That is what he feared. He had overstepped and now she would put distance between them. She was the daughter of a duke and widow of a marquess and would likely remind him that he was beneath her in that he was nothing more than the son of a missionary and a solicitor.
He had no right to dance with Lavinia let alone kiss her.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been.
Max returned and dropped the ball at his feet.
“It was desire, Max. It is why men make foolish mistakes.”
Max barked.
What could a sheepdog know? He did not have a Society of sheepdogs judging who he danced with, or if someone was good enough.
He had kissed Lavinia last night. A kiss that had only fueled his passion and he hungered for more.
Except, she might not talk to him again.
What if she was angry?
Blast!
He leaned back and pushed his fingers through his hair. What if he had overstepped so far that she would recommend to her brother that he hire another solicitor?
Bloody hell!
Demetrius picked up the ball and threw it again, but before Max could claim it Cal jumped out of the bushes and pounced on it, then kept batting at it while Max danced around not certain if he wanted to take the ball back and risk getting claws to his nose.
If he attempted to kiss Lavinia again, would he see her claws?
Chapter
Eleven
Her night had been filled with dreams. Some were unsettling, with memories of an earlier time in her life and others filled with Demetrius. He beckoned without saying a word. He was simply there.
Oh, she wished she could remember more but only fragments remained each time she woke.
By the time morning arrived and she pushed the covers away and got out of bed, Lavinia wasn’t certain what she wanted.
“Stop lying to yourself!” She crossed to the dressing table and brushed out her hair.
She also suffered from a frustration that she could not identify. One that coursed through her veins. She was on edge, questioning and wondering and all because of a melding of mouths that heated her blood, stole her breath, and increased her pulse.
What was it about him?
Well, he was a talented rake who knew how to seduce and likely when he was not even trying.
Breakfast was nothing more than tea and toast because her stomach was too constricted to allow anything else.
Then she paced and wondered if Demetrius might call.
Had her kiss been a disappointment to him?
He was a rake after all, and he had experienced kisses and much more, of that she was certain, from many women. How could he not help but compare her to others?
She hadn’t pleased her husband so how could her kiss have pleased a rake?
