By the time the water eased the horrid burning sensation, her head was swimming and her stomach turning. “How can you enjoy this?” she finally rasped, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief he’d handed over.
“I told you…”
“Yes, but how was I to know?”
“But I told you…” He stared at her, looking even more bewildered, if possible, than he had last night after she’d slammed her head onto the floor.
In all fairness, he had, in fact, warned her.
She swallowed hard and then reached for the cigar. “Let me try again.” She would not inhale this time.
He took a puff himself, and then cautiously placed it between her fingers. Again, she was struck by the intimacy of this ritual. If it could, in fact, ease some of her tension, she ought to at least put forth a solid effort.
“Slowly,” he warned when she placed it between her lips. This time, she paid attention to the spicy, cedarish flavor and nearly smiled at the thought that drifted through her mind. It was almost as though she was taking a taste of Chase himself. She’d known this scent for so very long, and now she knew exactly where it came from.
Her tongue explored the texture of the paper while she drew the smoke into her mouth. She only held it in her puffed cheeks a few seconds before slowly blowing it out.
This time, when she looked up, he was watching her with curious approval. “Well?”
“Better.” She handed it back, expecting him to examine the tip and then take another puff. But he did not.
His gaze was on her mouth. “Your lips are pretty when you aren’t pinching them together.”
Which immediately had her pinching them together.
The muscles in his cheek ticked slightly.
“We’re going to have to do something about that.” Keeping his eyes focused on her, he examined his cigar, almost fondly, before placing it carefully on the edge of a small bowl. “But no more of this. Not today.”
“I’m trying.” Bethany groaned. “But all I can think about is all those eyes on me… remembering… judging me…”
“Perhaps that’s the problem.”
And then before she could say another word, Triston Aaron Corbet, the Baron of Chaswick, had leaned forward to set his mouth on hers.
Chase was kissing her.
Bethany didn’t loosenher lips initially. But when she did…
Chase turned his head, grasping the sides of her face, and deepened the kiss. He hadn’t expected this almost electrical charge racing through him, nor the surge of lust that shot like lightning to his cock. A soft hum vibrated on her lips.
Not disapproving now. Not at all.
He slid a hand around the back of her neck.
Delicious.
Soft curls that had escaped her chignon slid like silken strings between his fingers. When she shivered, he smoothed his fingers firmly down the tightly wound muscles in her neck.
“Let go, Bethany,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth, and she exhaled a sweet fluttery breath. Almost like magic, her ever-present tension evaporated beneath his wandering hands.
If he’d had the chance to bed her the night before, he realized now, they would have had nothing to worry about at the ball. How dull-witted could one man be?
Of course, she had been distraught. And she had gone flying backward in her chair, smashing her head against the floor. She’d likely been in pain.
But she didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects now.
Her hands clutched the lapels of his coat, clinging to him but seemingly afraid to touch him anywhere else.
