With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Though Fordham told me you weren’t coming, I didn’t relinquish hope, Your Grace.”

  His tongue went completely dry. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye while his heartbeat sped. No, not a single well-bred debutante at Almacks this evening had come remotely close to soliciting any sort of romantic inclination, yet after exchanging a few words with Miss LeClair, he was ready to spirit her to a side room and steal another kiss. Something which he definitely intended on not doing, which was exactly why he had kept his distance the past fortnight. Britannia had been waiting for him to come to Hughes’ ball? That, in and of itself, was a warning he should heed.

  The introduction to the waltz began as they stepped onto the floor and assumed their positions. “Do you enjoy dancing?” she asked.

  “Very much.”

  Those whisky eyes widened. “Surprising.”

  How did she make his heart melt merely with a look? “Why?”

  With the count of three, Drake pressed his palm into the small of Britannia’s back and together they began the waltz. Not surprisingly, the woman followed his every nuance, not afraid to take gliding steps for the downbeat.

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze meandered to his chest. “You seem so worldly…and…ah…strapping.”

  Drake nearly tripped over his own feet. Was it her perfume? Or was the lady flirting?

  “What other pursuits do you engage in to maintain such a physique?” she asked, her eyes wide, staring at him as if she performed the waltz without giving the steps a thought.

  For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Did she know how much she was tempting him? And good God, she followed his lead like water in a brook. Together they moved and flowed without effort, and she thought he was fit? “I-I spar—boxing most mornings with Lord Percy.”

  “A sport which demands a high level of skill.”

  “I daresay not as much as ballet.”

  “Perhaps, but you need a good foundation to win.”

  “True.”

  Britannia slid her fingers to the top of Drake’s arm and squeezed. “And my guess is your training has been superb.”

  If only he could roar. Not only had she drawn him in with her loveliness, with only a few words, she’d made him feel like a king.

  Unable to help himself, he tugged her closer—too close for Almacks, but not bloody close enough for him. Her silky skirts brushed his calves as she lost herself in the dance, smiling, laughing softly, her head swaying in time with every step as if she were one with the music. Britannia was more fairy than human, more endearing than a rose, and more tempting than any imaginable fancy known to man.

  Seemingly unaware she’d captured him in her spell, she clapped and chuckled when the waltz came to an end. A sultry chuckle. One that stirred him right where he shouldn’t be stirred. “The first time I saw you, I thought you would look magnificent on stage, and I wasn’t wrong. You are a wonderful dancer.”

  She? The nymph who could make grown men swoon and lose their ability to speak considered him anything but passible at waltzing? “Thank you. From you, that is quite a compliment.” He offered his elbow and led her off the floor before his ego inflated the entire room.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” she asked.

  “At Eton mostly. Schoolboys are not allowed to move on to Oxford without showing some finesse in the social arts. And my mother insisted on private lessons in the summers. She firmly believed that a future duke should never be embarrassed in public.”

  “Well, she was successful at ensuring quality dance instruction. But being an efficient dancer is only a small piece of living in the public eye, surely.”

  “Very true.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve also mastered the art of acting.”

  “Stage acting?”

  “Only when I was a lad. Of course, dukes do not act in plays. Do not tell anyone, but my acting is mainly in the public eye. It is very English to be in constant control of one’s emotions.” He snatched a lone glass of champagne from a footman’s tray as they strolled past a sea of smiling faces.

  “Where are we going?”

  Taking a drink of champagne, Drake spied an exit. “Do you mind taking in a bit of air? Dancing made me overwarm.”

  “Wouldn’t that provide fodder for the gossips?”

  “I imagine there are others taking a turn on the terrace.” He handed the glass to her. “Apologies. There was only one.”

  “Thank you, I’m parched.” She sipped. “Mm, this is quite good.”

  “You like champagne?”

  “I like this.”

  Drake peered through the French glass doors. “As I thought, there are several others outside. I suppose the journalists will have to find someone else to throw to the wolves tonight.”

