I would lift onto my toes and kiss him if I were bolder. I wasn’t bold. Birds chirped in the trees, and the humming of bees on a nearby bush gave a well-needed serenity in the garden. Tension held me enthralled, however.
Lord Kendrick rubbed his thumb along my bottom lip, his stare a heated blue. The pull between us strengthened, and I swayed toward him, unable to stop the momentum.
“Oh bloody hell,” he said before dipping his head.
For a second in time, I stared, my own lids lowering. My pulse raced, and my heart pounded so hard, I was afraid he might see it. The first touch of his mouth was a soft caress, gentle and warm. I placed my hand on his chest, heat seeping through the wool of his waistcoat.
He played his lips over mine once more, applying pressure. I slid my hand up his chest, my heels rising of their own accord. Head tilted, I parted my lips, channeling the description from the book I had read. He glided his finger from under my chin along the entire length of my neck. I leaned into his touch and moaned as he danced his mouth over mine, his palm at the nape of my neck. Books could describe the act, but nothing prepared me for the beauty of my first kiss.
“It is four o’clock,” Colt said from somewhere behind us.
Lord Kendrick lifted his head, a dazed look in his eyes. My own emotions reflected his. It would seem that I wasn’t the first woman he’d kissed or man. Yet he was my first kiss, and I would cherish it forever. “You had best leave.”
“Yes, I have to go.” I put my hand to my mouth, my knees shaking. I hated leaving. “Or I could beg off dinner and make some excuse that I was sick, and then I could sneak back here.”
He shook his head, and genuine regret rested in his tense expression. “It is best if you didn’t. I stand by my earlier argument, no matter how painful it is. I can’t bed you, no matter how much I wish otherwise.”
I wanted to argue further. My body was on fire, and it was because of him. “Good night then.” I exited the gate and entered the familiar garden of my family home. None of my family ever ventured outside; thus, I wasn’t afraid of being caught. Confusion continued to befuddle me. It was too soon to fall in love with him. Wasn’t it? My infatuation for him was growing at an rapid rate and now I would have the memory of his kiss to confound me further. Every opportunity I had to be in his company was a gift and every second out of it felt like an eternity.
Chapter Nine
Sir Colt Lawrence
The closed curtains in his suite shadowed the room. Lord Kendrick had worked all night on the marble sculpture. I half expected to see him in bed with someone, but it was just his form in the enormous bed. It was a relief. “Good evening, Your Grace. I’m sorry to disturb you, but it is near six p.m. You have to get ready for the theater.”
I had a hard time forgetting the kiss he shared with Lady Lillian. Jealousy often colored my opinion of his lovers. She was different. I wasn’t sure if it was the innocent way she viewed the world or that she showed a genuine interest in me and my writing. I almost felt sorry for her. It was difficult being in love with the duke.
“Must I?” he asked, lifting the pillow and placing it over his head. Unorthodox man that he was, he slept with no clothing, which meant his magnificent chest was bare, a trail of dark hair running down his belly and under the sheet, hiding his cock from my view.
“You must. Your future bride awaits.” I was glad he was covered. It was difficult enough to keep myself disciplined around him.
He threw the pillow at me, hitting me in the stomach. I clutched it and rolled my eyes, the consummate actor. If I had my druthers, I would climb into bed with him and beg him totake me. My cock swelled at the notion, and I was glad for the pillow. “Your valet is readying your bath.”
“What shall I wear tonight? Black or black?” Lord Kendrick asked on an enormous yawn, making no move to get up. He lifted his left arm and brought it behind his head. Sleepy blue eyes stared at me, the light of ever-present mischief in their depths.
I ached to look away, but I couldn’t. He was magnificent in his raw state; his beard's shadowed scruff and his long hair gave him a rakish air. Dark hair covered the muscled flesh of his shin poking out from the bedding. “I believe black is appropriate.”
“So, you would choose black. Good enough. I shall take your advice.” He rolled to the side of the bed. The linen caught around his hips. I willed it to fall at the same instant I begged it not to. What a contradiction I was.
A burgundy robe was draped over the chair nearest the bed, and I handed it to him. He clasped it in his hand, stood, and allowed the linen to fall. Throwing the robe over his shoulder, he walked to the back of the suite. “Come talk to me while I bathe. I have a few things I’d like to discuss.”
His arse was taut, legs long and sinewy from years of rowing. I joined him often on the lake, learning to row myself just to be close to him. It was a shameful secret I would never tell another living soul.
I followed him like a lamb to slaughter. If I was smart, I would make up an excuse to leave. The internal torture was never-ending. It was also my fault. I could quit. My income wasn’t dependent on this job. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
