She rolled her eyes again. “Of course it wasn’t that, it wasn’t as though we deliberately sat around and made ourselves seem important because of our obscure knowledge.”
“Good to know,” he replied, sounding dubious.
She was about to roll her eyes again, he could tell, but then she paused, and instead, she got a wicked smile on her face.
That smile promised many things, and he hoped he would be the recipient of at least a few of them.
Actually, of all of them.
“I have thought of a game we could play where I will win.” She sounded so certain he couldn’t help but be intrigued. As though he weren’t entirely intrigued already.
“What game?”
“You’re Never Dressed Without a Smile.” She accompanied her words with, of course, a smile. That same wicked one that promised all sorts of things, probably three-quarters of which she wouldn’t know herself.
He would like the chance to teach her, however.
“We played that, and I won. We played a few times, didn’t we?” He tapped his mouth with his index finger. “And I believe I won every time.” He lowered his hand and looked at her, lifting one eyebrow as he spoke. “Why would tonight’s game be any different?”
Why would tonight’s game be any different? She hoped he wouldn’t regret asking that, since the game she intended to play—that she intended to play with him—would be very different indeed.
She swallowed, feeling her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she braced herself. Not that what was about to occur was unpleasant—it would hopefully be the opposite of that—but that she had never been so forward before. And she was planning on it this evening.
“Because the game will be played with just us,” she replied. She scooted closer to him on the sofa, keeping her eyes on his face. His handsome, commanding, far-too-gorgeous-for-her face, only it was also his clearly-interested-she-wasn’t-stupid face.
She just hoped the interested section of him trumped the out-of-her-league section.
Now she definitely had his interest. She felt herself exhale, just a bit, out of relief. His expression had tightened, sharpened somehow, and she was keenly, even more so, aware that they were in the library alone, that Mrs. Green and her group of Somewhat Talented Musicians were still playing away in the other room, and this—whatever this was—was going to happen.
One way or the other.
“And how do you think to make me smile, much less laugh?” he asked in a serious tone. She could tell he was schooling himself not to smile, but the glint in his blue eyes belied his sober mien.
“I will just have to say a few words,” she said in a low voice.
“And if I don’t smile? What then?”
She shrugged, a far more casual gesture than her internal emotions warranted. “Then you may claim a forfeit. Whatever you want, I will do. If you win, that is.”
“Oh, that sounds promising.” The combination of his low, sensual tone and the serious expression on his face made something inside of her warm, as though he were touching her all over, a caress that was heating her up from the inside.
But perhaps he didn’t mean the way he sounded—she couldn’t assume, it wasn’t as though she had ever been in this dangerous flirting situation before. For all she knew, he was like this with every lady, regardless of how he thought of her.
Actually, he was like this with every lady. She’d seen it for herself, only there was something slightly different, more intense, about him now. She continued. “For example, I could ensure Miss Green was occupied for a few hours so her mother wouldn’t require you to escort her to view more arty facts.” She pronounced it as his mother would, and he nearly broke then, as well. “Or if you wanted me to gaze at you in rapt adoration as you expounded on the history of one of those odd jugs you seem to find entrancing. I could do that.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t break. “Or I could ask for something else entirely.” She shivered at the low promise in his tone.
“What would you want?”
He paused, his expression still serious, but the light in his eyes was fierce and wild. Thrilling her, even though she had no idea what it meant.
“I want a kiss.”
She nearly laughed aloud at the irony of it, but merely nodded and thrust her hand out. “We have a deal.”
He took her hand, sliding his fingers over her palm, making her heart race with just the merest touch.
Imagine what would happen to her when they did kiss. Because they would be kissing, of that she was now certain.
“You mentioned you could beat me with just a few words.” He still held her hand, his tone teasing, his expression entirely somber. “What words would those be?”
She paused and licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. His gaze fastened on her mouth and she felt it as though it was an almost palpable touch.
“I want a kiss.”
Smicker:
1. The collar of an apron.
2. To look amorously.
3. The spines of a fish.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Of course he had to smile at that, but it didn’t matter, since—since now it was a moot point. “Well, then who is the winner here?” he asked, moving forward to put his hand on her waist.
Drawing her to him, as he’d wanted to do from the first time—well, no, the first time he saw her she’d been sitting down in a pub drinking ale, he hadn’t been thinking about what he wanted to do to her, or with her, until a few hours later.
Still, it was fairly close to the first time they’d met.
She leaned back and gazed up at him, and once again, he had cause to be grateful she was such a tall woman. He would only have to lower his mouth to hers a few inches, especially if she rose up on her toes. Kissing could be damned hard on the spine, he’d found, if the two participants were upright.
“Why, I have won, of course. You smiled.” And then she did the same, her lips curling up into the most provocative, compelling smile he’d ever seen.
