She knew he hadn’t meant to kiss her. Any moment now, he would realize their mistake and push her away.
But if he did not… This could be the beginning of a wonderful new adventure.
Chapter 3
Titus froze in place, not quite able to credit the sudden series of unlikely events that had led to the unlikeliest event of all.
First: Titus Noble, the man who refused to exit the safety of his home except to fulfill his duty in the House of Lords, had driven eight hours to a provincial village in Hampshire.
Second: This same man, who had vowed to live and die alone, was at the Marrywell annual matchmaking festival, of all places, to take possession of an unwanted ward.
Third: And this same man, who wrapped himself in protective layers of propriety, save the occasional perfunctory encounter with a paid courtesan with the curtains drawn and the candles blown out, was standing behind a potted fern in an ornately lit public ballroom, with his arms around a total stranger, whose rose-petal lips still pressed sweetly to his own.
Titus had to put a stop to the madness before it consumed him. And yet, peeling this baffling woman’s soft curves from the hard planes of his body did not appear to be a feat currently within his power to achieve.
It was the kiss’s fault.
He hadn’t meant to steal one. Or to have one stolen from him, as it were. Indeed, after the childhood accident, Titus had made it a lifelong practice not to allow his face within touching distance of anyone else’s. Which made this the first time anyone, anywhere, had ever kissed him on the lips.
Six-and-twenty years old. His first kiss. And no doubt, his final one.
By God, he would make it count.
Rather than push the pretty stranger from his chest, he cradled her closer. Angled his head. Increased the pressure. Coaxed her into parting those perfect lips. Melted inside.
Heaven help him, she tasted like candied citrus. Orange and lemon and sweet sugar. It was not a flavor he’d been expecting. Yet now that he’d tasted it, he ardently believed all first kisses should taste exactly like this one.
Her arms wrapped about him tighter. It felt like… a hug. His mind swam with dizziness. No one had ever held him before, not since he was a small child. His limited encounters with courtesans had involved the least amount of preamble possible. No one else but his valet was ever permitted to touch him.
That this woman did not even know his name was the only reason he was allowing the kiss to continue at all. Well, that, and the fact that he enjoyed the feel of… everything about her. The softness of her body, the warmth of her curves, the eagerness of her mouth beneath his, the sugared spice of her kisses.
If they were anywhere else—and if Titus were anyone else—he would wish to continue kissing her indefinitely. Was tempted to do just that, here in this ballroom, behind a row of ferns that in no way provided the same privacy as a brick wall and a locked door.
It was the threat of someone else’s gaze intruding, more than anything, that caused him to at last remove her from his arms and set her at a safe distance.
“That was very foolish,” he told her repressively. Or perhaps he was reminding himself.
Her mouth looked plump and freshly kissed, and her warm brown eyes sparkled unrepentantly. “You stole the second kiss.”
“You started it.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
Yes. A fair point, one which he would examine in great detail later. In between reliving every moment of that extraordinary kiss.
“I’m putting a stop to it now,” he said firmly. “This is a ballroom, not a—”
Blast. The floppy strands of a trio of bouncing ostrich feathers was approaching the row of potted plants. Somehow, his godmother had managed to sniff out Titus’s concealed location, and was heading in this direction with his unwanted new ward in tow.
“Go back the way you came. Hurry.” He spun the pretty stranger back toward the refreshment table whilst he took a frantic step sideways out from the line of plants.
It was too late.
“There you are, Titus,” said his beaming godmother, in a voice loud enough to carry all the way to London. “I see you’ve met your ward.”
Chapter 4
Titus stared at his godmother in horror. Then he stared at his—ward?—in horror. Then he closed his horrified eyes and lifted his grimacing face toward the heavens as if he could undo the last fifteen minutes of folly with the power of his will.