  He opened the door and ushered her out while couples nodded and said hello. Spotting an unoccupied corner, he pressed his palm into the small of Britannia’s back and steered her toward it. Even better, a canopy of trees hung over the rail, giving them privacy.

  He toyed with one of her lazy curls. “I haven’t yet told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

  “Ah, but you have.” After taking another sip, she handed him the glass.

  “I was just being polite.” He drank again allowing the bubbles to tickle his tongue before swallowing. “Your dress is spectacular. Everyone else in both ballrooms here and at Almacks pales in comparison.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. I gather you must have received top marks in charming ladies at Eton…or was that Oxford?”

  Chuckling, he set the glass on the rail and backed her further into the tree’s shadows. “How did you guess?”

  Britannia swayed as if a tad tipsy—or happy. “Oh, please do not make me divulge my deepest secrets.”

  He caught her fingers and drew them to his lips, brushing an airy kiss across her knuckles. “But I want to know.”

  She met his gaze before her eyes shifted aside. “You have a way of setting my insides aflutter.”

  He dipped his chin and breathed in the floral scent of her hair. Orange blossoms tonight. Lord save me. “I think…”

  With his hesitation, Britannia’s tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as if tasting something sweet there. Suddenly, Drake had no idea what he was about to say. The need to sample her lips consumed his mind. He craved to have that delicate, pink tongue dance with his at this very moment.

  It took less than a heartbeat to bury her in his arms and lay claim her mouth. As their lips joined, he was lost in the searing heat stretching through his body. She tasted so damned sweet, her lithe body molding to his hard like a perfectly matched pair. Never in his life had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted Britannia. Here. Now. Without hesitation. He wanted her naked and beneath him. For weeks she had driven him to the brink of insanity every time he saw her dance, and now he craved to satisfy his wildest dreams.

  And when she moaned, his knees buckled. His fingers pillaged from her hair to her back to…oh yes…her tight derriere.

  His cock lengthened with every stroke of his tongue. God save him, if he didn’t take control of himself, he’d hoist her onto the rail with her skirts hiked up over her slender thighs. Long legs, he’d itched to caress with her every arabesque.

  He opened his eyes wide enough to check to see if any of the others were nearby.

  As his attention drew away, Britannia slid her palm to the middle of his chest. “We mustn’t.”

  His gaze snapped to her face. Her eyes glazed, her lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. But still she shook her head.

  Realization of his error washed over him. Good God, he’d nearly acted on his base desires. This was his dancer. A woman in his care. What the hell had he been thinking? If he kept her in his arms one moment longer he might just act on his inappropriate desires. Abruptly, he released his hands. “Forgive me.”

  “I think we should go back inside.” She took a step away. “The
romantic feelings coursing through me whenever I am in your presence are wrong—and kissing only serves to make it worse. You mustn’t tease me, else I’ll begin to fantasize that the dizzy and passionate flutter in my breast might lead to something beyond master and servant. Especially with…you.” Her final word was whispered—albeit a pained whisper.

  Drake watched as she started away, knowing she was right while longing burned a hole in his heart. Had he teased her? No. He’d simply complimented her gown…and generally told her she was the most beautiful woman in London…and then kissed her senseless.

  He groaned.

  Dash it, if he didn’t come across like a rake, he didn’t know what would.

  How daft could he be? What was he doing out on the terrace with one of Chadwick Theater’s principals, albeit a lovely, stunning, tantalizing creature? And with so many others present?

  Damnation, she’s bloody right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Her mind muddled by a myriad of emotions, Bria rushed through the ballroom, searching for Pauline. How dimwitted could she have been? Of course, everyone knew she’d hoped to see the duke when she arrived at the ball. Were all her secrets so transparent? It had caught her off guard when Lord Fordham said Ravenscar was attending the ball at Almacks. Later, when she’d turned around to find him staring at her, the hard shell she’d wrapped around her heart crumbled. Her stomach grew as effervescent as champagne. She’d batted her eyelashes and fawned upon him as if they were—God forbid—lovers. Over and over she’d told herself he was untouchable by anyone in her class. Untouchable!

