She let out a soft moan when he kissed her again, his lips insistent against hers, his tongue seeking entry, a swell of triumph rising in his chest when she opened for him at once, welcoming him into that dark pink heat.
This time, he left no corner of her mouth untouched, but drifted into every secret hollow, tasted every curve, his senses swimming with the scent of her, his tongue alive with the flavor of sweet cream.
ChapterEleven
Juliet had been kissed once before, when she was eight years old.
One of her father’s friends had brought his son on a visit to Hambleden Manor, and the boy had kissed her on the cheek. It had been quick and sweet, and they’d both blushed furiously afterwards.
Miles’s kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t even a kiss so much as a claiming—a pulse-leaping, heart-fluttering, dizzyingtakingthat blazed through her like a conflagration, sending a shower of sparks through every nerve ending, seizing her breath from her lungs, and stealing her reason.
His mouth was dark heat, the wild, rich taste of him melting on her tongue.
“Open for me, Juliet.”
A delicious little thrill tripped down her spine at the rough demand, and she obeyed him instinctively, gasping when he surged into her mouth and slid the slick tip of his tongue across the inside of her bottom lip.
He knew, somehow, just how to kiss her, how to use his lips, his tongue and his teeth… God in heaven, the gentle rasp of histeeth… to stoke the smoldering heat in her lower belly until she was straining against him, her knees pressed against his hips and her fingers in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. “Miles…”
“Shh. I’ve got you.” His wide palms slid down the outside of her thighs to her knees, easing them up so he could press closer between her legs… yes, please,yes, her bottom sliding over the slippery surface of his desk until her hips collided with his, his possessive hands holding her tightly against him, and…
Dear God, she couldfeelhim, hot and hard, even with the layers of clothing between them, and hisvoice, low and dark and filthy in her ear, urging her on, his teeth worrying her earlobe, a tiny sharp bite that made her shudder against him, dragging a groan from his throat.
He cupped her breast in his palm and stroked her nipple with his thumb, slow, sinuous circles, his mouth so hot on her throat, her neck arching, her head falling back in invitation.
“Juliet.” It was a growl, a command and a plea at once, the cool air on the heated skin of her back as her buttons gave way to the frantic tug of his fingers, his other hand fisting her skirts, dragging them up past her knees, her thighs. “Want you.”
And she… oh, she wanted so many things, dreamt so many dreams still, just as she’d done when she was a girl, but she didn’t want anything as badly as she wanted him. “Then take me, my lord.”
Because it should be that simple, shouldn’t it? As simple as wanting him, and lying back for him, her spine against the polished wood of his desk, her hand on his neck, his pulse beating against her fingertips as he wrestled with the buttons of his falls—
Until suddenly he froze, listening, his fingers pressed to her lips. “Someone’s coming.”
A moment later, she heard it, too, voices in the entryway, mere steps from the study, and then, growing louder with each of her panting breaths, footsteps echoing down the corridor.
“Quickly.” Miles grasped her upper arms and lifted her upright, wrestling with the back of her gown until he’d closed every button that he’d opened with such desperation only moments before. Then with one quick tug he slid her off the desk and into a chair, buttoned his falls, and strode over to the window behind his desk, his back to her.
That’s where they were when Lord Barnaby strode into the study a moment later. “Ah, Cross. I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to ask if you…” he trailed off, glancing between the two of them. “What’s happenednow?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Miles didn’t turn from the window. “Nothing’s happened. What do youwant, Barnaby?”
Barnaby cleared his throat. “I came to enquire, cousin, whether or not you expected Lord Boggs to appear at Steeple Cross.”
“Boggs?” Miles did turn then, his eyebrows raised. “God, no. Don’t tell me he’s—”
“Here? I’m afraid so, cousin, and regrettably, Mrs. Poole’s already shown him into the drawing room.”
“How unfortunate.” Miles gave his coat a sharp tug. “Very well. I’ll see to him.”
“Wait, Cross. He didn’t ask for you. He, ah…” Barnaby cast her an uneasy glance. “That’s the strange thing. He’s asking to see Miss Templeton.”
“Me?” What in the world did Lord Boggs want withher? “I don’t understand. Are you quite certain he asked for me, Lord Barnaby?”
“I am, indeed. He claims you told him you’d be at Steeple Cross when he came to call on you at Lady Fosberry’s the day before you left London for Oxfordshire, and… well, he seems to be under the impression you, ah… invited him to join you here.”
“Iinvited him?” Why, what did the manmean, telling Lord Barnaby she’d invited him to Steeple Cross? All of London might think her a shameless adventuress, but she wasn’t so lost to propriety she’d make an assignation with one gentleman at another gentleman’s house!
“Youareacquainted with Lord Boggs, I believe, Miss Templeton?” There was nothing accusatory in Miles’s voice, but the look he gave her was decidedly cool.
