He blinked. “Yes. Yes, we are,” he agreed, apparently deciding to play along. “I have heard some men refer to their... to their wives as ‘sweetings’,” he murmured.
“My sweet,” she stated. When she saw his look of bewilderment, she added, “I would prefer ‘my sweet’ over ‘sweeting’ as I think ‘sweeting’ makes it sound as if I’m some sort of bird. Or a cat.”
His mouth rounded before he nodded. “You have a very good point. And I do think ‘my sweet’ makes it sound as if you’re a special treat. Like a candy at Christmas,” he reasoned.
Marian displayed a brilliant grin. “Exactly,” she replied. “Now... what shall I call you?”
She watched as the baron seemed to struggle. “I could call you ‘dear’,” she offered when he didn’t offer an endearment.
“You could,” he agreed, but he showed not the least bit of enthusiasm for the term. “My first thought when I hear it is the animal, though,” he added. “The doe. Not the buck.” He once again winced, but Marian understood his reasoning perfectly.
“What about ‘my dearest’?” she asked.
“Oh, I like that,” he said. “Especially if it’s true.”
“Well, of course it is,” she replied. “You’re my betrothed,” she added, rather enjoying their secret conversation.
It was the baron’s turn to display a brilliant grin. “I shall answer to that then,” he stated. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “It’s very good to meet you, my sweet,” he said before he bent and brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles.
A pleasant tremor shot up Marian’s arm as she watched the baron bow over her hand. “And you, my dearest,” she said as she dipped a curtsy. She didn’t care that he continued to hold onto her hand even after he straightened. That his gaze had gone to her lips, which had parted slightly. Without her realizing it, the tip of her tongue touched her top lip. She didn’t mean it as an invitation for him to kiss her, but she was heartened when it seemed to do the trick.
The baron hesitated, as if he was having an internal war with himself. Determined they kiss, Marian reached up with her free hand to place it against the side of his face while she stood on tiptoes. “Kiss me,” she whispered, not making it a question.
“If you’re sure,” he murmured.
The pressure on her lips was so tentative, so light, Marian wondered at first if they were even touching. And then she knew they were, for she felt the firm pads of his against the soft pillows of hers, and all at once they seemed to gently lock into place.
She instinctively knew what to do, and apparently the baron knew as well, for she felt the slight suckling and a pleasant sensation that had her insides fizzing with excitement. There was a moment when time seemed to stop, and all that existed were only the two of them.
One of his hands had moved to cup her jaw, and she was glad of the support. In need of more, she leaned forward and gripped one of the lapels of the shawl collar of his topcoat. When their bodies met—her chest into his middle—a warmth permeated her entire being.
She mewled her disappointment when he pulled his lips from hers, but even if he hadn’t, she would have had to, for she needed to take a deep breath.
The two stared at one another for several seconds before she said, “Thank you.”
His eyes rounded. “It is I who should thank you,” he whispered. “I’ve never...” He clamped his mouth shut. “That is to say, I am terribly out of practice.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed it, but then, I’ve never been kissed before,” she replied with a shrug.
Blinking, he said, “You haven’t?”
Shaking her head, she gave him a prim grin. “Do you suppose we might do it again... sometime... soon?”
Although his hand had moved from her jaw to her shoulder, the two hadn’t stepped apart from one another. They would have continued to stand impossibly close for who knows how long except that the voices of two gentlemen carrying on a conversation were growing closer. At any moment, the men would be at the top of the stairs, able to pay witness to Marian and the baron in the state of a near embrace.
Marian didn’t wish to give up her hold on the man. His door was shut, but hers was still open. Tugging on his shawl collar, she stepped back and into her room, which forced the baron to swing around. Just before the intruders arrived at the top of the stairs, Marian kicked her door shut with a slippered foot. Before the baron could put voice to a protest or question what was happening, she had a hand behind his neck and was pulling his head down for another kiss.
The baron obliged, his lips obviously hungry for hers. They stood kissing for nearly an entire minute before they broke the kiss at the same time.
Staring at her for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. He lifted his head and allowed his gaze to sweep the bedchamber. “Wh… where are we?”
“My room,” Marian replied. “It’s terribly pink, I know,” she added, managing to make it sound as if pink was her least favorite color.
“I’ve never been in a woman’s bedchamber before,” he whispered, an expression of worry settling on his features.
A knock at the door had them both giving a start. “Who is it?” she called out, managing to sound far calmer than she felt.
“Marian, your presence is needed for this next game of cards,” came a male voice.
