Worse than that, she wantedmore. More than a stolen moment, a forbidden dance. She wanted to press her mouth to his, to press her entire body to his, to show him without words how close she truly longed to be.
His eyes lowered to her parted lips. “What if the gentleman should try to kiss you?”
“I’ve dreamt of it,” she whispered. Her heart fluttered at the shock of admitting the truth aloud. At the dizzy realization that he had shown no sign of wishing to release her from his arms. “But we cannot.”
His gaze heated. “I would like to see someone try and stop us.”
But he lowered his mouth to hers ever so slowly, giving her every opportunity to turn away.
Her only desire was to pull him closer.
His warm lips brushed hers, seeking, teasing, stoking a fire she had tried so hard to control. Passion engulfed her.
Nora closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment.
This was the opposite of platonic. This was fireworks at Vauxhall, a storm crashing at sea, rainbows soaring across the heavens.
She couldn’t keep him. They both knew he could not offer anything more permanent than this moment. She herself would be gone soon. Surely there could be no harm in indulging herself with a simple kiss.
His tongue touched hers. Liquid fire raced through her. He tasted as dark and sweet as mulberry jam, and just as addicting. She would never have enough. Her entire body trembled in pleasure.
Girls like her knew better than to believe in love. That was a fairy story that only happened on paper, like the secret drawings of herself on a real dance floor rather than watching from the shadows.
But this,this, was even better. His kiss was deeper, richer, a maelstrom of color and lights, texture and heat. He made her want things she knew she could never have. If she let herself float away on the magic of his kiss, she might start to believe she could keep him.
With the heat of their bodies cleaved together in a kiss this intimate, they were two brushstrokes blended into one, a single work of art. The thought of pulling away filled her with more dread than she could bear.
Captain Pugboat’s loud barks were the only thing capable of jerking her back down from the clouds.
She lurched away from Mr. Grenville just as Lady Roundtree called groggily from the other room, “If you can’t teach His Highness to heel, can you teach him to be quiet?”
Mr. Grenville wasn’t looking at the puppy, but at Nora. His expression was still dangerously warm and tender. His lips less than a breath away.
“Oh dear,” Nora interrupted briskly before he could say something they would both regret. “I’ve mussed your cravat.”
He made an endearingly aghast expression. “Blast, I’ve no idea how to fix it. I’m hopeless at such things.”
“Then you are in luck.” Nora grinned up at him shyly. “I am my brother’s valet.”
She reached up with trembling fingers and coaxed the wrinkled linen back into sharp folds. His heart pounded against the brush of her hands, matching the quickened rhythm of her own pulse.
All she wanted to do was toss his neckcloth aside and pull his mouth back down to hers.
“There.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Good as new.”
Nora suspected that she, on the other hand, was forever ruined for any other man but him.
Chapter 19
Heath glanced at his reflection in the sitting room looking-glass, expecting to find the guilty eyes and flushed cheeks of a blackguard who had just been kissing lips that could never belong to him.
To his surprise, the calm, aristocratic façade in the mirror in no way betrayed the turmoil churning within him.
He didn’t know what made him feel worse: that he had succumbed to the call of passion in the heat of the moment, or that his reflection didn’t appear flustered about it in the least.
He turned to Miss Winfield.
She had not fared as well. Her fair cheeks were delightfully rosy, and her full lips looked plump and freshly kissed.