Or that could be just her.
“So will you claim your reward, my lady?” Jamie said, sliding his palm to the small of her back and pulling her closer.
She raised her hands and put them at his shoulders, pushing him back. The immediate words of apology began to come from his mouth, but she shook her head, keeping her gaze locked on his face. “I wish to claim my reward, sir,” she replied, stressing the first word. “You will just have to give it.”
Oh, well then. He wanted her to take it more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life. He’d never been with a woman like her before, one who knew what she wanted, even though he was fairly certain she wasn’t entirely aware of what she wanted, being an unmarried woman and all. And since he had been with experienced unmarried women before, he knew she wasn’t experienced, not at all.
“Will this be your first kiss?” The words popped out of his mouth before he could even think about them.
Her cheeks pinked, and he knew the answer before she spoke. “Yes,” she said in a soft voice, her fingers beginning to caress his shoulders.
“Good.” He couldn’t help the note of masculine pride in his voice. “I will just allow you to take it.” He stilled himself, letting his hands go down by his side, watching her as she prepared herself.
God, her face was so expressive. He could watch it for hours, and still find new emotions revealed there. Her eyes swept down his body, almost as though she were touching him everywhere she looked. She allowed her hands to slide down his arms, to his waist. When they came to rest there, she bit her lip, and he had to restrain himself from bending down to bite it, as well.
And then she looked up at him, the frank desire in her eyes making him feel as though he were lit from inside. An odd way to put it, to be sure, but it felt as though only she could make him warm. Could soot
he him with her kiss.
Even though he doubted very much that kissing her would be a soothing activity. Exciting, sensual, and an entirely new experience, yes, but not soothing.
“Well?” he said at last. It was speak or claim her mouth, and he knew she didn’t want that.
“Don’t rush me,” she said in nearly a growl. That made him laugh, too—that his polite goddess could be so transformed by the prospect of a mere kiss.
But it wouldn’t be just mere, would it. This would be an epic kiss, if he knew his goddess.
He saw her throat work, and she lifted her face to his, raising herself up with the hands at his waist. That necessitated her to move in closer, and he felt the points of contact between them—her hands, his waist, her breasts, his chest.
Their feet.
But he stopped thinking about any of that when she placed her mouth on his. Her kiss was soft and warm, just a simple pressing of their mouths together.
And then she opened her mouth, just a bit, and he did as well, hoping that while she didn’t have direct experience with the act that she would have investigated what could happen when one person kissed another.
And, thankfully, it seemed she was a studious person.
Her tongue touched his mouth hesitantly, just the slightest touch, but it was enough to make him groan. Which seemed to encourage her, since she slid her tongue inside his mouth, widening her lips.
The sensation of getting lost in her kiss grew, and it felt as though that was all he could think about, her there, and him here, and them kissing. At that moment, he couldn’t say he wanted anything more.
Well, he did—he was a man, after all—and if this was all it ever was, it would be enough.
But he did want more, he had to admit.
Which was why he was the one to eventually draw back, knowing if he didn’t that he would reach the point of no return, and he didn’t want her first kiss to be also her first other things.
Well, he did, he was a man, after all, but it wouldn’t be right.
All of which meant that he was entirely and thoroughly befuddled.
“How was it?” He had to ask; he was a—well, damn it, he knew what he was.
Her eyes were soft and dreamy, but held a sensual glint that made his breath catch. “It was excellent.” Her mouth—that mouth he’d just been kissing—twisted into a smirk, as though she were sharing a private joke. With herself. “Delightful. Incredible. Sensational, even. An excellent gift,” she added in a lower voice.
“All those things, all together?” Jamie leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Imagine just how stupendous it will be when we do it again.”
When we do it again. Goodness, she wanted to do it again, and she wished she could do it again right now, only that would lead, she well knew, to all sorts of improprieties, improper even if they were actually betrothed and not fakely betrothed.
Fakely is not a word, Sophronia, her father muttered somewhere inside her head.
Now is not the time to be offering word critique, Father, she replied.
“Shall we return to the party?” James glanced over her shoulder. “We’ve been away long enough to miss the music, I believe. Let’s just hope they don’t ask us what books we’ve been reading.”
She grinned, and turned her head to look at the books on the shelves. “I’ll tell them I read a few husbandry guides, paying particular attention to the Husband Husbandry Guide.”
He spun and looked at the shelves, his mouth dropping open. “There is no such thing—is there?”
She burst out laughing at his expression, which was equal parts nonplussed and bemused. She shook her head and patted him on the arm. “No, there is no such thing. Although I imagine if there were such a guide, Mrs. Green would have a say in writing it.”
“The woman does like to offer pronouncements, doesn’t she?” he replied in a rueful tone.
