“Be grateful that I didn’t.”
“But you wanted to?” she persisted.
He only raised his brows in answer. And then, before she could ask him to explain, understanding donned.
He considered himselfhonorable, as did all of her brother’s aristocratic chums. If he were to kiss her, he would feel obligated to make her an offer, one that he most adamantly didn’t want to make—one hecouldn’tmake—not to someone like her.
Because although he was willing to pretend to court her, marrying a lady such as herself—a bastard—was quite out of the question.
And his friendship with her brother would be at stake.
She ducked her head, ignoring his winged elbow, and stomped in the direction of the other guests’ voices.
She’d never even considered angling for someone like Lord Greystone. Before becoming acquainted with him, she’d judged him as too pompous and lofty to be very likable—the same as every other titled gentleman, no doubt—her brother being the rare exception.
Furthermore, she’d never forget how her own father had treated his wife. Why would she put herself in such a position? She wasn’t a masochist, after all.
Even if she could imagine it being a remote possibility. Which she couldn’t.
Because it wasn’t.
She had brains enough to know that she’d be lucky to land any proper sort of husband within theTon. The thought was a sobering one.
Best she not allow herself to be distracted from her objective by this… flirtation? Fling? Affair?
Whatever this was between her and Lord Greystone.
Captain Edgeworth had expressed an interest in her. She ought to focus on cultivating that interest—even if marring a soldier meant having to follow the drum.
She grimaced.
“Diana,” Greystone spoke from behind her. Of course, she’d not left him behind. Of course, he would not allow her to make her contemptuous exit with any sort of dignity.
She ignored him.
“Diana.”
The sound of her name on his lips elicited excitement, anticipation, but also frustration and hurt. Annoyed, she halted so abruptly that he practically ran her over.
“Yes, my lord?” Disdain rolled off her tongue. It was easier to be angry than it was to acknowledge rejection.
Because though it was permissible for him to address her by name, he would always beLord Greystoneto her.
And the fact that this bothered her was even more vexing.
He’d taken hold of both her elbows. She inhaled his masculine scent, and her knees went weak…
Again.
What was the matter with her?
“This isn’t real.” His voice rumbled just above her ear, but before she could ask what he meant, he spun her around to face him. Not relinquishing his unique sort of calm, he bent down and claimed her mouth with intense efficiency.
All her thoughts fled.
“Oh,” she barely managed to breathe the syllable, suddenly overwhelmed by the taste, the heat, and the texture of kissing the Marquess of Greystone.
Spicy, warm, and firm but also softer than she’d imagined—because yes, heaven help her, she had fantasized about being kissed by him a time or two.
