by Amelia Grey
“I had no idea you were coming today.” She looked down at her soiled apron and paint-marked fingers. She quickly put her hands behind her back. “You caught me completely unprepared for guests, my lord. Mrs. Bickmore should have checked with me before she showed you into the garden.”
Harrison remembered how the housekeeper had yelled at the dogs. She was obviously not fond of them and probably didn’t want to tangle with Sam.
“No need to be harsh with Mrs. Bickmore,” he said, descending the two steps to stand in front of her. “I didn’t give her much choice in the matter.”
“That I can believe,” Miss Rule said, untying the sash of her apron. “Why don’t we go back inside? I’ll have some tea prepared, or something stronger if you wish.”
“I had my cook prepare a basket of refreshments. I thought you might enjoy a ride in the park this afternoon.”
He liked the surprise he saw in her eyes. “Does this mean you have an answer for me?”
He smiled. No reason to hurry the afternoon. “Perhaps. Let’s take a ride and you will find out.”
She turned loose of the apron sash and started untying her shawl. “And a ride with me would help you make up your mind?”
He tilted his head and gave her a small grin but committed to nothing.
“The ride would have been nice on such a lovely day, but my father isn’t home to give approval so I couldn’t possibly accept.”
“What about Lady Railbridge, your grandmother?”
“She’s isn’t available to consent, either. Every Thursday afternoon she goes to visit a friend who is ill.”
Harrison had thoughts that had no business being in his mind. What were the odds he’d arrive when Miss Rule’s only chaperones were a housekeeper and a snarling dog?
“Then I suggest we stay in the garden and save the ride for another afternoon.”
“I’m sure my grandmother wouldn’t approve of us being out here alone, but I suppose it will be all right if you don’t stay too long.”
He watched as she untied the knots at the ends of her shawl. Her fingers were slender, nimble, and marked with various colors of paint.
“Would you like for me to hold your shawl while you remove your apron?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, seeming pleased that he’d offer. “If you don’t mind.”
She extended it to him and as she did she noticed the paint on her fingers and quickly closed her hands into fists. Harrison chuckled softly. “Too late to hide them now. I’ve already seen them. Nice colors by the way.” He took hold of the shawl and slipped it through her fingers.
She laughed, too. “I’m glad you approve, but again, my grandmother would not.”
A soft smile lifted just one corner of her lips and Harrison felt warmth and tightness surge through his loins. She was more than fetching. She was downright desirable.
He watched as she untied the ribbon under her chin and swept off her hat. He reached for it and she handed it to him. She was naturally sensual and didn’t even know it. Another twinge of desire shuddered through him. He had undressed many ladies over the years but he was certain he’d never before acted the servant’s role for one. He didn’t realize how stimulating it could be. He found her every move tremendously seductive.
She pulled the apron over her head. She wore a simple pale-gray dress with a round neckline that laced up the front of the bodice. The thought of untying those laces gave him ideas he didn’t need to explore when he was alone with her in a garden. It would be too easy to pull her to him and see if her lips were as soft and tasty as they looked.
“Excuse me, my lord,” she said, looking behind her. “I forgot to cover my work.”
Harrison followed her over to a table where her painting supplies were scattered. “What did I interrupt?” he asked, catching a glimpse of a fan with columns and a chandelier painted on it before she covered it with a tin dome.
“Nothing important,” she said, averting her eyes from his and laying her apron on top of the dome. “I don’t like to leave my paints unprotected. Insects have been known to land in them and create quite a mess.”
It surprised him that she hid her work so quickly. Most young ladies were eager to show him their stitchery or paintings, or read him their poetry. Miss Rule shielded hers as if it wasn’t very good, or she didn’t want him to see it. That was refreshing.
“What were you painting?” he asked.
“I paint different scenes,” she said, rubbing some of the pigment from her hand with her thumb. “On lids to snuff and mourning boxes, fans, and miniatures. The usual things.” Then, as if realizing the paint wasn’t going to come off, she reached for her hat and he gave it to her.
While Harrison was thinking it was a sin to cover her glorious long curls with that brown straw, he felt something wet and cold on the tips of his fingers and realized that Sam had decided it was time to walk over and sniff him. It took all his willpower but Harrison forced himself to keep his arm hanging still at his side and let the big animal sniff him wherever he wished so the dog would become comfortable with him.
“Your father obviously likes dogs,” he said.
She laughed lightly as she loosely tied the ribbon under her chin.
“Why does that amuse you?” Harrison asked.
“Sam, leave Lord Thornwick alone and go lie down. Now,” she ordered, giving him a firm stare. The dog obeyed and wandered away. She continued. “My father doesn’t like animals of any kind. He indulges me from time to time and allows me to keep a stray who happens by our house, but not often.”
“Sam was a stray?”
“Yes, he was wounded and starving when I found him. I nursed him back to health.”
“No wonder he is so protective of you.”
“I think it’s natural for his breed to be that way. He has some bull terrier in him I’m sure, though what the other breeds mixed in might be I have no idea. He gets along well with the other dogs and that’s what matters.”
