Was it the hint of raspberries that stole his reason, or the dainty pucker of her lips as they formed the word, or the scent of the roses, black tea and raspberry and some exotic spice he couldn’t name spiraling through his veins? Or was it simply her, her blue eyes touched with silvery gray like a winter sea, widening as he drew closer, the uncertain flutter of her dark lashes as they lowered, then lifted again, holding his gaze as he cradled her cheeks in his palms.
My hands are shaking…
It was all of these things, or perhaps none of them, but in the next breath it no longer mattered, because he was kissing her, and she was opening for him, her mouth soft and giving, one small, gloved hand reaching for him, her fingers warm through the thin cotton as they rested against his neck.
The innocent touch nearly undid him. “Emmeline.”
Her only reply was a soft sigh, the warm drift of her breath teasing his senses and stealing his own breath, and he knew—in an instant, he knew it was her kiss that had been haunting him since that night in Lady Fosberry’s library. Her kiss that had transformed him, because he was no longer the same man he’d been before he found her.
He would never be that man again—never wanted to be that man who’d believed he could live a lifetime without knowing what it felt like to kiss Emmeline Templeton.
She shifted closer, turning toward him, her skirts brushing his legs, and he slid his palm down her shoulder, his thumb dragging over her collarbones, until he settled it at her waist, so he might keep her close.
All Emmeline could see was Johnathan—because yes, he was Johnathan to her now, had ceased to be Lord Melrose days ago—and all she could feel was the tickle of rose petals against her lips, his mouth hovering over hers before he took it a kiss that flooded her with warmth, from her spinning head to her curling toes.
Every thought in her brain fled, but for one.
I want to dive into that warmth, press my face into his chest, and remain there forever.
He kissed her tenderly, but with an insistence that hinted at restrained passion, his tongue teasing at the seam of her lips until she opened for him with a soft moan. A low, fierce growl rumbled in his chest as he plunged inside, his tongue stroking hers until the garden spun around Emmeline in a whirl of dizzying desire.
When he drew away, they were both breathless. “Look at me, Emmeline.”
Emmeline shook her head, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, like a child trying to escape a scolding, because if she looked at him, if she looked into those devastating blue eyes and found that same tenderness with which he’d gazed at her in the garden yesterday, she’d be lost to him forever.
“Yes.” He touched a gentle finger to her chin, raising her face to his so he could look into her eyes. “Look at me.”
Oh, she didn’t want to! She was afraid of him, and of herself and everything she felt when she was with him, but his voice was so soft and coaxing, his fingers stroking her skin so gently, she could refuse him nothing.
“Your eyes were the first thing I noticed about you. Beautiful. I should have known it at once, as soon as I saw your eyes.”
A trembling began deep in Emmeline’s belly. “Known, my lord?”
Johnathan’s eyes darkened. “Are you cold, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. Dear God. Words felt too difficult just then, so she shook her head.
He rested his hand on her waist, the warmth seeping through his glove and leaving an imprint of his palm against her ribs. “I can feel you shivering.”
“I…not from the cold.” It wasn’t what she meant to say—it was much too honest, much more than she’d intended to reveal, but he’d disarmed her somehow, her natural wariness no match for him.
Perhaps it was his eyes, the kindness in them.
“Do I make you shiver, Emmeline?” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.
Emmeline’s lips parted, but all that emerged was a soft sigh.
His gaze darted to her lips, “Have you ever kissed a gentleman before?”
“No. I—I don’t know any gentlemen.”
But she had kissed a gentleman—this gentleman, and everything inside her urged her to tell him, to confess she was the lady he’d kissed in the library, that she was the Lady in Lavender.
He knows. He already knows…
“Ah. You may not realize, then, how much a kiss can reveal. Secrets, truths one might wish to keep hidden all disintegrate in the wake of a truly breathtaking kiss.” He dragged his thumb gently over her bottom lip, a flush rising in his cheeks when she parted for him. “Do you know what I learned from your kiss, Emmeline?”
“No,” she whispered.
