Of course it couldn’t, the silly man. He was the only one she wanted. The only one she had ever wanted. But she didn’t dare say so.
“No,” she agreed.
He nodded. “It’s decided, then. We have an understanding.”
Anunderstanding. Was that what gentlemen called it? How polite. Rhiannon wouldn’t know, of course. She was a lady. Shehad been raised to be a man’s wife rather than his mistress. Unfortunately for her, the one man she loved and longed for didn’t want a wife.
She stared at Richford, wondering if she was dreaming, scarcely aware of the picture she must present, her bodice gaping at the back, her hair half-unbound as she had thrown hairpins in all directions, cursing herself and him and the world.
“We have an understanding,” she repeated.
He hauled her into his arms, bringing her body flush against his. “Only until this house party is at an end.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
Because after this, she would have to return to her life in London. She would have to become someone else’s wife. This was all she could have. Richford.Hers.For a few days and no more. It seemed an impossible dream, and yet, here he was, his heat searing her body.
“I’m only doing this to protect you,” he said fervently, searching her gaze as if he were seeking something of the utmost importance.
If that was what he wanted to tell himself, who was she to disabuse him of the notion?
“Of course,” she agreed easily. “And I am only doing this so that I can experience passion before I marry Carnis.”
“Don’t say his name again,” Richford growled, his lips painfully close to hers. “Not while you’re in my arms.”
“Never.” She was the first to move, her mouth seeking his.
“Damn you,” he growled in the moment before their lips met.
In a heartbeat, their mouths were sealed.
The kiss was potent and hot and bittersweet. It was everything she had ever wanted a kiss to be, and yet, it was also somehow everything she had never known was possible. His lips crashed over hers, moving softly, demanding yet seeking.She opened for him, her tongue meeting his. He tasted like champagne and temptation, and all she wanted was more.
No, not just more.
All he had to give.That was what she wanted from Richford. What she needed. What she had been longing for all these years spent admiring him from afar. Now, he was here. In her room, his tongue in her mouth, his lips on hers.
Hers.
That was what he was, and even if it was to last for naught more than a few days, she would seize it. Her hands found his shoulders first, her fingers digging into powerful muscle, holding him to her.
“Rhiannon,” he murmured into her mouth, half groan, half plea.
One of his hands slipped inside the partially undone halves of her bodice, his fingers skimming over the space between her shoulder blades. Though their skins were separated by a thin layer of cotton chemise, it was as if he had rained fire into her soul, into the very heart of her.
But this wasn’t fair. She wanted to touch him too. And she wanted his name. His given name, which she was shocked to realize she didn’t know. He had always simply been Richford to her.
“What is your name?” she asked, lips moving against his.
He paused, removing his lips from hers a scant space before answering, “Aubrey.”
Aubrey.
Rhiannon needed to form her tongue around that name, to give voice to this sudden alteration in what and who they were to each other. But he was kissing her again, so she decided to save it for later, when his mouth wasn’t on hers, stealing her ability to think. She held on to him, leaning into him. Everywhere theytouched, she was aflame. Her breasts into his chest, her hips into his, even with her cumbersome skirts twisting between them.
His hands traveled, finding her half-undone buttons.
He broke the kiss, staring down at her with raw, naked hunger. “Turn.”
