“What can I do?” He smoothed his hands down her back and then tucked his jacket around her more securely. “More scotch?” He cringed at his bumbling attempt to console her.
Curling tendrils of golden hair tickled his neck. Lavender and… citrus. He couldn’t be sure if the heady scents were from the flowers growing in the orangery or her perfume. Either way, they summoned a few ill-timed carnal urges.
“Just hhhold mme.” He was already holding her, so he simply tightened his arms, carefully, because… she wasLady Felicity.
She burrowed into him and ended up sitting across his lap. Her mouth hovered inches from his, the heat of her breath brushing along his jaw, mingling with his.
She was shivering, and she just seemed…
So damned lost.
He brushed her lips with his. One kiss. For comfort.
“Manningham?” Need laced her voice.
“My lady…” He would sooth her pride. A kiss, perhaps two. His mouth brushed hers again, this time capturing it.
To admit he hadn’t been attracted to this woman since the first time he’d gotten a glimpse of her would have been an outright lie. But one did not set one’s sights on one’s friend’s betrothed.
Her lips parted beneath his and Mantis tilted his head, determined to enjoy this unexpected taste of forbidden honey. Any minute she would push at his chest. Perhaps even slap his face.
Because Lady Felicity Brightley was always dignified and proper. He waited for her to pull away, even bracing himself for a well-earned slap.
“More?” Her plea, damn it, sent blood flowing most inconveniently south.
Because she was on his lap!
And demanding more from this kiss.
Oh, hell.Mantis drew back. In a move that was as inexperienced as it was desperate, her mouth clumsily sought his. Her hands dug into his hair as she held onto him.Don’t leave me.
Mantis shifted. It was only another kiss. If this was what she required to put Westerley’s rejection behind her, then he was happy to accommodate.
More than happy.
Emboldened, she trailed her tongue along the flesh behind his lips, and his cock jumped.
“Manningham.” Her writhing hacked away at his control. Add to that the throaty little sounds she made when she said his name and…
He reigned in his lust.
“Felicity.” He gripped her arms. She couldn’t possibly know what she was doing. She was mad with grief. He’d realized that when she had insisted she return to the ballroom with her hair falling around her shoulders and her dress torn.
She couldn’t possibly return looking so disheveled.
He studied her eyes, forlorn and swimming with unshed tears, looking more green then blue as she gazed up at him.
Longingly.
“Show me.” Her fingers trailed down the lapels of his waistcoat. “Show me what it feels like. What does love feel like, Manningham?”
“Mantis.”
She stilled just long enough to meet his gaze with a questioning one of her own.
“Or you can call me Axel.” Hell and damnation, what was he doing? This wasn’t an assignation, and there was no reason to tell her his given name. “You were calling me Manningham.” His parents called him that. “I don’t like it.”
“Axel.” She spoke his name as though tasting it. “Kiss me again, Axel.”
