Chapter Three
He was kissingMiss Prudence Winter.
The woman his brother had chosen as his future duchess.
Anddamn, what a muddle. He would never be able to look upon her without recalling the soft give of her lips beneath his. Without knowing how she tasted—of hot chocolate and everything forbidden. Without remembering how good her body felt in his arms—all lithe curves, long legs, and sinful woman.
But her mouth was pliant and warm beneath his. The fire ignited in his blood was undeniable. And although he knew he was casting a dark mark upon his soul, he could not stop. One of his hands cupped her face, the silken skin of her cheek burning into him like a brand. The other had settled upon her waist, drawing her more firmly against him.
This kiss was unlike any other he had ever experienced. She had opened for him instantly, on a sweet sigh of surrender. A sigh that echoed straight through him. Though he was not a man given to maudlin sentiment, he could not shake the notion that this moment, this woman, this kiss had been meant to be. He had never been overwhelmed by mere kisses before.
But he was now. Everything was Prudence Winter: the sweet smell of a sunlit garden in bloom, the sound she made when his tongue slid deeper into the honeyed depths of her mouth, the warmth and vibrancy of her beneath his hands.
Ash had a new problem.
An even bigger problem than Miss Prudence Winter.
He could not stop kissing her. His sense of honor attempted to intervene. He was dimly aware of the sound of something thudding to the floor. Perhaps the book she had been so bloody determined to keep from him? He forgot to care when, in the next moment, her arms wound around his neck.
She pressed herself closer, her breasts crushing into his chest. And she kissed him back. Kissed him as if she were starved for him. Her tongue moved against his. The fusing of their mouths turned carnal. His cock strained against the fall of his breeches, and every part of him thundered with a rare and raw desire so visceral, his ballocks tightened.
Good God, he had been right when he had told Gill he had gone too long without a woman.
Damnation.
Gill.
His brother.
His brother who wanted to marry the woman in Ash’s arms. The woman whose mouth he was currently ravishing.
Guilt slammed into Ash. He forced himself to end the kiss. To lift his head.
Miss Prudence Winter’s gaze was glazed. Her berry-red lips were swollen and darker, marked by their shared kisses. Her slack countenance was an ode to passion. Lust hit him like a runaway horse, wild and uncontrollable. Everything in him was roaring for more.
But he was also disgusted with himself.
What had he done?
How could he kiss his brother’s future bride? And, worse, how could he secretly long to lift her skirts and take her for his own? How could he long for her with such desperation, his body ached, and he was closer than a hairsbreadth to discarding the last shred of his restraint and taking her maidenhead before his brother could?
He swallowed down a knot of bile and forced a feigned smile to his lips. “There you are, Miss Winter. Persuasion.”
He did his best to pretend the kiss had not just altered everything he knew about himself. As if he did not want to do it again. And again. And again. As if he did not find her maddeningly tempting and utterly delicious. As if the only honor he had believed himself to possess—loyalty to his brother—had just fled.
“You ought not to have done that,” she murmured, her voice sounding unsteady.
On that, they were in complete accord, he thought grimly.
“Forgive me,” he managed to say. “That was unconscionable of me. I was attempting to return the favor of your lessons, and I got…carried away by the moment.”
Carried away was putting it mildly. What a blighter he was.
She did not offer her answer immediately.
Ash forced himself to turn his attention to something else—anything—aside from the kisses he had just shared with Miss Prudence Winter. Instead, he seized upon the notion of the book, which had dropped at some point during their mad kisses. He stepped back, releasing her, and adjusted his coat to make certain it fell over his straining cockstand before lowering his gaze to the floor.
He spied the book instantly. When it had fallen, it cracked open, leaving two pages on display. And on the pages was an engraving. He sank to his haunches, reaching for it as shock lanced through him.
