His mouth on hers was like fire, lapping at her. It licked her everywhere and made her feel both hot and cold all over. Deliciously melting in places she barely knew existed.
She held as still as a fawn, soaking in every new jolt of sensation as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. His lips owned her, shaped hers, and when she tentatively touched her tongue to his, a strange sound rumbled in his chest, and he kissed her harder, deeper. He pulled her against his rock-hard body, and she moaned in the back of her throat, leaning into him, wanting more of him somehow, more, more, more.
And then, just like that, it was over. When Thomas drew away from her, she was breathing heavily—panting, in fact. And completely dumbfounded.Mon Dieu. What had happened? Kissing, it turned out, was magnificent. It was her favorite. Better than riding a horse too fast. Better than ices at Gunter’s.
Thomas’s hands lingered, warm and gentle, at her waist, and he pressed his forehead to hers as though he couldn’t help himself, drawing breaths more ragged than her own. His eyes were closed, his lashes resting dark against his cheeks, and she was glad. For in that moment, she could freely stare at him as if he were some sort of magical beast. Like a Centaur who had emerged from the hedgerows to passionately kiss her.
At last she took a step back, studying him with wide eyes. “Oh my goodness. Have you done that before?” Wonder slid into suspicion.
He shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Wh… why not?” She could barely speak. The man had stolen her breath.
“Because I’m saving myself,” he replied, his expression grave, more sincere than she’d ever seen it. And maybe a bit vulnerable.
She finally caught air enough in her lungs to ask, “F… for who?”
“For the lady I’m madly in love with.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An entire week had passed since her rendezvous in the gardens with Thomas, but Delilah still could not focus on her lines. She kept forgetting every one of them. Her head was a mass of confusion. And she had quite a lot to be confused about. First, Thomas had kissed her, and second, Thomas was madly in love with someone? Who? He’d refused to say. He’d acted as if he hadn’t meant anyone in particular, but the very notion had gnawed at Delilah’s mind ever since he’d said the words, and the possibilities had plagued her for days.
He’d laughed it off as if it were a jest. She’d wanted to believe he was jesting or still acting, but something told her he hadn’t been doing either. This served to further complicate her well-laid plans. Not to mention it made her insides feel sick. Who in the world could Thomas be madly in love with? It wasn’t Lady Emmaline, was it? Oh, what if it was? Or even worse, what if it was Lady Rebecca who clearly returned his affections?
Her confusion over Thomas wasn’t the only thing plaguing Delilah either. She’d begun tonight’s rehearsal with an excessively unpleasant conversation with Lavinia, in which the lady had demanded that Delilah force Lord Berwick to pay attention to her. The Duke of Branville had barely said two words to Delilah all evening. She’d attempted to flirt with him, hoping he’d ask her to meet him in the gardens, but he’d done no such thing, and she couldn’t exactly be the one to ask. That would be outlandishly forward. To add to her misery, she was becoming half-nauseated watching Lady Rebecca flirt with Thomas. Delilah was contemplating fleeing the rehearsal to go hide in her bed. She regretted leaving it this morning.
Thomas scanned the library where the actors were practicing their lines in small groups scattered here and there. Lavinia had poor Lord Berwick cornered. Branville was nearly shouting his lines onstage, and Jane was trying to get everyone to settle down and focus. They only had a bit over a fortnight before their performance in the country.
Thomas had watched earlier as Delilah made her way over to Branville and tried to talk to him. He had to admit, it didn’t bode well for her. Branville seemed barely aware of her presence.
Thomas rubbed his chin. Last week when he had kissed Delilah in the Hillards’ gardens, he’d half expected her to know how much he loved her merely from the kiss itself. It had certainly seemed to surprise her. The look on her pretty face when he’d pulled away from her had been a combination of surprise and… dare he hope… lust?
He’d kept his distance from her for the last week. They’d seen each other at rehearsals, but other than thelines they’d recited together, he’d hardly spoken to her. He didn’t trust himself. His entire future with the woman he loved could be ruined if he made a muddle of this.
He still wanted to kick himself for telling her he had been saving himself for the woman he was madly in love with. That was far too risky a thing to say. He hoped she’d interpreted it more as aone daysort of thing instead of a current state of affairs. But she’d narrowed her eyes in suspicion when he’d implied he’d been jesting, and he could tell she was skeptical. That was another reason he’d kept his distance from her. What if she asked again? Knowing how determined she could be, he fully expected her to interrogate him if given the chance.
What had he hoped to accomplish by telling her? If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d wanted her to see the love shining in his eyes and fall equally in love with him, which, of course, was ludicrous. He should simply come out and tell her. Why the hell was it proving so difficult? He was handling this entire thing poorly. He needed to regroup and make a better plan.
He’d gone off with a half-cocked notion that if he paid attention to Lady Rebecca, Delilah might see him as a man and a possible suitor. Hadn’t Lucy told him that was an effective way to gain a lady’s attention? The kiss had been more of the same, an attempt to get Delilah to see him differently. More than a friend. Instead, he suspected he’d only confused her. Not to mention he had no intention of leading Lady Rebecca on for the sake of making Delilah jealous. That would be ungentlemanly.
To add to his troubles, Lavinia was on the warpath of late. Lord Berwick had not asked her to dance with him at the Hillards’ ball, and she’d been in a rage over it ever since. Tonight, she was following the poor man around, doing her best to get his attention. At the moment, theywere steps behind Thomas, close enough for him to overhear their conversation.
“Lord Berwick,” Lavinia said, “I thought we’d practice our lines.”
“I don’t believe we have any lines together, my lady. Snout and Hippolyta don’t speak to each other.” Berwick sounded puzzled.
“Perhaps not.” Lavinia’s voice held an edge of annoyance. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot practice our linesat the same time.”
“I suppose we could.” Berwick had to realize she was being ridiculous, but the man was obviously too much of a gentleman to continue to point it out to her.
Thomas watched them drift off into the corner together. He and his sister weren’t as different as he’d like to think, were they? Apparently they both wanted someone who wasn’t interested in them. He’d already shown Delilah he was eligible, kind, and intelligent. That ridiculous speech about the origins of the waltz had to count for something, didn’t it? He hoped she had found him kissable and handsome. Now, he needed to show her that he was funny. Or remind her, at least. They’d always laughed together. She seemed particularly unhappy today. He wanted to see her smile again.
Thomas turned to find Delilah approaching him. She nodded in the direction in which Lavinia had just left. “She threatened me, you know?”
Thomas’s brows shot up. “Who?”
“Your sister.”
