Undone by His Kiss

by Anabelle Bryant

  “This evening, we’re to dine and dance at Lord Lindsey’s home. You’ve met his son, Oliver, at Stanbuck’s social. If you recall Miss Gordon’s mother was none too happy while we colluded in the library. Oliver and his quick thinking saved the evening from disaster.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She skirted her knees to the right, avoiding the threat of contact as the carriage rattled, and he wondered if she recalled their afternoon kiss because he bloody well couldn’t erase the memory from his mind.

  She seemed unusually reserved and he pressed the conversation, anxious to learn as much as he could about the elusive Miss Shaw…most especially her first name.

  “The estate is situated on the far side of Mayfair, so we have a decent ride ahead. All the more time for us to get to know each other better.” He removed his gloves and placed them on the seat to his left. “Your family’s town house is of excellent location. Were your parents at home tonight? I’d have been pleased to make their acquaintance.”

  Her smile faltered and she flitted her eyes around the interior before she replied. “My mother was indisposed this evening. Perhaps another time.” She paused. “My father is no longer with us.”

  He noticed the hitch in her voice. “My condolences. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, had I known.”

  She gave a slight nod, as if the topic was of no significance. “I enjoyed our visit to the aviary this afternoon. I didn’t have a chance to thank you.”

  The change of subject brought with it a visible ease.

  “I believe the hummingbirds liked you best.” He watched her closely, aware some intrusive emotion preoccupied her thoughts.

  “I’m sure this evening will be lovely.”

  The innocuous non sequitur convinced him of his suspicion. “I will gladly introduce you to my acquaintances; otherwise you may not know anyone aside from Oliver.” He flashed another smile. “I am but your slave.”

  “And Lord Kellaway?”

  Aaah, so the distraction is unveiled. Damn Kellaway to Hades. “I suspect Kell may be in attendance, although I understand his father has returned to London which usually signals Kell’s departure.”

  “They do not get along then?”

  Her question prodded his anger, though he struggled to ignore it. “That’s a colossal understatement.” If she was curious over the viscount, he would supply a short history. Perhaps then she would abandon her interest. “Kellaway’s parents are an anomaly in London. His mother is the Duke of Acholl’s only daughter. Her fiery red hair matches her volatile temperament, better suited for an actress than lady of dignity. Still she maintains a reputation of being high in the instep and demanding of all things. Kell’s father has been castrated by society’s pressures, most especially the influence and power of the duke. Acholl tugged on his leash hard a year back and now Kell’s father jumps to do his wife’s bidding though they’ve lived estranged for several years, reuniting to offer a pretense to society, while most everyone knows they prefer independent lives and private liaisons. The lady is as controlling of her husband as her father is of his son-in-law, thus Kell’s father lives a wretched existence and feels no guilt causing his son equal misery.”

  He paused to glance out the window and check their progress, not realizing how long he’d gone on.

  “They sound like terrible parents, although my childhood had its own hardships.” She, too, glanced to the window, eyeing the desolate sky.

  “Oh, they are well suited for each other, but poorly so for parenthood.” Jasper’s upbringing had been filled with laughter, love, and wonderful memories, at least those he could recall of his mother. His father had been his friend as much as his sire. “At least, Kell is an only child. I doubt his mother wanted any children. Meanwhile his father walks a fine line between wife and family. Encumbered by a severe limp, one would think he’d seek a more peaceful existence in his advanced years.”

  “A limp?” Her eyes matched his in avid attention.

  “Yes, a complicated injury during his childhood.” He shook his head to dismiss the conversation. “But let’s not spend our time together discussing unpleasant issues. I’m looking forward to this affair. Might I reserve the first waltz?”

  She smiled and it restored his hope for an enjoyable evening. Perhaps he’d been right to dispel her fascination of Kellaway with tangible fact.

  “Of course.”

