by Mary Blayney
His mouth watered — and then he swallowed.
It had been one thing lusting after the woman when she was merely a passing acquaintance, a business associate — and an amusement. Now she was a guest of his grandmother and himself, that changed the rules. She was a guest of his grandmother’s, wasn’t she?
Perhaps she was a secret twin — or some type of cousin? No. It was Miss Watson. He had little doubt.
Could she be escorting the next candidate for his mother’s approval? Did she for some reason think his mother would be here in the country? He did hope she hadn’t brought that pretty blonde one. If his grandmother caught a glimpse of her he’d never hear the end of it. She’d think, just as Miss Watson had, that he had only one interest in the pretty poppet. Would either of them ever believe that he truly wished to help his mother?
Not likely. And he certainly hadn’t improved matters by kissing Miss Watson — not to mention discussing sexual secrets.
There was something about the woman that had him acting most unwisely.
“Do I have a bird’s nest in my hair? Or perhaps berry seed stuck between my teeth? You are staring at me in most strange manner, your grace.” Miss Watson took another step down the stairs, removing any fraction of doubt that it could be anybody else.
Nobody but Miss Watson spoke to him in that tone.
“What the blast are you doing here?”
She blinked at him as if she’d never heard such language before. “I am here at the invitation of your grandmother, the dowager duchess.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She did not even blink as she took another step toward him, the light catching her eyes and making them sparkle like Indian Sapphires. And her skin gleamed like polished pearls. It must be the vivid color of her shawl. He’d never seen her draped in color before.
He was so lost in considering her increased charms that he almost replied, I don’t believe you, but he held the words back. Why did he lose his mind when he was in her presence? “The dowager duchess did not inform me of the guest list. Forgive me if I spoke without courtesy. Perhaps she too, is seeking a companion?”
She did blink at that, her long dark lashes sweeping low over her eyes before lifting to reveal a hidden smile in their depths. “No. She has expressed no interest in hiring any of my ladies. In fact, I do believe she rather disapproves of my profession.” She took another step and he could smell the faint lilac scent of her perfume. It was lighter and fresher than that she’d worn in her office. It really was almost as if she was another woman — except for that tone of voice. That had not changed. She spoke as if he was a lecherous fool and he responded by acting like one.
“Then why are you here?” He knew the impatience — and frustration — he felt seeped into his voice.
“It’s not because I want to be.” Was that a smile forming about her lips?
He let out a soft sigh. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Well, quite frankly, your grandmother invited me and would not take no for an answer.”
That did sound like his grandmother. “You know I am looking for more explanation than that.”
“Perhaps we should walk in the garden and I will tell you my tale.” She glanced at his elbow and after a moment he held out his arm.
The moment her fingers settled about his bicep he became quite aware that this was the first time she had chosen to touch him. It was the smallest, simplest of gestures, but it cut through him like lightening. He didn’t remember ever being so aware of a touch before, and he’d certainly never thought about a first touch. He had kissed her, but this was the first time she had reached out to him.
Together they walked through the parlor and out the French doors into the bright sun of the day. The scent of his grandmother’s roses was heady, combining with her touch to make him feel a trifle light–headed. “Well?” he asked.
“Well I am not sure that you are aware that your grandmother, the dowager duchess, and my aunt are quite close. There must be half a generation between them, but they talk as if childhood chums. My aunt has evidently decided that I need to be about more in society and has enlisted your grandmother’s help. I am here to allow them to polish me.”
“I am not sure that you need any polish.” She was quite delightful enough the way she was — although if his grandmother wanted to soften Miss Watson’s tongue he would not complain, but he couldn’t imagine exposure to his grandmother softening anyone. “And I was not aware that you were part of society. Forgive me I did not mean that quite as it sounded.”
“No you are quite right. I was not aware that I was part of society either. I have never wanted to be — in fact, I have avoided it. But my aunt believes that as I am a titled lady that I must learn to act like one. I do not understand why, but I do not wish to displease Lady Margaret. She has been good to me.”
“A lady? Lady Margaret? Would that be Lady Margaret James? I am afraid I am unaware of your connections.”
She laughed a little at that, low and honest. “I am glad to hear it. I have never wished to draw upon them. I am quite happy being Miss Watson, but I do seem the only one who feels that way. All my efforts to live quietly seem for naught. And, yes, Lady Margaret James.”
He could not imagine anyone not wishing to call upon connections. His whole world was built about being a duke, upon being Radford. He was not truly sure that he could have separated himself from the roll.
As they rounded the high hedge he saw his grandmother and her court, he could not think of another word to describe the gaggle of women about her, standing about admiring Lady Alyssa and the small watercolor she had just completed. Without a thought her rounded the next hedge and headed into the maze. “So what is your true name? I take it that it is not Miss Watson — although I do believe Lady Margaret was a Watson — daughter of the Earl of Winston I believe.”
“Yes, my grandfather — although my father was also the Earl, although for less time than it takes a robin to leave the nest.”
