She still was. But looking at her now, he could see what he didn’t know back then. It wasn’t arrogance that made her so resistant to conforming to society’s rules or her aunt’s machinations, but fear. She wanted control. She’d lost so much so young, and she was looking for something she could hold on to. But as a woman, very little was hers.
That, he realized now, was why she needed him. Not to simply watch over her, distant and aloof. She needed him to match her courage and to stand with her. He grazed her cheek with his thumb and focused on her mouth. She licked her lips.
He drew in a breath, calming the raging seas inside him. To do this he needed all of his restraint and a clear head.
“I’m going to kiss you. Just this once. That will be the intimate knowledge we have of each other. It may help with the way we act around each other when we need to be a couple.”
Or hinder it.
She sucked in a breath. “Mr. Blakewood—Graham,” she said breathily. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“Absolutely not. Nothing we’re doing here is remotely intelligent. But we’ve crossed that bridge. There is no going back.”
She nodded unconvincingly. “Very well.” She closed her eyes, her lips pressing together like she was bracing herself for something unpleasant.
“Is this your first kiss?” Graham asked huskily, biting back a smile. Need and desire sank low in his belly. He had to hold tight to his chains.
“Don’t make a scene about it, but yes. The first rule my brother ever gave me was ‘don’t let the lads kiss you.’”
Graham wanted to laugh. If only Alston knew what they were doing now. He’d kill Graham.
Graham braced himself, intent on giving her a light kiss. Something delicate and sweet. But as soon as his lips brushed hers, all that flew out the window. He didn’t expect her to kiss him back, but she molded her mouth to his. A soft sound came from her throat as she leaned into the kiss, like she’d done this before, like she’d kissed him a thousand times.
Chapter Fifteen
Amelia’s heart tookflight as Graham’s lips touched hers. She should have been shocked. Nervous. But she felt none of that. His mouth was familiar, safe, soothing, and so much more. Had she done this before? In a dream she couldn’t remember? She’d never, for the life of her, wanted to kiss Graham any more than she’d wanted to kiss a fish.
But now she couldn’t stop. The warm, pliant, silky softness of his lips lured her in. Why were his lips so soft? And had they always been this full? She couldn’t remember. The longer they kissed, the more her mind fragmented into a prism of colors and feelings that swept her thoughts away.
They should stop. Theymuststop. But then his fingers dug into her hair, pulling her close. She held the lapels of his coat, the warmth coming from his body drawing her into his embrace. His lips did not part. She knew there were some forms of kissing that involved tongues and thrusting. She’d heard about that, but this kiss was not like that. It was... addicting. Their mouths moved together, molding, shifting, and pressing, like dancing. Her breaths grew sharp and quick, and his scent filling her head.
She slid her arms over his shoulders and mimicked him, slipping her fingers into the short hair at his nape. He made asound deep in his throat, dark and needy. Heat pooled inside her, that sound sending thrilling shivers right to her—
Amelia suddenly pulled away, afraid of what that sound meant, terrified of what it had made her feel. She broke the kiss, stepping back until her shoulders met the wall, and she held the back of her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t look at him, only the plain silver pin in his cravat.
She’d certainly gained enough knowledge. More than enough. She’d never look at Graham Blakewood the same again, knowing what his kiss felt like, what his hands in her hair could do to her, and the noises he made.
“That’s enough,” she said. “I’m going to change. See to Sam.”
He didn’t reply as she darted past him.
Her heart pounded as she reached the end of the hall, climbing the back stairs through the shadows until she reached her room. The clock struck the hour, and eleven chimes filled her room.
Fran was there. She set a book down and stood.
“How was the musicale?” she asked. She gestured for Amelia to the stool at her dressing table. Amelia blinked, taking her seat and still searching for the right words to... understand what had just happened.
“He kissed me,” she whispered.
“What the devil happened to your hair? Did you pull these pins yourself?”
“Mr. Blakewood did it,” Amelia said absently.
Fran’s hands froze. She caught her maid’s stare in the mirror.
“I beg your pardon. I couldn’t have heard what I thought I just heard.”
Amelia swallowed. “He doesn’t—we don’t like each other. But we had to kiss. We have to pretend we’re engaged.”
