"Pity. Cook has a way with sausages."
So saying, Lady Marianne forked a plump length of meat.
Devil and damn. Don't watch, turn away—
It was too late. Like a victim of the gorgon Medusa, he remained rooted in place. The analogy extended for when she held the sausage up, the blunt tip nudging her lips, a part of him did indeed turn to stone. Hard as rock, his shaft throbbed as her mouth opened. The meat slid inside with excruciating slowness. She bit down with dainty precision, juice dribbling from the corner of her lips. When her pink tongue appeared, sweeping her lips in a sensuous arc, lust shattered the remnants of his control.
His vision turned black. The beast of need broke free, obliterating all else.
He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. His hands closed on her waist, and he yanked her against him. Pleasure shocked his system as her softness collided with his own hard edges. His fingers knotted in the fine silk of her tresses. And the animal in him roared as he bent down and claimed the kiss that was more essential than his next breath.
Hot. Carnal.Take.
His blood pounded in his ears as he ravaged the softness of her mouth. She tasted sweet and savory, like cinnamon and sage, the flavor addictive beyond description. All he knew was that he needed more. He drove his tongue deeply, penetrating her, groaning as his tongue found hers. At the wet, sinuous tangling, his erection threatened to burst free from his trousers. He clamped his hands on her bottom, urging her closer, dragging her against his raging cockstand—
The slap snapped his head back.
It took a minute for reality to sink in. Lady Draven was glaring at him, her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Tangled by his hands, her hair cascaded in pale streamers to her waist. Her bosom rose and fell in rapid breaths as her gaze clashed with his. Rage glittered in the icy emerald depths. Appalled at his lack of control, he dropped his hands. Took a step back.
"My lady, I…" He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. Had he misread her intentions? Good God, if he had, he'd acted like the veriest scoundrel. The sort of man he most despised. Self-loathing bubbled through his veins as he racked his brain for a suitable apology.
"Now, Mr. Kent, whatwereyou lecturing me about earlier in the carriage?"
Her lingering taste clouded his faculties. His body was still hard and humming from the contact with her lithe form. "I beg your pardon?" he said.
She tapped her chin with one elegant finger. "Yes, I have it. I believe you shared your expertise on the matter of controlling one's impulses." Her brows formed sardonic arches. "Should you care to add anything to your learned discourse?"
The motive for her actions became instantly clear. Humiliation seized him; all of this had been a ploy to put him in his place? This false seduction nothing more than her way of proving a point? In that moment, his anger almost equaled his desire... almost, but not quite. Which infuriated him further.
"Nothing to add, my lady," he bit out.
Her gaze hardened. "Then I believe you know your way out."
A word formed in his head, one he'd never before used in conjunction with any female. He retained sufficient control to keep his mouth shut. He threw on his clothes, and hands fisted at his sides, issued a stiff bow. As he strode toward the door, he silently cursed himself and made a vow: he would never get entangled in this black widow's web again.
5
The sun-drenchedmeadow brimmed with birdsong and blossoming clover. Overhead, a pair of larks soared across the azure sky, their shadows gliding over Marianne's skin while she lay stretched against the grass, her hair loose and free. Her eyes closed with pleasure as her lover whispered in her ear. His words were as sweet as his berry-flavored kisses, the promises of forever holding her as securely as his arms.
At seventeen, it was so easy to believe in love.
His lips touched her neck. The hesitant yet sweet caress brought a warm flush to her skin. She knew she ought to stop him. But desire had a stronger hold than maidenly modesty, and she abandoned herself to impulse, to the reckless curiosity coursing through her. His mouth found hers, and need shivered through her. Her nerves tingled. No longer uncertain and innocent, this kiss burned with a new intensity.
Not a boy's fledgling ardor... but a man's hunger.
Every part of her responded. Her lips parted to the thrust of his tongue, and his spicy, male flavor infused her senses. He tasted right, smelled right,feltright... she moaned as his lean length pressed her deeper into the soft grass. Her neck arching to his kisses, she fitted herself shamelessly against his hardness, the bold shape of him fueling her inner fire. Her insides turned liquid, and hot honey trickled between her thighs.
"Oh, Thomas..." she sighed.
"I'm not Thomas." Her eyelids flew open. Above her was not her lover's handsome, boyish countenance, but a stark face carved by time and experience. Amber eyes pinned her and penetrated her very soul.
Marianne awoke with a gasp. She was clutching the bedclothes, breathing hard. Blackberries, her first taste of desire, lingered upon her tongue as she stared up into the swirls of the damask canopy.
What is the matter with me? Whyhim, of all people?
'Twas the third night in a row that she'd dreamt of Ambrose Kent.
Pushing a damp tendril off her cheek, she waited for her heartbeat to calm and the wave of arousal to pass. Bodily needs always did—and if they didn't, she knew well enough how to take matters into her own hands. For she did not trust any man to do for her what she could safely and efficiently do for herself. Having been saddled with a hot-blooded nature—she was never one to lie to herself—she tended to her own needs regularly.
