No motives, no plotting.
Justher.
The grip she had of his hair turned greedy, her fingers clenching, tilting his head as her lips opened beneath his. The fit of their bodiesfelt fated as he moved in, hip to hip, soft meeting firm. He couldn’t hide his arousal, no better than she could, though the aftermath differed. His cock pulsed against her pelvis, her moan caught in his throat, their wanting communicated in singular ways.
He’d never lost himself in a kiss.
If he selfishly asked for more, her plump breast fitting perfectly into his palm, nipple tightening beneath his circling thumb, she leaned into the caress, not away. When he gripped her waist, she returned the hold on his, until they worked together to direct the dance. Her need slid into him, skimming along his skin like a lit match. If he backed her into the wall, giving her no space to escape, he was past reason.
He would later admit the undertaking got away from him.
She was a petite thing for all her curves, and Ren finally stopped himself when his next move was to cup her rounded bottom and lift her off her feet, with the hope her legs would circle his waist and move them to the next stage. This eager kiss beneath a battered gamekeeper’s staircase was its own kind of lovemaking.
He might have continued had she understood that fact.
“Drat,” he thought she murmured when he pulled away.
“It’s for the best,” he said, wondering who, exactly, he was trying to convince.
“Ducal rules, I suppose.”
Regrettably, her thready voice and the trembling fingers still tangled in his hair lessened his motivation to do the proper damned thing.
“Rules of a man who doesn’t want to ruin you, sprite,” he ground out, turning away to adjust himself. His shaft was harder than the knotted pine panels she leaned against. It was a wonder he hadn’t popped a bone button on his trousers. What would she think ofthat?
With a sigh, she stepped out of the alcove and set her hair to rights with more composure than he felt. “Who do you suggest for this younger, wiser, better man I attach myself to? Any noble recommendations?”
Ren’s mouth had gone dry as he sought to decide which part of her he liked best. There waslotsto choose from. Her keen wit, for one.Her intelligence, two. Her curves, every last one of them, for another. Her hair, this glorious, golden, curling mass flowing over her shoulders. That crooked front tooth?—
“Ren,” she said, snapping her fingers before his face.
“I’m sorry, what?” He gave his head a shake to clear it.
The devious expression that slid over her features was terrifying. “You’re right, it’s time I marry.”
Where hadthatcome from? “I never said?—”
“My brother is in patent agreement, by the way.” She shook out her skirt and smoothed her hand over her bodice, drawing his gaze and his hunger. “How about Marquess Epley? I’ve made adequate notes during this matchmaking venture, and he’s a leading contender.”
“Epley?” His hand rose, tapping once at his breastbone. “He comes to here.”
“Taller than me,” she said, too serenely.
“Everyone is taller than you, sprite.” Ren frowned, beginning to suspect she enjoyed this.
“He asked me to meet him after dinner. An aperitif by the fountain.”
“Excellent,” Ren whispered and squeezed the bridge of nose, a headache beginning to pulse in his temple.Aperitif by the fountain.He was going to drive that mongrel into the dirt for absolutely no defensible reason other than jealousy.
“Lord Fitzhugh-Johns? Only a year older than me. His finances are adequate, and he has nice eyes, a sort of dark gray.”
“He’s on guest behavior this week, Gia. In other words, hisbest. There are rumors he’s not to be trusted within reach of a decanter.” Or a hazard table, Ren could have added. Instead, he followed her into the main room to find Henry still sleeping, his blanket tossed off again.
Georgiana picked up her sketches and glanced between them, head tilted, judging.
“I’d like one, if you don’t mind,” he whispered. Much to his mortification, he heard the possessive edge in his voice. It was simply that the drawings were passably good, and she’d been a dangerous subjectto depict. Rare enough a thing that he couldn’t quite bear to part with both.
“I don’t think so.” She gathered them to her mouthwatering chest, her hazel-gold eyes flicking to his. She pressed her thumb to the rose tattooed on her skin. “One question remains, so I’ll hold to my terms.”
