“Well, you did,” she said, blinking.
“I didnot,” he protested. “And that would have been bad enough, but then peopleheard him, including his damned family, who then started barking about it to anyone who would listen. The whole thing spread faster than the fire did.”
“Yes, gossip does that,” she said, very clearly trying not to laugh at him again.
“Why didn’t they knight bloody Zeller?” he demanded. “He saved my life, didn’t he? Why weren’t we both up there getting sworded by the queen?”
“Well, you would have had to nominate him, darling,” she told him in her governess voice, like she was soothing a tantrum. “You still could, if you wish.”
He paused, stunned for a moment by the possibility. “Could I?”
“Yes,” she said, watching him. “Don’t.”
“But I could?”
“Ambrose.”
He grinned at her. Then he yawned. He yawned like someone had thrown the yawn at him from across the room with violent force.
That actually did make her laugh, her hand coming up over her mouth as she did it.
“You’re going to sleep here tonight,” she informed him, gesturing to a sofa in the corner of the room. “You can go home in the morning. I hear you sleep fine on assorted furniture.”
“But you have a bed,” he said, inching forward, his fingers reaching toward her skirt again. “You’re almost my wife, aren’t you?”
“Almost,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, you once expressed concern for my reputation, and now I have to think about it, so no bed for you.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Very cruel. May I at least have a blanket?”
“I suppose,” she said, standing before he could get a good grip on that skirt of hers. “Come on.”
He looked at her offered hand, still clad in a satin glove, and wrapped his fingers around it, heaving himself to his feet. He then, conveniently, lost his balance a little, and had to wrap his arms around her to steady himself, pulling her up against him with firm precision, quite at odds with how unsteady he evidently was.
“Ah,” he said, tutting at himself as he slid his hands along the curve of her back to rest at her hips, tilting his head down to look into her face. “Clumsy.”
She was very still, not even breathing, clearly shocked to have been gathered up like this. He smiled at her, smugness tugging at the corners of his lips as he filled his palms with the cool satin covering those swinging hips that had been tormenting him for half the night.
Her gloved hands were caught together against his chest, her fingers turned inward, wrists pressed together. When she finally did draw a breath in, she did so shakily, and did not otherwise move out of his grasp.
It was all he needed.
He dipped his head down to capture those lips, at long last, against his own, a little groan of satisfaction escaping his throat as he did. They were exactly as soft, as full, as pillowy as he had imagined, tasting faintly of champagne and something deeper, like berries that had been grown in the dark shade of her aspirations of revenge.
She kissed him back, her lips moving against his, her mouth parting for his tongue when he flicked it curiously against the line of her bottom lip.
He did not release her, gathering her closer as he tilted his head and indulged, slowly, in tasting her. He was not demanding or ravenous. He was instead grateful to be granted this taste of something divine, something sweet that promised much, much more.
When he pulled back, his eyes half lidded and his blood singing, he found her staring up at him wide-eyed, looking far younger and more innocent than he had ever seen her before.
“That,” he said, “was your first kiss. I will not hear otherwise.”
She blinked, licking the taste of him along the seam of her lips, and nodded.
“Yes,” she said softly, staring up at his face in a kind of awe. “Yes, I think it was.”
PART III
THIS IS NOT AFFECTION
