Lost in a Royal Kiss

by Vanessa Kelly

  He reached for her, but she scrambled back, somehow managing to look wild-eyed and adorable all at once.

  “Linnet, hush. Everything’s fine. Now, please come back here.” He struggled for a reassuring note, but his voice emerged as a husky growl, which only made her take another hasty step back.

  Repressing a curse, he stood up. Her gaze dropped to his groin and her eyes popped wide. Then her gaze yanked back up to stare at him with an expression most definitely bordering on alarm. Sighing, Anthony subsided into his seat.

  “Linnet, there is really no cause for so much commotion,” he said. “Why don’t you just sit down and calm yourself.”

  “Sir Anthony, I must beg your pardon,” she said in a smothered voice as she straightened her clothes. “For me to act in so wanton a fashion . . . I can’t begin to imagine what you must think of me.”

  Now it was his turn to gape. That was the last reaction he had expected from her. “We didn’t exactly tear our clothes off and ravage each other. It was only one kiss, for Christ’s sake.”

  She jerked, as if he’d just shoved her.

  Bloody hell. Now he’d done it. “Not that it wasn’t a perfectly delightful kiss,” he added with a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It certainly was, but it hardly merited the—”

  She held up a hand. “I’ve heard quite enough, thank you. If you would do me the mercy of never mentioning this unfortunate incident again, I would be most grateful. It was a lapse in judgment that I would be exceedingly happy to forget.”

  On that blighting note, she turned on her heel and marched out the door, her clothes rumpled and her hat askew, but with her pride and dignity intact.

  Anthony let out a sigh as he watched her go. He had the ear of the king and controlled more of England’s business than he cared to think about, but apparently he lacked the wit to manage one small and very stubborn woman.

  Chapter 4

  Linnet puffed out a breath and flopped over onto her back, kicking the bedclothes right off the bed. She’d flung them from her body ages ago, despite the maid’s insistence that she needed them to avoid “taking a chill.”

  As if anyone could take a chill in such heat.

  When the long case clock in the hall rang out a single chime, Linnet sighed. She sat up and lifted her heavy braid off the back of her damp neck. Clearly, sleep was not in her immediate future. She might as well get up and do something, and hope that eventually she grew drowsy.

  Climbing down from the high bed, she lit a candle on her bedside table and dragged her workbasket out where she could see it. Without much enthusiasm, she rummaged around until she found the tablecloth she’d been working on. But the idea of draping the heavy fabric across her lap was distinctly unappealing, as was trying to work by the light of one candle.

  Folding her work back into the basket, she wandered over to the open window, settling onto the padded seat and gazing up at the night sky. Or what she could see of it anyway, since the air was thick with an approaching storm and clouds obscured the stars. There was nothing to hold her attention—just the murky shapes of the formal garden beneath her window, everything shrouded in darkness.

  Of course, a troupe of circus acrobats could prance beneath her window and she doubted she’d even notice. It wasn’t really the heat that kept her awake, although it didn’t help. There was another cause for her unsettled state—a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing hazel eyes, a wickedly sensual mouth, and an imperious and sardonic manner. Linnet suspected she could drink half a bottle of laudanum and still spend the night fretting over Sir Anthony and the kiss he’d bestowed on her in the garden.

  She clamped down hard on her wayward thoughts and rose from the window seat. She would not stew a moment longer over Sir Anthony or that silly kiss. Clearly, it hadn’t meant anything to him. He’d made that amply clear once he’d let her go.

  But it had meant something to her—so magical and life-changing that it had frightened her. Somewhere deep inside, Linnet had known it would come to that, which was why she’d always avoided Sir Anthony. She wanted him so fiercely she was ready to sweep aside all her other responsibilities and devote herself to him.

