Her shoulders loosened as if a ribbon had been unknotted. A soft sound left her—half sigh, half surrender—against his lips. And then she tipped forward, closing the last inch herself.
He touched her face tentatively, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. The other hand found her waist steadying her and anchoring them both. He moved his mouth against hers slowly. Teaching. Showing her the rhythm. The give and take.
Her hands fisted in his coat, holding on like he was the only solid thing in the world.
He tilted his head slightly to change the angle before he let his lips trace the shape of hers. Top lip. Bottom lip. Learning her.
She made a small sound in her throat. Surprise or pleasure, he couldn’t tell.
He pulled back just enough to breathe. “All right?”
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was shaky. “Please don’t stop.”
He kissed her again but less carefully this time.His mouth pressed more firmly. His tongue traced the seam of her lips forming a question.
She opened for him.
The taste of her flooded through him. Wine and something sweet. Something uniquely her but then it broke.
“Oh?”
“That was—” She blinked up at him. Dazed. “I had no idea.”
“No idea about what?”
“That kissing was supposed to feel like that.”
His chest tightened. “Like what?”
“Like everything.” Her fingers twisted in his coat. “Like I might fly apart. Like I never want to stop.”
“Then don’t stop.” He pulled her closer. “Kiss me again.”
She did. More sure. Her mouth moving against his with growing confidence.
He made a sound low in his throat. His hands slid into her hair, deepening the kiss, showing her the rhythm and response. She learned fast.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We should stop,” he managed.
“Probably.”
“Someone could find us.”
“They could.”
Neither of them moved.
“Margaret.” He pulled back just enough to see her face. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I’m going to court you properly if you allow it. With chaperones and calling cards and all the ridiculous formality. I’m going to write you terrible poetry. I’m going to bore you with Latin conjugations. I’m going to?—”
“Lady Margaret!” A shrill voice came from the direction of the aisle leading to the house.
They sprang apart.
Lady Thornby stood at the entrance, her face arranged in shock.