Harrison knew another woman who liked to take in strays and wounded animals. But she wasn’t a woman he could introduce to Miss Rule. In her time, Mrs. Olivia Vaughan was legendary as the highest-paid mistress in London, and she loved dogs, too.
“How many do you have?”
“Three.”
“All strays?”
“Yes. Rascal was the first and is the oldest and part hound. The newest addition is Mr. Pete. He’s a puppy and I think he might be part beagle.” She paused. “Well, we really have four dogs as my father often reminds me. My grandmother has a Maltese but she is so small she hardly counts. And she wasn’t a stray. It’s always important to my grandmother that people know Molly is the only purebred dog in the house.”
His gaze swept easily down her face and then back up to her eyes. So Miss Rule was not only very loyal to a father who would force her to marry a man she didn’t love in order to save his hide, she also had a love for wounded animals. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. He didn’t need one more thing to like about her—but how could he not be drawn to the fact she took in strays and cared for them?
“The wind is picking up. You should put this back on,” he said, holding out her shawl. She reached for it and he said, “Allow me.”
She hesitated only a moment before turning her back to him. He placed it on her shoulders and before she had time to turn around he lifted her long hair from beneath the shawl. It was warm and soft in his hands, and smelled heavenly. He was tempted to lift its weight and bury his face in it.
Everything about her was intoxicating. There was something exciting about her, and something elusive, too. He couldn’t fool himself. He knew what it was. She said her heart belonged to another and as much as he didn’t want it to be so, the fact was, it presented a challenge for him to woo her, and to win her.
Damnation, he didn’t want to pick up that gauntlet. There were too many ladies willing to share his bed, and his life for that matter, to worry with fighting for one who had alre
ady made it clear her heart was taken.
But Miss Rule was different from all the others. That was as evident and simple as night and day. And even though she claimed to love someone else, she wasn’t completely uninterested in Harrison, either. He’d watched her look him over with a discerning eye and appreciate what she saw. He was sure of that.
So how hard would it be to win her away from a soldier if he decided he wanted to?
He liked that she was passionate about trying to help her father. Loyalty was an admirable quality in anyone. She was obviously passionate about helping others or she wouldn’t take in the wounded strays. Something told him she’d bring that same spirited passion to her wedding bed.
When she faced him, she looked directly into his eyes and said, “So tell me, my lord, have you decided whether you will help me save my father? Or are you still thinking?”
That was the furthest thing from his mind presently. “I am thinking, Miss Rule, but not about that.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Then what?”
He stepped closer, deliberately towering over her so she would know he was the one in control, and said, “I’m thinking about kissing you.”
She went very still. He watched a flush creep up her pretty neck and into her lovely face. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her, and he no longer wanted to ignore what she was making him feel.
“That wouldn’t be wise, my lord,” she said.
She didn’t tell him no. Encouraged, he said, “Probably not, but I have done many unwise things in my lifetime. What will it hurt to do one more?”
He lifted his hand and skimmed the backs of his fingers down her soft cheek, brushing aside a wispy strand of hair that hadn’t been caught back by her hat. She didn’t flinch from his touch. He took that as a good sign, but asked, “Will you slap me if I kiss you?”
Astonishment flickered in her eyes but there was no panic. Another good sign that there was a possibility this conversation would end in a kiss. “What? No. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“You’ve never thought about being kissed?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her.
She hesitated, seeming to study what to say. “No, of course, I have,” she conceded. “I meant I’ve never thought about the possibility of slapping a gentleman for kissing me.”
“So you’ve been kissed?”
“Definitely not,” she assured him and wrapped her shawl tighter about her arms as if the woolen garment would protect her from his probing words.
It was another good sign that she hadn’t moved away from him. If she hadn’t been considering letting him kiss her she would have already been backing up, showing him the door, or calling Sam over to intimidate him.
“Not even by the captain?” Harrison asked.
She looked aghast. “He is a gentleman, my lord. I haven’t even seen him in over a year. Besides, I wasn’t old enough to be kissed the last I saw him.”
Never been kissed.
That pleased Harrison and motivated him.
He wanted to be the first to kiss her. He would be. Why should the captain have that right just because she’d given her heart to him? She wouldn’t be the first young miss to receive her first kiss from Harrison, but he couldn’t remember wanting to kiss one more than he wanted to kiss her right now.
The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the garden was empty of chaperones save Sam—and he couldn’t talk. The timing was perfect. Yes, the more he thought about it the more he wanted to do it. He wanted to feel her in his arms. He wanted to know how those pink-tinted lips would feel beneath his.
“You are of age now,” he said in a low tone as he inched even closer to her.
“Yes, I’ll be nineteen by early summer.”
Oh, yes, plenty old enough for a first kiss.
He noticed the words in her last sentence were softer and she sounded breathless. She was already contemplating his kiss. That made his breathing a little ragged, too.
Maybe, just maybe he did want to pursue her and win her from the captain.
“Kissing is against the rules of Society for young ladies,” she warned him.
He moved closer to her. Again she didn’t flinch. Did she know that was as good as an invitation for him to continue? “But surely you know that some rules are made to be broken.”
