ShedesiredViscount Wilton.
What in heaven’s name was she to do with this knowledge?
“You are quite welcome,” she said, screwing the lid atop the pot of Lady Perfect’s before extending it to him. “You may have this if you would like. My lady’s maid brought a spare along for the trip.”
Why am I giving him my cold cream?
Why do I burn to kiss him again?
Wilton accepted her offering, his fingers brushing hers as he took the pot from her and slipped it inside a pocket in his coat. “I appreciate your generosity, my lady. Now, if I recall correctly, you owe me something.”
Irritating man. The rash on his chin and upper lip and the sheen of cold cream should have detracted from his allure, and yet they did not.
It was her turn to raise a brow. “What do I owe you?”
“Your confirmation that you are Flora. Our bargain was that I would allow you to use your sorcery upon me, and in exchange, you would admit the truth.”
He was not wrong, curse him.
“You owe me an answer as well,” she pointed out.
“That was hardly an even exchange. An answer from me and your potion in exchange for one concession from you.” He shook his head. “Allowing you to smear cream on my chin ought to suffice.”
“You cannot change a bargain after it has been struck.”
“Tell me you are Flora.”
“Tell me why you are so fixed upon finding a bride.” Why was she curious, anyway? It hardly mattered.
And yet, she wanted to know.
“Tell me.” He stepped closer.
Scarcely any space between them now.
“You first.” She was entering dangerous territory, and she knew it.
He was going to kiss her.
She sensed the change, the spark. She had time to move. To step away. To gather her wits and flee the library.
Instead, she settled her hands on his shoulders and turned her face up to his. He cupped her cheek and lowered his head. Their lips collided, the viscount taking care to keep from smearing the cold cream on her mouth as they kissed. It was sweet and not nearly as carnal as those kisses in the gardens. She wanted more.
While every instinct within urged her to end this nonsense, her body was not listening to reason. She hungered for this man in a way that took her by surprise. Charity rose on her toes to press her lips more firmly to his and used her tongue to trace the seam.
On a growl, he opened to her, deepening the kiss. The scent of orange and rose mingled with musky man, and this, too, heightened her awareness of him. More sparks. More warmth. More blistering, unfettered longing.
What was it about him?
I do not like this man, she reminded herself yet again.
And yet, it did not matter. Nothingdidmatter but more of his lips on hers. More kisses.
Abruptly, he raised his head, his gaze searing hers. “Tell me you are Flora.”
This could be a fun game. “Who is Flora?”
He kissed her again.