“I have no idea how much time that is, but I will assume it is not much.”
“My father held the title for less than a month before his death.”
“You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you, although it was long enough ago that the deep pain has faded. I only mentioned my father’s death so that you would understand why I do not like to use my title. It seems more like a dream than reality and reminds me only of sadness. If my father had had the chance to enjoy it I would surely feel differently.”
Radford considered her words — and rejected them. “Would your father have not wanted you to take your title? I cannot imagine that he did not wish that you have everything you desire. Surely he would have wished you to take your place in society. Your aunt — and my grandmother are correct. And I do not lightly admit to that.”
“You are kind, my grace, but I think my father would be quite pleased with the life I have built for myself. While he would never have rejected the earldom, but he had never believed it would be his and so he found other loves, my mother and the sea. He knew that life existed outside the little bubble you call society. I am content and do not wish for more. I know where I belong. I certainly do not wish to have a gaggle of old women decide what I should want. I enjoy, take pride in my agency and I do not need more.”
“I was just thinking that they were a gaggle, with my grandmother at the center. Our minds must think a like.”
“I highly doubt that.” She stopped and turned to him, biting at her lower lip — her deliciously lush lower lip.
He focused on those small white teeth nipping down on the tender flesh. Without thought he raised a finger and brushed it across her mouth. “Don’t do that. You’ll mark yourself.”
Her eyes lifted to his, focused, and then drifted down to his lips. He could feel her gaze like silk sliding over his skin. Keeping his own gaze on her mouth, he leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I think you are wrong. I do think we are more similar than a
ppearances would lead one to expect. I am quite sure that we are thinking the same thing, once again, at this moment.”
She shut her eyes for a moment, the lids drifting down as slowly as snow on Christmas day. He thought she would deny him, but when she raised her gaze again, she met his square on. “I was thinking that our last kiss was not all that what I would desire, that there was so much more to be discovered.”
God, she surprised him constantly. Perhaps that was her fascination. He never knew quite what she would say, how she would react. And now, seeing her here, hearing of her connections, he didn’t even know who she was.
Kissing a stranger. Now, there’d always been appeal in that.
He leaned closer until only a hair’s width separated them. He kept his eyes on hers, waiting for her to withdraw.
She kept her glance steady, gazing at him without fear, her eyes filled with curiosity — and desire.
Inhaling her sweet scent, he closed that final gap, brought their lips together.
Chapter Five
His lips were soft, soft as rose petal. She had not remembered that. Perhaps the shock — and disappointment — of the last kiss had been such that she had simply pushed it all from her mind.
She certainly could not do that now. His mouth moved over hers slowly, gently — and yet devouring. Molly could sense the rising hunger within him.
For a moment, the barest of moments, she considered pulling back. This was not wise, nothing good could come of it. He was a duke, and she, despite her aunt’s best intentions, was a woman who ran an employment agency. And she was quite satisfied with that.
Only satisfied was not a word that could be used at a moment such as this.
This kiss was not like that other one.
He was nibbling at her lips now, tiny bites and licks that caused warmth to grow deep in her belly.
She swayed toward him, wanting to be nearer, the tips of her breasts brushing the buttons of his coat. He smelled of leather and horses, sandalwood and musk, dust and sweat. She must have caught him just as he was entering the house from his travels. And it didn’t matter one bit. It simply made him more delicious.
Delicious. Could a man be delicious?
And then thought left and sensation took over. His tongue ran across her lips in a way she had never before experienced. It tickled, and delighted, and caused flickers of fire to grow deep within her.
She pressed her lips tighter against his, seeking more — although she knew not quite what.
His arms wrapped about her, holding her tight. She moved her lips, slipping them open beneath the movement of his mouth. His tongue slid in and she froze for a moment and then relaxed. Delicious did not begin to describe it. She was surprised that her toes did not curl through the souls of her shoes so wondrous were the sensations.
She opened her mouth a little more, inviting him further.
And he invaded.
Gone was gentle. Gone was sweet.
If she’d thought he’d devoured before, now she knew the truth.
He was the conqueror and she his plunder. It was unimaginable. It was …it was …
All she knew was she wanted more.
She pressed her body tight against him, feeling the hard planes of his stomach and the bulge below. Exhilaration mixed with fear filled her. She’d never in her dreams even contemplated such ardor, such passion, such foolishness. This put the chaste kisses of her past to shame.
His scent filled her mind. How could the human body smell so good, so intoxicating?
No matter how tight she pressed, she could not seem to get close enough. She wanted to be inside him, to have him inside her. Even as the forbidden thought filled her mind, his lips pressed hers wider and his tongue pushed further, filling her mouth in ways she had never imagined. It swept along her teeth, tickled her pallet, and sought crevasses that had never brought pleasure before.
And pleasure it was. Pleasure that filled her from the ends of her fingers to deep in her belly.
With some shyness, her own tongue joined his, playing a game of exploration.