  She pressed her hands over her eyes as she relived that humiliating moment when she’d lost all control and sucked his tongue into her mouth. Sir Anthony had been as shocked as she, although he’d recovered with enthusiasm. But for her, the spell had been broken. Linnet had been kissed before but had never lost her self-control. In Sir Anthony’s compelling embrace, she’d thrown discretion to the four winds, acting in a disgracefully wanton manner.

  Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one’s point of view—he hadn’t seemed all that eager to take what she wanted to give, at least once she’d broken free of his arms. His dismissive referral to their wild embrace as “just a kiss” had stabbed her with surprising force. And unlike her, he hadn’t seemed one bit unsettled. Frustrated, perhaps, and definitely annoyed. But unsettled, gripped by passion?

  Hardly.

  Certainly, his kiss had been masterful, but she assumed that sort of thing came easily to a man. Still, Sir Anthony was not someone to trifle with a woman’s virtue. When it came right down to it, Linnet hadn’t a clue what he was about. All she knew was that the incident had been one of the most confusing, distressing, and wonderful experiences of her life.

  Sternly, Linnet ordered herself to stop thinking about him, at least for tonight. What she needed was something to read—something boring. The only book she had in her room was Tristram Shandy, which she always enjoyed so much that she knew she’d be up the rest of the night reading it. No, something else would have to do. Something weightier, like a history or a philosophical tome. Perhaps even a book of sermons.

  Not that it was quite the thing to be creeping about the house at this hour, especially in her nightclothes. Still, it was very late, and even the servants had gone to bed quite some time ago. Linnet hadn’t heard a sound out in the hallway for at least an hour.

  She mulled it over for a minute, then pulled on her light wrapper. Glancing at her slippers, she decided to ignore them since the floorboards were deliciously cool under her feet.

  Taking up her candle, she eased open her door and slipped into the hall. She stood quietly for a full minute. When she heard not a sound, she made her way down the hall and descended the staircase. The stone floor of the entrance hall sent a pleasant shiver up through the soles of her feet. It was cooler on the main floor, significantly more comfortable than her stifling bedroom. Rather than returning upstairs, perhaps she’d curl up with a book in one of the big armchairs in the study until she grew sleepy.

  Carefully shading her candle, she hurried across the hall. So intent on shielding the small flame and making as little noise as possible, she only noticed the lamp glowing in the far corner of the study after she was inside with the door shut behind her.

  And by then it was too late.

  Horror-struck, she froze against the door, her shoulder blades pressing into the oak panels. She gazed at the outline of the broad-shouldered man at the desk, his dark head bent as he worked. In the dim light, she could make out the hard slash of his jaw and the line of his firm, sensual mouth. That mouth curved up in a smile before he even lifted his head, as if he already knew she was there.

  When his head did come up, Linnet almost fainted on the spot as Sir Anthony’s eyes gleamed at her in the soft glow from the lamp. Without a word, he let his gaze travel over her. It halted at her feet, and the smile transformed into a grin.

  Glancing down, Linnet barely managed to repress a groan. She’d forgotten for the moment that her feet were bare. Again.

  She reached behind her and began groping for the door handle with trembling fingers. “Forgive me, sir. I had no idea anyone was still up. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  She was still fumbling with the handle—and trying not to drop her candle—when he crossed the room with a swift stride. Turning, she tried to make her escape, bu
t he planted a hand against the door and pushed it shut.

  “Miss St. Clare, what a pleasant surprise. Please don’t feel you have to leave on my account.”

  Linnet stared at the large, tanned hand resting on the wood panels, caging her in. She’d never thought about it before, but Sir Anthony had wonderful hands. Long-fingered and graceful, yet powerful and utterly masculine. She had a sudden flash of that hand on her body, moving over her skin to settle on her breast. Her breathing fractured and she grew weak behind the knees. She actually started to sway a bit, and for a moment felt light-headed.

  “Linnet, are you unwell?” Sir Anthony’s voice held a sharp note of concern as he plucked the candle from her hand. She blinked, barely aware that she had almost dropped it. With his other hand he nudged her around to face him. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The candle cast flickering shadows across his handsome features, his mouth a worried line as he studied her.