“And potential brides. Thank goodness you had the forethought to provide yourself with a betrothed, or else you would be addressing Mrs. Green as Mother.”
She laughed even more when she saw him shudder.
“For that, I should buy you two cottages.”
He took her arm and led her out of the library, the glow of the kiss fading as she thought about what he’d said. Of course. There was only this, this brief period of time. An interlude during the holidays. It wasn’t as though this was anything more than what it was—two people entering into a bargain to save their respective futures. Their separate respective futures.
At least she now knew he was justified in going to such lengths to prevent an accidental betrothal—she had no doubt but that Mrs. Green, or one of the other ladies, would have him plighting his troth by the time Christmas came around.
And after the holiday, long after the Yule log was burnt down, and the kissing bough had given up all its berries, when the mistletoe had shriveled, and the snow was just a distant memory, she would be snug in her cottage with Maria, with memories of this night, and that kiss, to warm her through the ensuing years.
That should be enough. It would be enough. And perhaps, if she was patient, and open, she would find someone who would truly wish to be betrothed to her. To marry her, and stay in one place, and always be reliable, and have enough money to keep her in books and ale. That was all she wanted. Just someone to belong to in a place she felt she belonged.
If she were to receive that Christmas gift one year—not this year, of course, but someday—she would rejoice and try to forget about the tall, restless man who offered her a chance at escape. As well as her first kiss.
“You’re not regretting this, are you?” he asked in a low voice as they walked down the hall to the drawing room.
“No, of course not, why?” She glanced up at him, noting the concern in his eyes. “Are you?” Dear God, please don’t let him regret this. That would be the worst Christmas gift, the anti-Christmas gift, and she herself would regret not making her way to her cousin and his children and the all the chicken iterations, and if she—
“That kiss was the best thing to occur since my mother informed me we’d be attending a house party.” She couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his tone. “It is just—you sighed, just then, as though something were weighing on you.” Right. She had forgotten how observant he was.
I was just thinking about how this would all come to an end, and Cinderella would get a cottage, not a prince, at the end of the story.
“I think I was just dreading more of Mrs. Green’s orders. Imagine what else she might want us to do while we’re here.”
He grinned, with such a devilish look in her eye she nearly swooned. “We’ll have to excuse ourselves to go play some of our own games.”
Forget thinking beyond now, when she’d be off with Maria in a simple cottage paid for with his money. For once, she was going to live in the moment. She would enjoy what this time now would bring, and figure out the rest later.
She could return to being a responsible woman who looked to the future in a week or so; for now, she was as careless and headstrong and impulsive as the next person.
Who happened to be him.
Matutinal:
1. Of, relating to, or occurring in the morning.
2. Feeling nauseated.
3. An acrimonious parting.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He didn’t know what he had done, just that he had done something. Besides being kissed by her, that is.
He wanted to inquire more, but they had only a few moments between the library and the drawing room, and he didn’t want to get into a discussion where anybody could see them.
It worried him; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking now. Her face looked as though someone had drawn a curtain down, her usual lively expression dimmed.
They stepped back into the drawing room, her slightly ahead of him, his hand at
the small of her back, just grazing the fabric of her gown with his knuckles. He wished they hadn’t ever left the library, that they were still there, kissing, or her teasing him about books and their laughing together.
“Jamie, you have been an age! What could you and Sophronia have gotten up to for so long?”
His mother didn’t mean to be shocking, of course; she never did. But all the same, most of the rest of the party smothered chuckles, except for Mrs. Green, who glowered.
She might be the most unpleasant woman he had ever met, but at least she was consistently unpleasant.
“As you are well aware, Mother, I am fascinating when I want to be.” He assisted Sophronia into a chair beside his mother. “And my betrothed finds me infinitely fascinating. Don’t you, Sophy?”
He grinned at her, hoping she would burst out laughing or say something cutting in response. But she merely lifted a brow and nodded, biting her lip. To stifle a laugh, or a rebuttal? And why was he feeling so torn up about what her reaction might possibly be?
“We were just discussing the plans for tomorrow,” the viscountess said. “Mrs. Green has suggested we make a game of finding a suitable tree for decorating. The team who finds the best tree has the honor of—well, what does the team have the honor of doing, Mrs. Green?”
The lady surveyed the house party with a considering air. “The winning team members will be allowed to stand under the mistletoe with the person of their choosing.”
Not bad, Mrs. Green, not bad at all. He would have to make sure he or Sophy won, just so he would have the privilege of kissing her in front of all these people.
Of staking his claim to her, even though they both knew—and only they knew—that the claim was a temporary one.
But meanwhile, he didn’t know if he could wait until tomorrow to kiss her again, now that he’d tasted the sweetness of her lips, and felt how she responded to him.
Actually, he did know if he could wait. And the answer was no, he couldn’t.
No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella Page 7