  She might have said more, but the abrupt rocking of the carriage evoked a little laugh and minutes later they stood inside Lindsey Manor, the foyer pulsing with activity and the promise of evening reverie. Oliver found them right off and while Jasper did his best to introduce Miss Shaw to several acquaintances, he secretly wished they could forego all niceties and seek the ballroom where the orchestra played a lively tune. It remained his main objective, to once again hold Miss Shaw in the circle of his arms. When he might finally have accomplished his goal, of all people, Kellaway intersected their path.

  “Kell, you remember Miss Shaw?” He wondered if anyone could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  “How could I forget such rare loveliness?” Kellaway bowed low before taking her gloved hand, a kiss of greeting placed on her knuckles. “Another time, I will beg for a dance. As it is, I must take my leave.”

  “The evening’s just begun. Do you have to go so soon?” Miss Shaw’s question expressed all the regret Jasper lacked.

  “My apologies. Something has occurred that requires my immediate attention.” Kell caught Jasper’s eye in silent communication before bestowing a smile on the lady.

  He didn’t say more and vanished soon after, swallowed by the crowd who bustled through the corridor, anxious to take part in the ballroom festivities. Jasper watched Miss Shaw’s smile fall away. What was it about Kell that held her in such enthrallment?

  “Might we get a little air?”

  He had to lean closer to hear her over the revelers, but he didn’t mind, the delicate fragrance of her perfume a subtle reward. “Of course. Come this way.”

  He led them to a terrace on the far side of the house, away from the immediate activity and as he ushered her down the hall and out through the glass French doors, he wondered what she could be about. They’d only just arrived. Still they stood against the balustrade, the night air refreshing, and in the light of candlelit lanterns and the moon, he waited.

  “There’s something about Kellaway. I think I…”

  Her words weren’t what he expected. Don’t say you care for him.

  “Feel connected to him in a way I can’t explain.”

  He squared his shoulders, tugged at his cuffs. “Many ladies have fallen under the viscount’s spell.”

  “No, Jasper. You don’t understand.” She placed her hand on his forearm as if imploring him to listen.

  “I’m sure I do.” He placed his hand over hers, realizing belatedly he’d left his gloves in the carriage, but not regretting the error.

  “You couldn’t possibly.”

  The words were spoken in a whisper, but he didn’t miss them. Tipping her chin upward, he looked into her crystal blue eyes as they reflected lantern light, the stars, and moon glow. “What is it? You look as if you’re about to cry.”

  She blinked twice, though fresh tears welled right after, so he wrapped her in his embrace, considering how he’d wanted to hold her, cherish her, kiss her senseless and somehow through a strange twist of fate, he’d come to console her with little understanding why he was doing so.

  What was she doing? She hadn’t accepted this invitation to lament her mother’s melancholy. Nor worry over the strange apprehension she experienced whenever Kellaway stood near. The viscount was a handsome man. Dashing in all the predictable ways, but that wasn’t what pulled at her. It was something else. Something unanswered.

  And then, when Jasper mentioned Kell’s father having a limp, an image of her father crystallized with painful clarity. She squeezed her lids tighter. She didn’t want to think about her parents. She wanted to dance;
to rejoice in Jasper’s attention, to forget every dismal reason why she needed to escape her home, because the thoughts would return tomorrow. All the painful regrets and sorry realities would greet her when the morning sunshine slanted through the lace curtains of her bedchamber.

  But now, she had this night in the arms of a charming gentleman. Was it wrong to enjoy the evening before facing all the troubles that comprised her existence? Why waste this rare opportunity to escape for one night?

  When she’d formed the league, her goal was to teach self-sufficiency, not erase happiness. Establishing independence didn’t mean being alone. The difference in the two was as vast as the chasm of disappointment shown by her father. She wouldn’t fall through the crack this time.

  With this heart-stopping revelation, came another. She didn’t want to hold Jasper. She wanted, needed, to be held. To share her emotions within his warmth. The concession didn’t diminish her independence in the least. It strengthened her character, emboldened her resolve and reaffirmed her worth. A deep-seated calm overtook her disposition.