  She had to admit she felt rather woozy, although she was certain that was from the heat.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart raced fast and light. He was close—too close for her to regain her equilibrium.

  “I feel a little dizzy from the heat, but I’m sure I’ll be fine in a moment,” she said, trying to sound like she meant it. “I’ll just go back to my room, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind, and you’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you don’t keel over into a swoon.”

  That stiffened her spine. “I never swoon.”

  He made a scoffing noise as he put her candle on a table by the door. Then, with one smooth motion, he swept her up into his arms. Given that she was wearing so little—and the fact that he was in his shirtsleeves—the power and warmth of his muscled arms and brawny chest seemed to brand her skin right through her nightclothes. It was so shocking . . . so intimate . . . that it was a wonder she didn’t faint.

  As he strode across the room, she managed to find her voice. And her outraged dignity. “Sir Anthony! Put me down this instant.”

  “Hush, Linnet. It’s much too hot to put up such a fuss.”

  Before she could come up with a suitable retort, he carried her to the deep bay window behind the desk and lowered her to the cushioned seat. Reaching past her, he pushed the mullioned casement fully open, letting in as much air as possible.

  “Is that better?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

  He brushed his fingers across her cheek and forehead. She shivered as sensation trailed from his fingertips to dance along her nerves. When he frowned and reached past her to close the window, she stopped him with a light touch on his forearm.

  “You’re shivering,” he said. “I don’t want you catching a chill. Perhaps I’d better fetch something to put around you.”

  Lovely. Now he was treating her like an old lady. “I’m not going to faint and I’m not getting a chill. And who is fussing now?”

  He smiled again, although a trace of worry lurked in his eyes. “I am. You deserve fussing and you get precious little of it.”

  Linnet wanted to protest that silly statement, but they’d had that argument already. And the last thing she wanted to do was refer to their discussion in the garden, or mention any part of the encounter.

  Especially not dressed like this.

  Predictably, Sir Anthony resumed perusing her garb. His eyes glittered with masculine appreciation as they traveled over her, and a blush burned up her neck to her cheeks.

  “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” She pulled her wrapper more tightly around her, struggling since quite a bit of it had become trapped under her bottom. She let out a dismayed squeak when she glanced down and noticed that both night rail and wrapper were bunched up around her knees, leaving her feet and calves naked. She snapped her gaze back up to find Sir Anthony inspecting her bare legs.

  “Yes,” he answered in a distracted voice. “I was just getting to that.”

  Linnet wanted to squirm, but instead she wrapped her arms defensively around her body. That movement had the unfortunate effect of bringing his gaze up from her lower limbs, where it settled on her breasts. To her undying horror she could feel her nipples bead, instinctively pulling tight in response to his heavy-lidded gaze.

  “I couldn’t sleep in this dreadful heat,” she said, jerking her arms up over her chest. “I thought I might find a book in Lady Farnsworth’s study to occupy my time.”

  “Ah. That explains it.”

  He sat on the bench, propping his shoulders into the corner of the bay, looking entirely at his ease. Linnet, however, was anything but, since the seat was not nearly big enough for both her and his powerful frame. She tried to edge backward, but had nowhere to go. His long legs stretched in front of her, blocking her in. If she wanted to escape, she’d practically have to leap over him.

  But she didn’t want to escape, even though every moral precept she’d ever learned insisted she flee.

  “Didn’t you have anything in your room?” he asked. “I brought your book back to the house this morning after your rather precipitous exit from the gazebo. I made certain the butler brought it to your room.”

  Was he teasing her? He sounded amused, but she couldn’t really tell. If anyone had the ability to mask what he was thinking, it was Sir Anthony.

  “Yes, thank you, but I was looking for something else,” she said in a polite voice. “Something that would help me to sleep.”

