“Are you? Somehow, I doubt that,” he said. “On the contrary, I think you enjoy this little illicit encounter. You delight in being a little minx.”
“You presume much.”
“It is not mere presumption. I can observe how much you desire this, for your body betrays your desires, my lady. I can tell from your quickened breath and your parted lips, from the way your breasts strain against your gown, and from the flush on your face.”
Lady Bridget drew in a sharp, soft gasp of air. She audibly swallowed, and Lewis smiled indulgently, doing nothing that might betray his own hot desire, which clawed at his chest. His fingers itched to take her at once, to pin her against the bookshelf and show her precisely how attentive he would be as a husband. But she was not yet his wife, and it was for the best that he built the anticipation, even though prolonging their amorous congress was nothing short of torture.
“And I wonder,” he continued. “What would you do if I was to kiss those trembling lips of yours?”
“Kiss me?” She sounded faint.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “A proper lady should push me away, but somehow, I suspect you will not do that.”
“You do not know everything.”
“I never claimed to know everything—only you.”
He took another step, bringing their bodies close together. They were not touching just yet, but if he moved a hairsbreadth nearer to Lady Bridget, they would be. Her chest heaved, the lady’s quivering breasts a feast to his eyes. He fought the impulse to take them in his hands and instead slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.
A gasp shattered her. “I do not think we should?—”
He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his mouth hard against her own. Lady Bridget froze for a heartbeat. Then, with a groan, she kissed him back and dug her nails into his shoulders.
Lewis curled his fingers into Bridget’s hair and drew her close. Her lips were so unfathomably soft against his own. She clumsily tried to match his movements, floundering in her obvious inexperience. Lady Bridget’s scent—lavender and rose oil—drifted in the air, filling his senses. He wantedmoreof her.
More of every part of her. Her scent, her taste, her soft and warm body. Lewis grazed his teeth over her lower lip, and the lady’s hips bucked against him. She made a little muffled cry that went straight to his manhood. Lewis’s own breath shuddered.
It was too soon for anything more intimate. He fought fiercely against the fantasy conjured by his mind, of Lady Bridget entirely bereft of clothing and standing before him.
Of her coming undone in his hands.
He drew back, breaking their kiss.
“What?” Lady Bridget panted for air and stared at him with wide eyes. “Why did you stop?”
He smirked. “I do not want to spoil you. This is only a small taste of what you will get if you are a good and dutiful wife.”
“Oh.”
She twisted her fingers in the skirts of her gown and gazed at him with something akin to wonder. He was near enough to see the unadulterated want in her wide eyes. That was well and good, for it would keep the young lady yearning for him. If Lady Bridget wanted more from him, she would have to be an exceptionally good wife.
“It is something to think about,” he continued. “We will be married in two days. None of your protests will stop what has already been agreed to.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I do know that. Why would you wish to act against your own interests anyway, my lady? It is apparent that your body desires me. I can discern no reason for you to deny yourself so cruelly.”
“Because I do not wish to marry you,” she said. “It does not matter if—if my body desires you. Any man might affect me thusly.”
“Have you experience with many?”
Given her enthusiastic and reckless reaction, it was clear that she had not.
“That is irrelevant,” she said. “My heart does not want you, and that is sufficient reason not to marry you.”
“Are you under the impression that most marry for love?” he scoffed.
“No, but that does not mean they should not,” Lady Bridget argued. “I have always resolved for love, and?—”
