Perhaps accidentally. Perhaps inevitably. But she was going to do it in front of the entire room, under the watchful eyes of every gossip-monger in the county, while the matchmaking aunts took mental notes for future schemes.
A ripple of nerves skittered across her skin.
Her hands felt oddly warm, her breath unexpectedly shallow. An entirely foreign question whispered in the back of her mind:What if this is unwise?
Immediately she recognized the absurdity of her own thoughts! Of course it was unwise. She had known that from the moment she stood. Yet something deeper—something she refused to examine too closely—suggested she had crossed a line she could not uncross.
Lady Beatrice lifted her hands, remaining silently in that strange and unnaturally theatrical position for the longest moment. Then, she abruptly and with great fanfare lowered her arms with a whoosh.
“Begin!”
Jillian leaned forward and took her first small nibble of ribbon.
Her heart thudded once, hard, against her ribs.
And the world shifted?—
—just enough for the story to belong to someone else.
Miles had faced downfierce enemies, storms at sea, a runaway carriage, and his cousin Henry’s attempts at hedoinistic instruction in their younger days, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of Jillian Hale stepping forward to volunteer for the Rabbit Kiss.
The moment she said the words, an anticipatory stillness swept the room, like those about to witness some grand spectacle, and Miles felt something inside him jolt with a force that stole his breath. The sensation was neither relief nor alarm but some incendiary combination of both. For a suspended instant, he wondered if she were doing it to humiliate him in some new and inventive way. But when he looked at her—really looked—he saw determination, annoyance, and beneath it all, a flicker of something far more dangerous.
She took her position opposite him with a composure he found unnervingly impressive. Her chin lifted the barest degree, her shoulders straightening, her gloved fingers steady as they adjusted their grip on the satin cord that would now forever bind their names together. The plucked curl brushing her cheek made her appear almost vulnerable, an absurdly dangerous thought that he immediately dismissed.
Lady Beatrice cried, “Begin!”
Jillian leaned forward.
Miles felt his pulse stutter as she lifted the silk to her lips, the crimson hue nearly the same color as her slightly bee-stung pout.
She took a tiny nibble, barely reducing the length of the ribbon. He responded with the same restraint, as though they both understood that a reckless bite would end the game far too soon. It would draw them too close. And he had no desire to let half the county witness his reaction to such closeness.
Yet the game pushed them forward, inch by maddening inch as the clock on the mantle ticked off the time. One wrong move and everything would escalate far too quickly.
He took another bite. Their faces moved nearer.
Jillian did the same.
The ribbon quivered between them, trembling faintly each time her breath touched it. Her lips were partially obscured by the satin, but the plush shape of them—the soft, determined curve—was unmistakable. He should not have been looking. He knew better than to let his gaze linger. But the movement of her mouth drew him with an inexorable pull that unsettled him to his bones.
Her lashes lowered as she leaned in again.
The space between them narrowed to the width of a breath, along with an unmistakable realization. Not even a full minutehad passed and already the length of ribbon was less than half its original dimension. A kiss was inevitable.
His heartbeat thundered against his ribs, loud enough that he feared someone might actually hear it. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, to give in to the strange heat beginning to coil low in his stomach. He told himself he would feel nothing—could feel nothing—for her. They were adversaries. Rivals forced into proximity by meddling relatives and a truce that served only to protect them from matchmaking meddlers who were incapable of minding their own affairs.
But the ribbon grew shorter.
Another nibble.
Her breath fanned his lips.
Another.
Heat swept through his chest.
Another.
