again. “Allow me to escort you back to the house. I assure you, James is not out here.”

  “You misunderstand, sir,” she replied, forcing a carefree tone. “There was no planned assignation.”

  It wasn’t a lie. It appeared his lordship was fast asleep in his bed, and she was behaving quite rashly. She rested her fingers on his arm, and they moved back to the upper terrace.

  In silence, they proceeded up the granite steps. As they strolled by the statue and neared the back of the house, she noted the unabashed grin on the gentleman’s handsome face.

  Thank goodness she was leaving tomorrow. Clearly, he didn’t believe a word she uttered. She hoped she’d never run into him in London. Every lie—or fib, as she preferred to think of them—could be exposed if they came upon each other at a social function in Town.

  They were near the house when a door slammed.

  Lord Huntington marched toward them, his heels loud against the flagstones. With terse movements, he folded up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt, exposing his muscled forearms. “Anthony!”

  “Ah, the lord and master approaches,” the younger man whispered, leaning conspiratorially close.

  How could he sound so calm? His older brother looked barely contained—akin to a predatory animal stalking its next meal. It didn’t help that a day’s worth of growth shadowed Lord Huntington’s jaw, or that the moon cast only half his face in light, leaving the other side dark and ominous.

  With his long-legged strides, it took only a fraction of a minute for Lord Huntington to step in front of them. “Anthony, you dashed libertine.”

  Clearly, he thought she and his brother had dallied in the garden. Caroline’s cheeks grew warm. She released Lord Anthony’s arm and fought the urge to crack her palm against Huntington’s face. She had only herself to blame. His assumption was correct, she had ventured here hoping for an assignation.

  “My lord,” she said in a firm voice, “I saw the garden from my window. It looked inviting, and I was overwarm, so I stepped out for a breath of fresh air. I surely didn’t know Lord Anthony was out here. When he saw me wandering about, he was good enough to walk me back.”

  Huntington studied her face as if it would reveal the truth. “Was he discourteous to you? Did he . . . ?”

  “No, I assure you he was most charming.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Perhaps charming wasn’t the best word. “Very gentlemanly.”

  “James, you must know I would never. Not now that I know . . .” Lord Anthony said, all gaiety and lightheartedness stripped from his youthful face. He turned to her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Armoire. I shall see you tomorrow, perhaps at luncheon.”

  “I fear not, sir. I intend to leave in the morning.”

  “Then perhaps I will see you at breakfast,” Lord Anthony said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, if not, it was indeed an honor. I do hope you will visit again. It’s usually so dreadfully quiet around here. Good night, Miss Armoire, James.” He entered the house.

  For a long moment, Lord Huntington stared at her.

  Self-consciously, she ran a hand over the skirt of her dress.

  “Did you believe walking out here unaccompanied was wise?”

  “I didn’t see the harm in it.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  The condemnation in his tone agitated her. Had she misjudged him? Like her father, did he think a woman’s mind less than a man’s? “I’m not a child, Lord Huntington. I’m quite capable of making rational choices. You had no need to rouse yourself from your bed.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply that. I know you are quick-witted. I’m concerned about your health. What if weakness had overwhelmed you again?”

  His words about her intelligence pleased her. “I wouldn’t have come out here if I still felt ill. And I didn’t venture out with the intention of walking alone.”

  His unfathomable visage cracked. He stormed toward the French doors. “That lying rakehell. I’ll string him up by his . . .”

  “I didn’t come out here to see your brother,” Caroline said.

  As if he’d rammed straight into a brick wall, he stopped in his tracks. His back to her, he stood as still as a granite pillar. He spun on his heel. “What?”

  She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, realizing how cold the flagstones were under her soles. The dampness traveled through her feet and up her ankles. Obviously, she was experiencing the literal meaning of cold feet. She could tell him she’d thought he strolled the garden and wished to inform him she wanted to leave for London early tomorrow morning. Or she could tell the truth.

  That mantra about being a strong woman who wished to chart her own course echoed in her head. She squared her shoulders. This opportunity might never present itself again. At least, not with a man who caused such havoc on her senses, a man who thought her intelligent, a man she might never see again, but wished to remember.

  Now or never. “I believed it was you walking in the garden.” She swallowed a mouthful of courage. “And I thought we might perhaps act on the attraction between us with a kiss.” There, she’d said it, and it felt as if she’d leapt off a cliff. Her heart beat fast. Her palms were damp. Gelatin seemed to have replaced the bones in her legs.
r />   He stepped toward her, leaving several feet separating them.

