His lips were soft and gentle against mine, but sweet, pressing back, melting under my tongue. Tom opened for me so beautifully. Meeting my every move with one of his own. A heartbreakingly beautiful dance, at least when I remembered that we would only have tonight to perfect it.
At last, his hand found the loose ends of my cravat, tugging on it with just enough possessiveness to remind me of the wiry strength I’d admired in his forearms.
I could admit it now, if only to myself, I was attracted to Tom Grayson in a way I hadn’t been attracted to anyone in years, perhaps ever. He was too young, too inexperienced, and too male—in every way that could be interpreted—to be appropriate. But my body could not have cared less. Not when my hand raked through coarse, unruly curls.
His chest was firm, not broad but defined under the layers of fabric. And delightfully sensitive if the groan that broke from his chest as my free hand brushed over a nipple beneath the linen was any indication. That sound tasted good on my tongue, warmamber scotch and something sharp and herbal that I couldn’t name.
Tom’s lips slid from mine, tasting along my jaw with something like a whimper.
“What?” I breathed, trying to catch his gaze.
He shook his head, lips finding the hinge of my jaw with a shaking breath. There he worked magic, nipping—just sharp enough to have me gasping—before soothing with lips and tongue. The effort was enough for thought to abandon me, until my entire world became the places we touched. His lips on my neck. Mine on his shoulder through coat and shirt and waistcoat I was too overwrought to pull aside. My hand on his cheek and still trapped in close-cropped curls. His on my jaw. And still I wanted more.
My mind, lost in sensation, took a moment to comprehend the shudders running through Tom’s form.
I pulled away but his fist in my cravat caught me short. With the hand on his cheek, I tugged him from my shoulder. “Tom?”
His shuddering breath was harsh in the night air. “I don’t know.” A pink tongue darted out along swollen lips as he dragged a frustrated hand through tangled curls. “Too much. Not enough. I’m burning. If we keep going, I’m going to combust. But I never, ever want to stop.”
I could recall the feeling of overwhelm, though not as affecting as it seemed to be for Tom. The first quick fumblings that held the possibility ofmorewere long forgotten memories from some hazy Mediterranean night. Surely, I had been physically overwrought, but this… this was something different. Precious.
Something in my gut twisted painfully. Tom was a second son, a second son with a healthy and whole elder brother with an heir of his own. Tom could have his own tour, and there he couldfind a gentleman who could give him more than a quick fumble outside a party. They could have a precious forever together.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “We should stop. This isn’t the time or place for this.”
There. I’d said it. And he would never know the cost. My own insides were as tremulous as his hands. My breath, steady on the face of it, ripped a hole in my chest. This man needed me, wanted me. I was important to him. And I was a greedy man, desperate to take whatever precious pieces of himself he wanted to bestow on me. Take them. Keep them. Lock them away to keep me warm during the lonely nights sure to come. But they didn’t belong to me.
His only response to the insistence that cost me everything was a groan as his forehead hit my shoulder.
“There is a ball inside,” I added, strengthening my argument. Whether that was for his benefit or mine was irrelevant.
“Kate is used to me missing the entirety of her parties.”
“Someone could see or hear.”
“They haven’t,” he protested, his hand catching my chin and trying to drag my lips back to his.
“Tom, we can?—”
He won the battle, his mouth claiming mine again before nipping at my lower lip. I wasn’t a saint. Not even close. If he offered me the things I wanted, who was I to say they weren’t mine to take? This time, it was my fingers tangling in his cravat, working at the knot with blunt nails.
“Tom, are you out— Oh…”
Ice filled my veins and my stomach sank at the masculine tone. Tom was frozen as well, too still even for breath.
I pulled back slowly, willing this to be a hallucination, a dream, anything but the irate viscount I was sure to find when I turned.
But it wasn’t a figment, it wasn’t a premonition, it was Lord Grayson standing before us. His mouth twisted in such a way that it would’ve been amusing in another situation, like he’d swallowed a frog.
“Lord Grayson,” I croaked out. Perhaps I was the one who’d gnawed on a frog.
“Your Grace.” His voice was dead, leaving nothing to indicate his thoughts on the situation he’d stumbled on.
“Hugh!” A feminine voice cried from the door. Juliet raced around the corner, slipping on the grass as she rounded it. It was the least graceful maneuver she’d ever made, at least in my presence.
He spun to face her, moving to cover her eyes with a hand. “Inside, Juliet,” he commanded.
“But…”