  Bria’s mind knew it. Why was it so difficult to convince her heart?

  Unable to find Pauline on the dance floor, she dashed through the parlor, the card room, finally opening the door to…

  “Pardon me!” Covering her mouth, Bria backed away. Pauline was wrapped in Lord Saye’s arms and in the midst of a passionate kiss.

  The couple drew apart, but not as if they’d been caught in the same way Bria had jumped from Ravenscar’s arms when the lady’s maid had entered the bed chamber. Pauline and Lord Saye turned their heads, apparently quite reluctant to release each other.

  “Is all well?” asked Pauline.

  Bria glanced down the passageway, catching Ravenscar searching over the tops of people’s heads before he looked directly her way. “I-I was hoping you would be ready to leave.”

  Pauline exchanged glances with Lord Saye. “Now?”

  The viscount took the girl’s hand. “If you’re not ready to go, Miss Renaud, I’d be delighted if you would allow me to escort you home.”

  The hopefulness in Pauline’s eyes spoke loudly enough to melt a shrew’s heart. “Would you mind to terribly, ma chérie?”

  Blast my everlasting luck.

  “No. Enjoy your evening.” Bria closed the door just as Ravenscar stepped beside her.

  “Britan—ah—Miss LeClair, I want you to know that I meant no disrespect. I did not intend for our stroll outside to be demeaning for you in any way.”

  “I followed you out those doors willfully. Anyone with half their wits would have known what it would lead to,” she whispered, starting for the cloakroom. “I am not to be trusted alone with you.”

  “Nor am I with you, it seems. Where you are concerned, I tend to forget myself.”

  He forgot himself? Good heavens, she’d melted in his arms, ready to bear his children. Which she would never consider. If she ever got with child, she would be married to the father.

  The truth? Her emotions were impossible to control when the duke looked at her with those disarming blue eyes. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Bria presented her ticket to the attendant. “My cloak, please.”

  “You’re leaving?” Ravenscar asked.

  “I’m tired.”

  “But the evening is still young. And do not tell me you plan to set out alone.”

  “I’ve hired a coach and driver. I will hardly be alone.”

  “This will not do.”

  He may have wound his talons around her heart, but she’d allow no more. “Why must you continue to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, or wear, or eat? You might be a duke, but I am not yours to command.”

  He produced his ticket and gave it to a second attendant. “That may be so, but I would be no kind of gentleman if I didn’t follow your coach to ensure you arrive safely home. ’Tis the least I can do.”

  The attendant appeared with her cloak, which Ravenscar plucked from his hands and held up. “Miss.”

  “Thank you.” What else could she say? At least he wouldn’t be sitting in the carriage beside her…in the dark…with those blasted tempting lips.

  “Back to Almacks, Your Grace?” asked his coachman.

  “We’re taking a detour. Follow that hack.” Drake climbed up to the driver’s seat of his town coach. “Scoot over.”

  “You’re riding up here?” the coachman asked, his voice cracking. In the lamplight, the man’s eyes grew as wide as sovereigns.

  “Mind your driving, I’ll keep an eye on the carriage.” Drake flicked his gloved hand. “Haste.”

  “Straightaway.” He slapped the reins “Are we heading for Orange Street?”

  “We are—then back to Almacks.”

  “You’re taking Miss LeClair to Almacks?”

  “That is none of your concern, but no. I am ensuring my star performer returns to her quarters safely.”

  “Do you think she will not?”

  “The lady is young, beautiful and alone, not to mention petite. All it would take is one dastardly passerby to overtake her. Do you know the hackney driver she’s hired? Is he trustworthy?”