  Yet, the heat and scent of his warm body still managed to alert her senses.

  His mouth opened, then clamped closed.

  She had a feeling he was rarely at a loss for words, but clearly, she’d shocked him. Well, she’d shocked herself with her impetuous desire to sample his kiss before returning to London.

  He dragged his fingers through his dark hair, tousling it, adding to his already uncivilized appearance. “You want me to kiss you?”

  Heat burned her cheeks. She nodded.

  Uttering an unintelligible word, he paced several steps away from her.

  She studied his straight back. He looked coiled tight and full of unleashed energy. His large hand kneaded the back of his neck again.

  Her gaze fixed on the movement of his long, tanned fingers, flexing against his skin. The familiar hum which had coursed through her body earlier when she stood near him reemerged.

  He turned to her. The façade on his granite-hard face was difficult to read. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never been kissed, and I wish to experience it.” Her response seemed reasonable enough in her head, but saying it out loud . . .

  Still looking baffled, he stepped up to her, leaving a foot between them. “Before you enter the convent?”

  She’d forgotten having told him that. Suddenly unable to speak, she jerked her chin, a quick nod.

  * * *

  There had been many firsts in James’s life, but an innocent asking him for a kiss was a new one—especially a woman who claimed she was joining a religious order. He gazed at Caroline’s mouth. The thought of pressing his lips to hers held immeasurable appeal.

  He inched closer. He’d sent a hip bath to her room a few hours ago, and the clean scent of soap lingered on her skin and hair.

  Don’t do this, a sane voice in his head whispered, one not controlled by desire. Surely, if there was a direct route to hell, touching her would send him spiraling down its path. But he wanted to kiss her, even more than he wanted his next breath. He tossed his conscience aside.

  “Come.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “The terrace is not the place for this.”

  She blinked but nodded.

  God help him, he should be flogged to within an inch of his life for going along with this.

  They moved toward the north side of the terrace. Light from a gas lamp on the rear of the house cut across Caroline’s delicate features, exposing her flushed cheeks and eyes which now looked like dark emeralds.

  “Where are we going?” Her voice was low and unsure, yet textured with anticipation.

  “There’s a summerhouse.” With her hand in his, they moved past the wrought iron tables and benches set about the upper terrace, then took the curving side stairs that wound in a slow arch to a flagstone and gravel path. They moved away from the cultured civility of rows of perfectly lined boxwood to the less manicured part of the parkland. Two more turns through the thickening foliage and they would come upon a bench. Moonlight glinted off the limestone surface ahead. He should stop. They were far away from prying eyes. And surely, it was wiser to remain here than bring her to the secluded folly. Yet, he moved past the bench.

  Neither spoke, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the crunch of pebbles below their feet. Caroline sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled. He caught her waist, steadying her.

  Was he walking too fast? Yes, she probably needed to take two steps for every one of his. She must think him impatient.

  He was impatient.

  He’d not kissed a woman in over two years, and what had taken place between him and Henrietta had never been sweet. Every time he’d made love to his wife, she’d peppered him with questions. Asked him if her lips were as enticing as the other women he kissed. But there were no other women during his marriage. They’d only existed in Henrietta’s jealous mind.

  “I’m not wearing shoes,” she said, breaking into his memories.

  He glanced down at her hem.

  Shyly, she lifted her black gown to expose her pale feet and the lovely turn of her trim ankles.

  What in God’s name was she doing walking about barefoot?

  As if he’d spoken the question aloud, she said, “I couldn’t find my shoes.”

  He fought the urge to sweep her up into his arms; instead he stepped off the path and onto the soft turf.

  Above the trees the glass roof of the summerhouse came into view. He’d lost his virginity there at the age of seventeen to a rather enthusiastic Lady Annabelle Amherst, a dear friend of his mother’s with a penchant for flesh younger than her own. Was he as lust driven as Annabelle had been? His feet slowed. Would they stop after a couple of kisses?

  Damnation, he’d never let the baser part of his mind rule him. He was acting no better than Anthony.

  He halted. “Caroline, slap my face. Insist we return to the house.”

  Dappled moonlight danced across her lush mouth. Her eyes held his as her warm palm skimmed up his chest until her fingers touched the bare skin at the opening of his shirt. His manhood grew thick.

