He kissed her.
She didn’t slap him.
Their mouths locked together as if designed by a master clockmaker never to part.
The waltz vanished. Her arms wrapped tight about his neck. His own wound about her waist, hauling her so close that every soft curve of her body pressed flush against every hard plane of his.
Inappropriate behavior. Scandalous behavior. Rakish behavior.
He could not stop. She tasted of sugar and citrus, sweet and refreshing. Her curves were heaven, and her embrace… When was the last time Titus had been embraced? He knew the exact date. The last warm hug he’d received had been the morning of the fateful crash. Ever since that day, few could bear to look straight at him, much less touch him. Many courtesans could not even hide their revulsion.
But Miss Dodd—Titus’s fair, mellifluous Mattie-Mat-Mat—somehow looked at her beast of a guardian and saw a man she wanted closer. A man she was glad to touch. A man she was eager to kiss.
And Titus… Good God, how was he supposed to defend himself against that?
He could try as much as he liked to keep her at arm’s length, but such effort was patently in vain. She’d ceased staying at a safe distance days ago.
Miss Dodd wasn’t attempting to breach his defensive walls. She was already holed down in the trenches with him. Snuggled close, with her hand held tight in his.
And as for teaching her a lesson…
It was Titus who was learning he was very much in far over his head.
Chapter 22
Matilda wrapped her arms about Gilbourne’s neck and kissed him for all she was worth. Not that she needed to hold on tight. He was holding on tight enough for both of them. She was up on her toes for politeness’ sake, but suspected she could lift them from the floor and not move an inch from his embrace.
Finally they were kissing again. She had wanted this ever since they first exchanged conspiratorial whispers behind the decorative potted plants in the Marrywell assembly room.
At the time, he’d looked like adventure. She wasn’t wrong—this was the best adventure she’d ever been on. But he was more than a passing moment. He was a person she admired, a gentleman whose compassionate heart always put others first, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He was a man full of depth and passion.
And he was kissing Matilda at last.
Of course she was ruined for all other men. Had been so, ever since the potted plants, long before she knew he was an earl and her temporary guardian. The only reason she cared about the opinions of his peers was because she wanted to make friends, not flirtations. When it came to future husbands, there was only one she wanted. The man whose mouth devoured hers, whose strong arms held her as though he feared she might dissipate like steam at any moment.
Marriage to him would be—
Gilbourne tore his lips from hers and all but dropped her onto the library floor.
“I’m sorry,” he panted, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he backed away. “We can’t. I can’t. It shan’t happen again.”
Before she could catch her breath and her balance—much less formulate a response—he yanked open the door, darted into the corridor, and slammed the door behind him.
Matilda brought her own hand to her lips. Not to wipe the kiss away, but to press it into her soul. She would keep that moment and their kiss with her for always. And Gilbourne as well, if he’d let her.
Not that it was looking likely.
The backs of her eyes stung. She dropped her hand from her tender mouth to fumble for a tiny square of candied peel. Orange this time. One of her favorites. But even its sugared citrus flavor could not return the usual smile to her lips.
She wanted Gilbourne to apologize for casting her aside, not for kissing her senseless. He’d left her standing here in an empty room feeling small and rejected. Her shoulders slumped. The truth was, it didn’t matter that he was more than good enough for Matilda.
She wasn’t good enough for him.
Only when her face lost its splotchy flush and her tight throat returned to normal did she open the door and venture out into the corridor herself.
There was no sign of Gilbourne, of course. Who knew when or if she would see him next. He certainly wouldn’t be sending away any more chaperones.
Nonetheless, she crept down the hall on silent feet. If he was lurking around one of these corners, she did not wish to startle him or send him scrambling away from her anew. She doubted she could weather that humiliation again.
