Dom dragged a hand over his jaw, fury simmering.Reckless. Shecarried it like a banner, and whenever they were together, he carried it too.
While Louisa seemed completely unperturbed standing there shaking out her skirts, fingers deft as she smoothed her magnificent hair into place. Kiss-swollen lips curved, a smile dancing at the corners as though he’d offered another glass of champagne rather than an ill-timed proposal and the likelihood of being tomorrow’s leading scandal. Despite his better judgment, his shaft twitched beneath the thankfully confining fall of his trousers.
Bloodyhell, he longed to turn this chit’s rebellion into cries of pleasure. More the fool, he.
“They’re in the ballroom,” he snapped, turning away to adjust himself, voice rougher than intended, “telling everyone exactly what they saw. Nearly breaking Harcourt’s wrist doesn’t change that. He’s lucky I was feeling charitable.”
“Thatwas charitable?” She laughed, more a snort through that adorable nose of hers, proving he’d been right about her carefree acceptance of this debacle. But then, the girl was used to burning down houses and blowing up gardens in her spare time. “Oh, the servants across town already know. I’ll get the evil eye from Pritchard this evening, no doubt.”
“I wasn’t joking,” Dom whispered, not sure she understood. Turning to her, he straightened the cravat she’d tangled about her fingers in her hunger. “I’ll be at your father’s before the scandal sheet hits his breakfast table, and Bessie can occupy herself with her next marital scheme. Your search is complete.”
Louisa’s lips parted, eyes widening. “You mean to stand by me?” The question came out in a hush, wonder laced with disbelief. If that miserable bit of sincerity didn’t bring her careening into his heart, nothing would. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry, Dominic. You’ve worked so hard to keep clear of scandal, and now, because of me—”
“Enough,” he cut in, hand lifting to halt the apology. Like hisbrother, he didn’t want to hear one. He took a step toward her, but stopped himself in time, jaw tightening. Another bit of Griff’s wisdom:you don’t always have to play the hero.
But he felt like playing the hero with her.
Dom’s gaze flicked to the fountain, where Louisa’s luscious body had been fused to his, and damn him if he didn’t feel heat rise in his own face. “I’m the one who took this too far. I should be asking for your forgiveness. You’re impulsive as all hell, true, but I should—do—know better.”
“I don’t feel remorseful. Tonight was magical,” she whispered in a dreamy voice that had his resistance slipping. “The first true magical night of my life.”
He could have her in his carriage in minutes, straddling him seconds after. A quick orgasm, no penetration involved, or not much, noteverything, was possibly what they both needed. He might be clearer of mind after an impetuous release.
And now, he’d think of nothing else all night.
“And you, forcing Harcourt to his knees.” She fanned her face, grinning in blatant captivation. Her adoring gaze roved from his boots to his brow, and his body lit as though she’d struck a taper to his skin. “My.”
“Nothing else until after the vows, Lou,” he warned, forcing every syllable, deciding just then. For some reason, a throb in his chest he wished to ignore, he wanted to wait until she was his wife. “Which will be by special license now, swift, before the whispers grow teeth. Thankfully, having a viscount for a brother is handy in some instances.”
For a second, Dom thought she might argue. After all, she was known for it.
But then, she dipped her chin, and though she said nothing, the glint in her brilliant jade eyes told him she was pleased by his resolve. Apparently, she hadn’t had many stand up for her, another dartthrough his heart.
God help him, but the thought of someone at his side—reckless, brilliant,his—pleased him more than it should. Because it meant the rest of this, the heat, the hunger, the wonder, was only delayed, not denied.
Dom had no intention of letting Louisa remain a dream when he could make her his forever.
Chapter Six
Where a past kindness becomes the start of somethingnew.
Louisa tried—really tried—tofollow Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s careful recitation of terms, the rustle of parchment as the widow pushed another document across the table for review breaching her monologue.
But her mind wandered treacherously.
He’d blushed.
The same man who’d dropped an earl to his knees without breaking stride had colored like a schoolboy over nothing more than recalling their interlude in a baron’s garden.
It was senseless that a single wash of color across Dominic’s stalwart cheekbones could undo her as surely as his broad hand gripping her bottom had. Almost making love in the shadow of a fountain—sexual congress, as her last governess had primly termed it—was the sort of scandal one didn’t typically recover from. Yet here Louisa was, engaged to her childhood savior, their indignity already fading as another took its place.
She hoped, at least, for his sake.
For hers, she cared little what society thoughtof her. And it seemed thetonwas more forgiving of passion than experiments ending in smoke and shattered glass.
“…and the garden ceremony will be held at Viscount Kent’s townhome, a week hence,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon was saying, brisk as ever. “Small affair, discreet, exactly what is required.”
Louisa murmured her assent, though her attention drifted to Dominic, as it had all morning. He stood before the parlor’s lone window, broad shoulders etched in the muted sunlight, restless in a way that suggested he feared the walls were closing in on him. Desire circled at the memory of his mouth on hers, hishands, the heady taste of champagne on his tongue. Even now, the space between them seemed to thrum with the echo of that kiss—charged, perilous, impossible to ignore.