  With a silent curse, he continued toward the cottage while his conscience urged him to turn back. But the darker, less temperate part of his brain prodded him forward as did the unremorseful part of his anatomy in his trousers. Ahead stood the summerhouse with its stone half-walls and glass windows and roof shimmering under the night sky.

  At the portico, he reached above the carved lintel to withdraw the hidden key.

  A climbing rose framed the varnished oak door. Caroline reached out and stroked a leaf. Her hand trembled slightly, revealing she wasn’t quite sure of her actions.

  Perhaps now would be the time to reiterate how rash they were acting. Instead, he turned the lock, took her hand, and pulled her inside the dim space. He opened a drawer in an oval marquetry table and withdrew matches to light a lamp. The scent of sulfur floated in the air as the tip of the lucifer sprang to life and glowed orange. The oil-dampened wick smoldered, then flared, casting the room in a subtle yellow light that amplified as he turned up the lamp. He wanted to see every inch of Caroline’s face, every nuance when he kissed her.

  Caroline cleared her throat, wrenching him from his thoughts. She drew her finger over the edge of a bowl of fresh fruit. “Someone uses the cottage?”

  He pointed to a stack of novels on a small bookcase. “As you know, I enjoy reading. It’s peaceful out here, and when the sun shines through the glass roof the lighting is excellent.”

  “Ah,” she said. “It’s—” Her voice halted as she turned and faced the carved mahogany daybed with its navy velvet coverlet, bolsters, and pillows covered in bright Turkish prints. The smooth column of her throat moved. Her fingers clutched at the folds of her skirt before she ran her palms over her hips as if to dry them.

  “We can return to the house. Pretend we never stepped in here.” He didn’t want her to go, but he wished her to know she was free to leave whenever she wanted. He’d never force his attentions on her, never make her submit to things she didn’t wish to partake in. Lovemaking could be glorious when the participants were lost in the feel of skin against skin, the erotic rhythm of two bodies moving in tandem, their hearts beating fast, and it was hell when forced upon two people for the sole purpose of creating an heir.

  Looking unsure, she walked over to the bookcase and ran her fingers over the bindings. She turned back to him. “No, I wish to stay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  If she wanted this, she would have to come to him. He outstretched his hand. “Then come here.”

  For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t move, then she stepped toward him, stopping when a mere foot separated them. The lamplight made her green eyes appear iridescent, catching the myriad colors that became one.

  Not wishing to frighten her, he slowly set one hand on her hip and pulled her closer. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against the plump sur
face of her silky mouth. He kissed her tenderly, until he sensed the tautness within her easing, all the while fighting the urge to deepen the kiss.

  Still holding her, he edged back.

  She lifted her lashes and gazed at him with a bewildered expression in her lovely green eyes. He knew that look. It revealed one overwhelmed by physical sensations.

  He framed her face with his palms. “What is it you want, Caroline?” He couldn’t believe he asked such a question. Surely the devil had taken hold of his mind. They should head back to the house. Instead he cupped the back of her head and recaptured her mouth as he slid his other hand slowly up her spine, holding her pliable body to his.

  A soft sound escaped her.

  His gut tightened. He pulled her tighter to him. Lately, he’d felt so old, so tired, and Caroline was so young and vital, a crisp drink of cool water against a parched mouth.

  He coaxed her lips open and slid his tongue into the warmth.

  She gasped, sending her breath tangling with his own, and stepped back. Eyes wide, she stared at him.

  “If you wish for this, Caroline, you will have to trust me.” He slid his hand about her nape and whispered in her ear, “Let me teach you how sensual a kiss can be.”

  Chapter Seven

  The warmth of Lord Huntington’s breath against Caroline’s neck sent goose bumps scattering over her skin. His wicked words about teaching her how sensual a kiss could be echoed in her head.

  She’d never been one to back away from a challenge, and somehow this felt like one. And hadn’t she wanted this experience? She tipped her face up.

  His warm mouth brushed over hers. The contact grew firmer—more possessive. His lips parted, coaxing her mouth open. Their breaths mingled for several moments, then his tongue entered her mouth.

  Her heart picked up speed. She fought the urge to pull back and refuse him this odd intimacy. Her cousin Anne had been married for three years and had never mentioned such an act, and Anne had been quite generous with sharing her knowledge one night after indulging in an excessive amount of sherry. Yet, the way Huntington’s mouth and tongue moved against Caroline’s made heat travel through her body, leaving her a bit light-headed. Needing an anchor, she twined her hands around his neck and leaned fully against him.