She remained quiet. Pensive.
“And this is one of them,” he added. “So don’t blink.”
“Don’t blink,” she questioned with an uncertain expression on her face. “Why?”
I want you to see me and no one else.
“Because I’m going to kiss you and you’ll want to witness your first kiss.”
“Telling me not to blink makes me want to.”
He gave her a hint of a smile, thinking how much he would like to do more to her than just kiss her tempting lips. “Then it will be your fault if you miss this.”
He lowered his head to hers and let his lips graze across hers with the merest amount of pressure. The contact was sweet, enticing, and undemanding. It sent a quick, hard throb of pulsating heat directly to his manhood, causing an unexpected rush of intense desire to shudder through him.
Harrison only meant to give her a proper, innocent first kiss but his body was demanding much more. He hesitated before deepening the kiss, slanting his lips seductively over hers, seeking more of a response from her until he realized she was too in awe of the kiss to answer the instant passion that had erupted in him.
He hadn’t expected the kiss to be so powerful, or to feel such satisfaction that she’d obeyed. To her credit, her wide-eyed blue gaze stayed on his eyes for the entire kiss. He wanted to abandon his reserve and show her just how quickly she’d made him want her, but not wanting to frighten her he refrained.
When he heard a soft sigh from her, he lifted his mouth an inch or two and whispered, “You just witnessed your first kiss.”
Chapter 9
Careless lust stirs up a desperate courage.
Venus and Adonis 556–57
Angelina blinked and bobbed her head slightly.
“You’re blinking,” he said huskily.
Of course she was, and her stomach felt like it had a thousand butterflies in it, too. He was so close she felt his breath on her cheek, the heat radiating from his body. A shivery prickle of something wonderful sailed across her breasts, tightening them before it raced to the deepest of her most womanly part and settled there. Lord Thornwick was a scandalously presumptuous man and for reasons she didn’t want to think about, it thrilled her.
As much as she wanted to speak, she was too stunned to say a word. She was still reeling from the fact that she’d just received her first kiss and the new marvelous awareness it had created inside her. The only thing she could do was moisten her lips and swallow.
“I’ll take that as an invitation for another kiss,” the earl said.
Was it?
No. No.
Yet the word wouldn’t form on her tongue.
“Close your eyes this time,” he whispered, and without giving her a moment to object, his head dipped low and his lips found hers once again.
God help her, her lids fluttered down. She obeyed him without a hint of reluctance and closed her eyes.
Angelina felt his strong hands circle her waist and slide to her back. She knew she should spin, shove, or twist away from him but she had no desire to miss what his touch was promising. Instead, she went willingly into his embrace and was caught up in his powerful arms and pressed to his hard chest. Something compelling stirred inside her and despite a lone stray thought to recoil, she melted against him. The strength behind his hold on her was exhilarating. Warmth from his body was more pleasing than sunshine on a bitter-cold day. She had no idea just how heavenly it would feel to be engulfed in such muscular arms and have a man’s lips moving so sensuously over hers.
She gave herself over to the undeniably pleasurable sensations and without forethought lifted her arms and wound them aro
und his neck. Her action made him hug her tighter, press her closer. His hands tangled in the length of her hair. Her shawl fell away from her shoulders. A shiver made her tremble but she’d never felt warmer in her life.
His lips were soft and moist. The kiss was long and generous. Instinctively, her lips parted, her mouth opened. His tongue slipped inside with a warm, slow probing. She trembled and swallowed a gasp of wonder. He made a languorous exploration of her mouth. Their tongues touched, played, and explored. Their breaths mingled. Her hands skimmed down his wide shoulders to examine the broad width of his firm, muscular back before sliding down to his tapered waist, leaving no doubt there was a fine cut of a man beneath the clothing.
He broke the kiss and lifted his head. Her eyes opened to stare into his. She felt weightless, breathless, and wonderful.
“I’ve wanted to know how you would taste since I saw you standing at the entrance to the ballroom,” he said.
“Tea,” she said without thinking and without blinking.
He quirked his head a bit to question her.
“I had tea a little while ago,” she explained. “Do I taste of tea?”
A soft chuckle whispered from his throat, and he said, “Very sweet tea,” before his lips came down to hers again with confident, commanding pressure that made her body eager for more of his touch.
He kissed her deeply, hungrily, and she didn’t resist. To her amazement, she kissed him back with equal fervor. His lips were lush, his embrace was powerful. He kissed his way over her chin and down her neck to the braided piping trim on her bodice and then started back up again. Her hands slipped into the back of his hair and she crushed its softness between her fingers.
A small sigh escaped her lips. She wanted to enjoy the luxury of all the new sensations that rippled, drifted, and curled throughout her body before settling in intimate places.
It was a heady experience, but all too soon his lips left hers again. He lifted his head and his arms relaxed around her. He let her go and slowly stepped away. To her chagrin, she was disappointed by his withdrawal. She inhaled a deep breath and backed away, putting even more distance between them. Her gaze flew to the back of the house to see if Mrs. Bickmore might have been watching from the window or the door, but Angelina saw no one.