She tasted sweeter than he’d imagined, and by God, kissing her sent him reeling. Had he realized it would be like this from their first meeting? When she’d chased her dog across the park rather than send her maid, but then harshly criticized his Gazette?
Perhaps. He didn’t know. And pulling her closer amidst the sweet blossoms of the night, he didn’t care.
“Yes?” He drew back just long enough for her to answer.
“Yes,” she whispered back, her arms tightening around his neck, encouraging this intimacy with all her senses.
He’d come to the ball with the best of intentions—to dispel any rumors while ensuring no one bothered her, but then failed miserably at both.
Firstly, because Baron Dankworth was a worse gossip than any of the dowagers present. And secondly, because when he watched Dankworth lead her outside—beyond the terrace—his plans to avoid his lovely society writer flew right out the door with her.
On and off, all night, he’d felt her watching him, confused at first, then hurt, then angry. She sure as hell would not have put herself in such a vulnerable position if he’d acted on his instincts—if he’d allowed himself to claim a dance or two, sat with her for supper, and then stolen her away.
So she could oversee the final galleys, of course.
He’d meant to prove Winterhope wrong about his feelings for this woman, but in the end… He couldn’t.
Now he knew why.
Her smile lifted his heart. Her kiss lit a burning desire in him.
And now, after getting a taste of this exceptional woman, detaching again was going to be even harder.
Perhaps even impossible.
Her form molded to his as though they’d been made for one another. Soft breasts pressed against his chest. He flexed a hand as his cock hardened like steel. He wanted… so much more. But anyone could appear at any moment and although he had nothing to lose, she did.
He exhaled a rough breath, and required all his self-control to abandon the velvety warmth of her mouth.
“We shouldn’t. I know.” Her melodic voice broke the silence. She was innocent—too innocent!
If Maxwell was the gentleman she believed him to be, he’d be meeting with her brother come morning. His actions demanded it. But he wasn’t. And he’d not force any woman to live the lie he’d grown accustomed to.
He loosened his arms, fighting his baser instincts. “We shouldn’t,” he agreed. “Do you require a moment to collect yourself?”
She blinked, the moonlight shining in her blue eyes. Her lips shiny and swollen.
“I…” She shook her head, confused—again, because of him. She deserved some sort of explanation.
“I can’t offer for you.” She stiffened as he searched for the words to explain himself. “I can’t…” He couldn’t tell her why.
“I don’t expect you to.” She brushed silky strands of hair away from her face with a shaking hand, the helpless gesture nearly crumbling his resolve. And then she took a step back, leaving his embrace. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Caroline—it’s not…”
“It’s fine.” She held out a hand to halt his apology. “I’m fine.”
The irony of it all—aside from looking a little disheveled—she was. He’d come along to save her at the precise moment she saved herself.
Maxwell reached out but stopped. “Your hair needs—”
“Oh!” She drew out a few pins, finger-combed the length, and before he’d had his fill of those silky tresses, twisted it into another knot, this one simpler than before. Most gentlemen wouldn’t notice the difference. Most ladies, however, would.
“It’s not…” He winced. “Shall I send Lady Standish out to assist you?” In the face of her predicament, he couldn’t remember feeling this helpless.
“No!” Caroline shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not about you, but…” She glanced in the direction in which Dankworth had vanished. And then her expression crumpled.
Maxwell caught her hand. “It’s not your fault,” he said, but he could tell she didn’t believe him.