  Decision made, she vowed to shed the weight of her misery and surrender to her senses. The soft brush of fine wool against her cheek, the powerful security of being locked in Jasper’s embrace, the deliciously masculine smell of leather and shaving soap. She lost herself to these pleasures and relaxed against his chest, her ear pressed to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

  His arms locked tighter, as if he knew she needed to draw from his strength and he swayed the smallest movement, though the faintest whisper of music could be heard. She unfurled her hands from where she’d fisted them and placed her palms on his chest, tilting her face so she could look at him; positioned so intimately, the tip of her nose brushed his chin, the sensual touch sending a tremor of arousal to her soul.

  The position prevented her from reading his expression, his eyes shadowed by height and angle. She’d never been so close to a man, so intimate, nestled against his chest, and the thrill of the experience flared the remembrance of their kiss in the carriage until it rushed through her in a flash of anxious heat.

  This past afternoon, she’d held his face, drawn his mouth to hers as if grasping a lifeline. She’d never behaved so unabashed, so wanton…but glory, his kiss was heaven, a resurrection of hope.

  The clouds parted canting moonlight across the balcony and a subtle wind teased the ruffled sleeves of her gown. Her skin pricked to awareness, every sensation amplified.

  “Kiss me.” She whispered the words, trying them on her tongue before repeated the same with bold intention. “Kiss me. Please.”

  He shifted the slightest before he answered, his husky murmur adding to the magic of the night.

  “As I mentioned earlier, Miss Shaw, I am but your slave.”

  Chapter 18

  She asked for a kiss.

  One kiss.

  He would offer her an experience that dissolved any fantasy she’d dare dream.

  He lowered his mouth, mindful not to frighten the little bird about to leap from the nest, but oh, how he was wrong.

  At first her breath caught, her body tensed, as if in wait of the inevitable, but when his lips came down on hers, taking her mouth with the fervor raging in his veins, she was the one who stole his breath away.

  She tasted sweet and pure and wicked, if ever a combination was created, and he captured her closer, his hands sliding along her ribs, across silk and satin to reach the velvet of her skin, her bare shoulders, the line of her neck, cool against his fingertips. He pulled her closer still, striding backward, dragging them both to the shelter of the eaves, cloaking them in darkness as they dipped into sin. He could die from a kiss like this, perish from the pleasure.

  Her tongue, silky hot, played a game with his, pursuit and retreat, a duel of sorts, that sent electric sparks straight below, his pulse throbbing a mad chase, urging him for more. Her hands slid from his chest, upward across his neck cloth, to twine around his shoulders, her fingers locked in the hair at his collar. She held firm and he grew hard, the rustle of her skirts against his trousers a suggestion too much space remained between them.

  He remedied that.

  Angling his head, he recaptured her mouth in case she might pull away. He wasn’t finished yet. He might never finish, the soft sweet weight of her breasts against his coat, the tight hold of her fingers at his nape, all the more reason to continue. Desire hummed over his skin as if by new invention, the need and want, to taste, feel, explore. He shifted their positions in one fluid movement, her back to the smooth limestone wall, his body a shelter in dark secrecy.

  Some voice in his head told him to stop, to slow. She only asked for a kiss, but then her fingertips trailed his jaw, one curious touch to his lips, and he was lost to desire, no longer able to rein in, his brain scorched from reason, aware of nothing but rapacious longing and raw possession.

  Pins tumbled from her hair, the rasp of a low chuckle vibrating against the delicate skin of her neck where he trailed kiss after kiss, unable to resist nipping a taste. She made a sound of pure pleasure, deep, unwilling, in the back of her throat, while her hands grasped him tighter, his body pressed closer. How he’d dreamed of threading his fingers through her hair, its gossamer beauty meant to fan his bed pillows or trail across his chest during love play. He wrapped the length around his fist and gently tugged her mouth to his, then hesitated…her shallow breath against his lips the rarest aphrodisiac.

  Something about this woman released an ache within him, a yearning that begged to be fulfilled. He had no way to explain the phenomenon. It ignited the moment their eyes met and intensified into a white hot burn.

