“He will,” he reaffirmed.
She gave him a hard look. “Is my sister alone with him now?”
“I do not know.” That, at least, was complete honesty. He knew not where the devil Ash had gone. All he did know was that neither Miss Prudence nor his brother had been present in the drawing room earlier.
“Gill.” She squeezed his hand, as if in warning.
“Christabella.” He squeezed back and thought about kissing her, to erase all the questions from her sweet lips.
How odd it was to think their mouths had met. That he had held her in his arms. That he spoke to her, without the affliction rendering him mute. So much had changed in the course of this house party.
Everything had changed.
She was watching him now, her stare curious. Probing. Intense.
He stared back, and his heart pounded, but not with anxiety. Rather, with sensual intent. Their palms remained sealed, fingers laced.
“If Lord Ashley is a rotten cad, I will never forgive you for your interference,” she warned.
“He is not a rotten cad.” On this, he was certain.
Just as he was certain that he was about to kiss her yet again.
“But I do think it is sweet of you to want to see your brother happily settled.” She paused, eying him shrewdly. “And I do think it was sweet of you to check on me, even if you should never have come here to my chamber.”
Progress, so it seemed.
“How is your ankle?” he asked again, for he had not forgotten her injury.
A small smile flirted with her lips. “It only pains me when I stand on it for too long. I am quite able to walk about, however. Fortunately, the damage was of a temporary rather than permanent nature.”
“Pity,” he said, eyeing her mouth. “I rather enjoyed carrying you about in my arms.”
Her lips parted. “Oh.”
Had he rendered her speechless? Feeling as if he had won the greatest battle of a war, Gill leaned into her, lowering his head. The sweet scent of summery blossoms and Christabella hit him. “But I am glad your ankle is not paining you now nearly as much as it was earlier.”
She swallowed, looking suddenly vulnerable and unlike her bold, assured self. “Why is that?”
“Because that means I can kiss you again.” And with that, he lowered his head the rest of the way and pressed his lips to hers.
Chapter Eight
Gill was kissingher.
In her chamber.
Kissing her madly, passionately, and deliciously.
He had released her hand, and now he cupped her face instead, angling her to him. There was none of the initial hesitance in this kiss. There was only urgency. Full, unadulterated need. A need that echoed within her, in her core. In the wicked place she had read about inThe Book of Loveagain and again. The place where he had touched her, only deeper still.
Her flirtation with him was growing dangerous, that much was certain. Dangerous because instead of recalling she had spent the last few years of her life swooning over the notion of being seduced by a rake, all she could think of now was the man kissing her.
The Duke of Coventry.
A man who had never kissed until a few days ago.
She could hardly tell so now, for he was kissing her as if his very life depended upon it, and she was kissing him back with the same desperation. The same fervor.Heavens, she would collide with Lady Adele a hundred times over as long as each instance led to this, Gill finding her alone, sitting so near to her she could see every fleck of color in his beautiful eyes and smell his musky citrus scent. Just so she could tangle her fingers in his and chat with him, unencumbered.