  The coachman cracked his whip, requesting the matched pair to step up their pace to a fast trot. “I cannot say I do.”

  “Then that is precisely why we are following.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Drake leaned to the side, watching Britannia’s coach take the corner, not wide enough in his estimation. The hackney teetered as if poorly sprung. And then it didn’t right itself as it should. With a loud scrape of metal, the left rear wheel came clean off.

  Drake’s heart lurched to his throat as he reached out in vain to steady the teetering hack. “Good God!”

  A shrill scream came from inside while the coach plunged to the cobblestones.

  “Miss LeClair!” Drake shouted, leaping from the carriage before his coachman pulled it to a halt.

  He sprinted to the hackney and yanked open the door. “Britannia?” He peered inside the darkness, seeing nothing but a heap. “Fetch the lamp!” he ordered while he climbed inside, his hands outstretched, feeling for her.

  The hack rocked under his weight. His fingers met with softness. The driver came from behind with the light, illuminating her face. Her eyes closed, red blood trickled at her temple. “Britannia?” he asked gently.

  “Mm,” she moaned, opening her eyes. “W-what happened?”

  “Your hack threw a wheel. You’re bleeding.” He pressed a clean kerchief to her head.

  She drew away. “Sss.”

  “Sorry. I do not want to hurt you.”

  Nodding, she started to move.

  “Wait,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “Allow me to assist you.”

  “I am able to—”

  “No, you are not. Not until we’ve had a good look at your injuries. Does anything else hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Carefully, he backed out of the coach, ever so attentive not to bump the precious woman in his arms.

  “I dunno what ’appened,” said the driver still holding up the lantern. “I checked ’er all around afore we set out this very eve.”

  “Well, you didn’t check closely enough,” Drake growled, heading for his town coach.

  The hack driver followed. “There is no chance that wheel could ’ave come off without someone tinkering with it.”

  He stopped. “What is this you say? You su
spect someone tampered with the wheel?”

  The man removed his cap and scratched his head. “I checked the axel, shaft and bolts, and all was sound.”

  Clutching Britannia tighter to his chest, Drake eyed the driver. “Ravenscar here. I want a full report at my town house in the morning. You, sir, are providing a service and it is your responsibility to ensure your equipment is in good order at all times.”

  The man glanced to his toes. “Aye, Yer Grace. I ’ave a wife and five children to feed. And I can’t make a farthing if me ’ack is done in.”

  “Very well, then.” With Britannia secure, he started up the steps of his carriage and nodded to his coachman. “Take us to Half Moon Street.”

  Swathed in the essence of maleness, Bria curled into Drake’s warmth. What soap did he use to smell so delicious? It reminded her of spice cake or a Christmas ball scented with clove. Whatever the fragrance, she couldn’t breathe in enough of it. And why must it feel so wonderful to be cradled in his arms while the gentle sway of the carriage lulled her sore head?

  She’d received a good wallop when the hackney coach threw its wheel. Raising her fingers to her temple, she brushed them over a lump, careful not to hiss and alert His Grace. What were the instructions he’d given to the driver? She wasn’t sure.

  “You are taking me to the boarding house, are you not?” she asked, the effort making her head throb.

  “In a roundabout way.”

  Bria closed her eyes against the pain. Why did things always go awry whenever she was in the presence of the duke? He must think her a walking liability. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, truly.”

  “I am worried whether I ought to be or not.” He rubbed a soothing hand along her arm. “I must ensure you make a full recovery.”

  “It was just a little bump to the head.”

  “It was a severe blow to the head which made you bleed and rendered you unconscious for a moment.” He leaned over her, his breath skimming her cheek as he examined her wound. “I cannot see a thing in this light.”

  “The pain is nearly gone,” she said, her gaze drifting along the blue shadow of his jawline until she stopped at his lips. The memory of the kiss they’d shared in the garden was fresh in her mind. For a moment the world faded into oblivion as she melted in his arms. Why had she stopped him?