  Still, the kiss persisted. He captured her mouth in tender reverence, prolonging the pleasure, achingly slow torture as his tongue coasted over her lower lip, sucking, biting, just enough to produce a husky sigh of permission, while hot driving desire pulsed through him, settling in his cock, hard and unfulfilled.

  Again, that voice chided, he needed to stop despite blood drummed in his veins. He tempered his withdrawal, not wishing the moment to end, yet knowing he’d reached his breaking point. He released her mouth with reluctance.

  They stood quiet, heat radiating between them, words left unspoken, until reality intruded, the sound of a door opening and closing not far from where they stood.

  He reached to the left overhead and removed a lantern from the hook, holding it high so he could see her mussed hair, tousled sleeves, and passion-kissed lips. She never looked more beautiful, yet now any notion of reentering the festivities remained obliterated. He smiled despite himself.

  Pressing a kiss to her forehead, her eyes wide with curiosity, he strode to the marble balustrade and peered over the side. A scant three feet, give or take a yard. He set the lantern aside, braced a hand on the balustrade and launched over with ease. Miss Shaw scurried to the edge, seemingly concerned for his welfare. He gazed up at her, only a shade visible in the moonlight as he reached out, anxious they would escape the terrace, their luck already long overdrawn.

  “Take my hand. I’ll bring us around the front via the gardens and hail my driver before anyone discovers our indiscretion.” He voiced the husky command expecting sharp compliance.

  “We’re leaving?”

  Her astonished whisper prompted another grin.

  “You can’t possibly return inside looking all love-tumbled and delicious. I haven’t had a good fight in months, but I’d never be able to hold off the surge of randy cads when they gather an eyeful of you.”

  She answered his reply with a delighted giggle. Still, she hesitated.

  “Trust me.” The two words a resolute vow.

  She slid her hand into his grasp and leaned forward, hindered by indecision.

  “I have you, Miss Shaw.” You have me as well.

  Her silence didn’t bode well for his plan of escape. Then, when he was certain he would have to scale a trellis to return to the marble terrace, she gathered her skirts, shimmied her bottom atop the balustrad
e ledge, and leapt into his arms.

  He caught the glimmer of a smile, the night drawn in elegant navy, the candle glow emanating from the wall lanterns slanted at best. He tugged her toward the path, a glance over his shoulder securing she remained his companion in mischief, her profile completed with bemused expression, an image stolen from the pages of a childhood story, a beautiful vision of make believe. Objecting branches of honeysuckle trailed their sleeves as they discreetly accomplished the first corner of the estate, her heels a light cadence on the slates in contrast to the heavy beat of his heart. He paused to swish a wayward moth away from his ear and in the stillness he heard her soft exhales, her bemused expression, as if he could see her lovely smile without looking.

  They circled the property, held fast, palm to palm, and managed their furtive escape with minimal notice. Only a few servants raised a brow or stifled a smile, most others well trained to not see a thing while Jasper hailed his driver with prompt efficiency.

  Within the carriage, scarce words were exchanged and it added to the enchantment, the bewilderment of it all, that they’d left an affair minutes after arrival, and finding her in his arms, he’d lost a piece of his heart.

  She didn’t object when the carriage stopped before his apartments or when he dismissed the driver who might have otherwise returned her home. Anticipation, like a spark of ingenuity, urged he continue his journey of discovery.

  “We’re here.” He removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the paneled door to usher her inside. “Allow me to light the fire and lantern.” A gentle lambency soon illuminated the room.

  Near the fireplace, he made quick work of the task, one eye on Miss Shaw, still adorably mussed and that much more delectable. At first, she hardly moved over the threshold, but then like a bird who discovered the cage door left open, she took a tentative step and with confidence restored, set out to explore his sitting room. Her expression displayed puzzlement and he rose to gain a better view, unknotting his crushed cravat and tossing it aside, aware he appeared as disheveled as the room.