It was a duel, a game of tag, a dance.
She didn’t know the rules, but knew she wanted to learn.
And then she gave up all thought, fell into sensation and desire.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the dark curls, holding him close, never letting him go.
Desire. Fire. Touch.
Wonder.
Wanting.
Wanting more.
The fires in her belly were infernos now. Infernos that grew and grew, bringing her someplace she had never before travelled.
She needed more. She didn’t know what came next, but she needed it.
Needed it now.
And then suddenly, with no warning, he shoved her away. Shoved her hard.
The breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, flushed and panting.
“What? Why?” She wasn’t sure if she said the words or if they only hovered, unformed in her mind.
“My grandmother. I hear the dowager duchess and her gaggle coming,” Radford panted.
His answer joined her own thoughts moving slowly towards sense. Her mind and body were still so lost in the need for kisses — and that unknown something else — that for a few moments she could do nothing but stare at him, wishing, wanting to be back in his arms.
Licking her swollen lips, she closed her eyes to block out the sight of him, his lips equally swollen, his eyes so dark as to be almost black.
Grandmother.
Dowager duchess.
With a sudden start, Molly straightened, her hands rising first to her lips and then to her hair, brushing it to smoothness.
“You’re fine,” he said. “I know never to touch a woman’s hair outside of the bedchamber.”
She didn’t want to know that. Even in dazed state it was too clear how he would have come by such knowledge. “I can’t be seen, not like this.”
“You truly look unremarkable beyond a flush to your cheeks and lips — and that could be explained by a walk in the fresh air.”
“But I don’t want to be caught with you.” Unremarkable. He thought she looked unremarkable. It would have been nice to know that before she kissed him, not that she regretted that kiss. One could not regret something so — she could not even think of the words that described all the feelings it had formed. A secret of the universe shimmered in her mind. There was something she was close to understanding. If only she’d — they’d — had a little more time. Biting her swollen lip, she glanced up at him, wondering if they could manage to kiss again — if not now, later. What a ridiculous thought. “I don’t even want my aunt to know that I know you. She’ll get all sorts of ideas.”
He considered for a moment and then dismissed her fears. “Unless you truly are known for being fast — those sexual secrets, you know — I don’t think anybody will believe anything has happened in the maze. It’s only been twenty minutes since I left my grandmother’s company.”
“So it would be different if it had been half an hour? You do have belief in yourself. And you have misunderstood me. Despite your beliefs about my agency, I don’t think my aunt would ever have such thoughts about me. She knows what type of woman I am — and what type I am not. She may wish I were different, more concerned about gowns and balls and society — but she would never believe I would stray from my upbringing. No, I am concerned that if she sees us together she will get matrimonial thoughts. No matter what she says I know she does not believe I can be happy until married — and to someone with a title, or at least the chance of succeeding to one.”
He laughed. He had the gall to laugh. “You. Me. Marriage. I don’t think even your aunt could have such thoughts. A duke and a woman who runs an agency. “ He brought his hand to his mouth trying to hide the humor that still hid there.
“I am a lady as I said. My father was an earl. What is so ridiculous about the idea?” Had she really just used her title as a defense? She’d fo
ught it ever since her father’s death. Why would she cling to it now? But why had he laughed? There was nothing laughable about her. What did it matter if she were gainfully employed? She enjoyed helping others, finding the right fit between person and position. It was a perfectly honorable profession.
He had hurt her. He had not meant to do that. But still … he had to look away to keep from laughing again. He was Radford. He’d had foreign princesses dangled before him, riches beyond belief offered if he’d only consider taking this or that lord’s daughter to his marital bed. Why would he ever marry the impoverished daughter of a man who’d been an earl for less time that it took gossip to spread. He could marry anyone. Why would he choose her?
Well, she did kiss rather well, once she relaxed into it.
And he had to confess that he found her figure pleasing.
And she was entertaining. He’d yet to be bored in her presence — and that was quite something.
Still, the whole idea was beyond consideration.
He imagined his grandmother’s face if he announced he was marrying some unknown.
Well, his grandmother, evidently, did know her — hence the invitation. But he could not imagine the dowager’s face if he decided that he preferred Miss Watson, Lady Mary to Lady Alyssa. Not that he had any intention of considering Lady Alyssa. It was only that there was no comparison between the incomparable and perfect Lady Alyssa and …
He sighed. Yes, there was no comparison. One bored him. The other did not.
“I am head to the edge of the maze, Miss Watson” — he just could not think of her as Lady Mary — “I will pretend I got lost trying to join the group. Nobody will ever know we were together.”
“How do I disappear before they even know I was here?”
“If that is what you wish, I suggest you head down that path.” He pointed to a narrow overgrown channel that led back in the direction of the house. “It twists and turns quite charmingly and if you’re lucky you’ll find the secret fountain. My grandfather built it for my grandmother and if you find it and mention it to her she softens quite a bit. It was apparently a love match, although she’ll deny it to her dying breath.”