What was that? A night bird? Perhaps another lonely wallflower like herself, no longer able to stand one more minute in the company of so many laughing, smiling people having the best night of their lives.
She had to leave the walking path to investigate the strange rustling, but who cared? No one was here to see her. Even if this was a wild goose chase, no one would miss her. She could use a few moments of distraction from—
Reuben Medford! It was not a bird lurking behind the hedgerow, but the handsome gentleman every woman in the ballroom had been ogling!
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean…”
“To keep me waiting?” he purred, giving her a slow, wicked smile so hot it melted the ribbons off Gladys’s gown. “I’ve been dying to do this all night.”
With that, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Chapter 2
Her first sensation was warmth. A full-body hug of delicious, forbidden heat. His lips were hot against hers, his arms wrapped tight around her in an unmistakably possessive embrace.
Which brought Gladys to the second sensation: strength. Reuben Medford was positively made of muscle. Oh, he wasn’t bulky or brawny, with limbs shaped like links of bulging sausage, but every bit of him was taut and firm and solid. She didn’t feel mauled by his touch. She felt protected. Which was yet another sensation she wasn’t certain she’d ever felt before.
No one had ever cradled her like this. As if she was delicate and precious and irreplaceable. As though touching her was a gift to be cherished, and her mouth a delectable treat to savor.
The combination was overwhelming. Not only could Gladys now perfectly understand the silly girls who swooned at the first brush of lips against theirs… but now she could not comprehend how anyone managed to stay upright and sensible with so many new feelings assailing them at once.
As if sensing her imbalance, Mr. Medford backed onto a wide stone bench and pulled Gladys down onto his lap, all without breaking the kiss.
How he’d managed it, she had no idea. Her befuddled brain could not process puzzles of logic at the moment. All of her thoughts were variations of He’s kissing me! and He’s still kissing me! and I like this! followed quickly by I like him! and He likes me, too!
She could scarcely fathom that he’d secretly been watching her, just as she’d been watching him.
“I’ve been dying to do this all night” were his exact words. Dying to wrap his arms around Gladys and kiss her senseless! Him! Her!
Obviously she was going to have to politely decline Mr. Alsop’s begrudging proposal. He was more likely to kiss the hallowed dirt in Wales than show Gladys even a fraction of Mr. Medford’s passion. Now that she knew what a husband’s embrace could be like, she could not bear the thought of subjecting herself to six decades of loneliness and isolation.
Not when she could be in a marriage like… this.
Giddiness overtook her, as though she’d drunk far too much ratafia, despite not having imbibed a single drop. There was no trace of alcohol in her system. It was Mr. Medford who made her feel drunk, each kiss more intoxicating than the last.
She hoped he would never stop, and didn’t know how to say so—or even if she should. She might have practiced every step of every dance in hopes of one day being invited onto the floor, but she didn’t have the least notion what to do in a situation like this. All she could do was grip his arms and hold on tight as he kissed her.
Phase one: look approachable. Accomplished. Full marks. She’d looked so approachable, he’d literally plucked her up off the grass and into his waiting arms. When it came to Mr. Medford, Gladys was the supreme empress of looking approachable. Huggable. Kissable. Irresistible.
So… what followed? She had never achieved phase one before, and had no idea what steps to take next. Kiss him back was the obvious answer, which she was doing with every fiber of her being.
She had no experience in these matters, which meant she was essentially copying his moves, pressing harder when he did, softer when he relaxed. Parting her lips when he did, opening her mouth like he did, losing her bloody mind when the tip of his tongue brushed hers and electrified every nerve ending throughout her body.
She was almost certain Mr. Alsop had no idea how to kiss like this, and even if he thought he did, he would be nowhere near as competent in the matter as Mr. Medford. Gladys was practically a puddle in this gentleman’s arms, and he still found ways to stoke the heat even higher. Even her nipples were reacting to the kiss, pushing out through the fabric of her bodice as though they too wished to rub themselves against Mr. Medford’s sensual tongue.
He hadn’t paused once. Hadn’t checked his pocket watch, glanced over her shoulder, or tapped his foot with impatience. She wasn’t boring him unconscious. By all appearances, there was nowhere Mr. Medford would rather be, and nothing Mr. Medford would rather do, than sit here on this hard stone bench in the middle of a chilly night with tiny, mousy Gladys Bell perched on his lap.
Panic crept beneath the pleasure of his kisses. Mr. Medford had given her more attention in the past ten minutes than her one-and-only suitor intended to show her in their entire shared lifetimes. She couldn’t lose it. Not this passion, not these kisses, and certainly not Mr. Medford.
He was supposed to be untouchable—yet here he was, touching her. Gladys was doing what every other wallflower had only dreamed of. What she had only dreamed of. Now, how could she keep the dream from ending?
One kiss wasn’t enough. According to Mother, this meant Mr. Medford had selected her to be his bride. Even the wallflowers had said he was on the hunt for a wife. Why he’d set his sights on Gladys, she could not fathom, but she was determined not to lose his attention now that she had it.
Not because Mr. Medford was handsome or wealthy or a potential future viscount, but because he saw her. Because he picked her. Because he wanted her and found her desirable.
All of which required immediate action.
If Gladys didn’t secure an official marriage proposal, here and now, in the morning it would be too late. Mr. Alsop would show up at the hotel willing to saddle himself with Gladys if it meant getting his hands on the pasture in Wales, and Gladys’s father would sign the betrothal contract without blinking an eye.