  He tilted his head, studying her.

  Definitely amused.

  “And was it only the heat that kept you awake?” His voice held a husky note that made all her muscles want to go slack.

  She shrugged. “I can’t think what else it could be.”

  Her attempt at a casual gesture made her breasts jiggle under the light fabric of her nightclothes, and drew his attention back to her chest. She winced, painfully aware of her immodest appearance. Her lamentably plump breasts bordered on the indecent, and she always made sure to keep them chastely covered.

  He reached out and trailed a finger along her shoulder to her neck. “I can think of one other reason why you couldn’t sleep, can’t you?”

  “Um, no, I cannot.” She needed to get away from him before she did something rash and foolish. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll return to my room.”

  She started to wriggle away, but when his hand clamped down gently on her shoulder, she froze. He bent his head, looking her in the eyes, and she lost her breath all over again.

  “Don’t you want to select something to read before you go?” he teased as one finger softly stroked her neck.

  If he kept touching her like that, she might very well melt into the window seat. It terrified her to think what would happen if he placed both hands upon her body.

  At a loss for words, she settled for shaking her head.

  “No? Well, I have another suggestion for you. One that will be sure to help you sleep, at least afterward.”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat went tight. “What’s that?” she managed.

  “This.” His mouth covered hers with a hot fervor she felt all the way to the marrow of her bones. One of his hands remained clamped on her shoulder, but the other slipped around her waist. He leaned into her, bending her gently back over his brawny arm.

  Linnet moaned as the tips of her breasts brushed up against his linen shirt. When her lips parted, his tongue slipped inside, tasting her with a bone-melting kiss that had her digging her nails into his arms. She wanted to rub against him, and she shook with the force of will required to hold back.

  But the walls against him would no longer hold, and she finally surrendered to the desperate yearning she’d battled for so many long months. She didn’t resist his kiss, although her dazed mind and body still held her passive in his embrace.

  But when one of his big hands settled on her, cuddling her breast, Linnet jerked in his arms. Sensation streaked down to coalesce between her thighs. It seemed her body was not her own, instinctively
arching into his hand as she moaned into his mouth.

  Unexpectedly, Anthony broke the kiss. The hand at her back moved up, fingers sliding into her loose braid. He gently gripped her head, holding her still as he gazed at her. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with passion, but his mouth—his beautiful, strong mouth—was pulled tight, as if he were in pain. His jaw looked hard as stone and tense enough to shatter.

  “I’m not stopping, Linnet,” he growled. “Not unless you order me to. Right now.”

  His deep, rasping tones made her shudder. Sir Anthony had a knack for intimidating her at the best of times. Right now, he looked ready to consume her, and a heavy beat of awareness—what it would mean to surrender to him completely—pounded through her blood. She almost quailed before it.

  But as they hung suspended in that moment, staring at each other, her incipient panic began to fade. She saw something else in his eyes besides sexual desire and the masculine need to conquer. She saw a yearning that matched hers, and a vulnerability she’d never seen in him before. It seemed to coil its way into her heart, connecting them in a way she’d never expected. The wild beat of her pulse settled, and an infinite tenderness wove its way into the passion he’d called up between them.

  She slid her hands up to take his bristle-roughened face between her palms. The fire in his eyes seemed to leap higher at her touch.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “I want you to do everything you want.”

  His gaze widened. “Do you mean that?” he asked in a tight voice.

  She responded by pulling his head down to hers, kissing him with every ounce of pent-up longing in her soul. Boldly, she turned his head, adjusting the fit of their lips, searching for the sweetest taste. For long seconds he didn’t move, allowing her to control the kiss, then his passion broke over her like a dark, roaring tide.

  He swept her up in his arms, rising to his feet. She broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Sir Anthony, what are you doing?”

  “Hush, love,” he murmured. “I simply want to make you more comfortable. And under the circumstances, I don’t think you need to address me as Sir Anthony.”