Before she could say more, a flurry of footsteps in the gravel broke the silence, along with a low, husky laugh and the undeniable sound of kissing.Good heavens.Not only were they not alone in the gardens, but their fellow guests were up to mischief.
Mischief?
Christ.Since when had he become the spinster duenna of this entire affair? He would have been disgusted were he not so cognizant of the fact that if they did not wish to chance being caught alone togetheragain, they had to move.
“Come,” he whispered, offering her his arm. “We’ve got to make our way out of here before we are seen.”
She took it and clung to him as the footsteps came nearer.
Another low round of female chuckles and a masculine growl split the night.
Chapter 6
“Locked,” Dorset announced grimly.
They had spent an indeterminate span of time wandering through the moonlit gardens in an effort to avoid being caught alone together. For part of the time, she had been convinced they were lost. The marquess, however, had been adamant they were not.
“Are you certain this is the east wing?” she asked him, biting her lip to keep from saying more.
She was reasonably certain they were at the west wing of the manor house.
“This is the conservatory,” he insisted. “These doors were open during Lady Fangfoss’s Mandatory Fun Friday last.”
“It looks more like the library to me,” she could not help but to counter. “The conservatory is all windows, and not nearly so much stone.”
“I am utterly certain this is the conservatory.”
She pursed her lips. “You were also certain we were not heading into the maze earlier, and yet we were.”
He sighed. “Need you remind me?”
“I was merely pointing out that you are not a perfect navigator.”
He cast a glance over his shoulder as he toyed with the door handles. Although his face was primarily shadowed, she swore his emerald gaze burned her through the darkness. “I am anexcellentnavigator.”
“If you were excellent at navigating, we would not have spent the last hour wandering through Miss Julia’s gardens.”
“She is Lady Fangfoss now,” he reminded her, as if the distinction were of any import in this moment.
“What does it matter?” She frowned at him. “We are still trapped outside the house, alone in the dark, our reputations at stake.”
“You are being unnecessarily dramatic, my dear. We will find our way into the house one way or another.”
“I hardly think I am being dramatic, unnecessarily or otherwise,” she said, gathering steam. “Indeed, I—”
But her words were smothered in the next moment.
By the Marquess of Dorset’s lips.
Sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him back seemed like the only sensible option. The night cloaked them in velvety darkness. His masculine scent teased her senses. He was so strong and warm. He tasted of sweet wine with a hint of the bite of tobacco. Strangely, she did not mind it on him.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, and she opened. Oh, this was wicked. He kissed marvelously well. And those kisses lit fires within her.
Raging, furious fires.
She became aware of her body in a new way. Mayhap it was the silvery moonlight. Mayhap it was the sudden quiet. Mayhap it was the fact that they were alone, no one about to burst upon them. Whatever the reason for her reaction to Dorset’s kiss, she could not say. All she did know was that she had not felt such heat, from head to toe, in…
Ever.
