“Do not try to distract me,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest and noticing for the first time just how firm it was. Nowthatwas distracting.
“Yes, I went riding with your father. Three times this past week, as a matter of fact.” His eyes met hers, and he cocked an imperious brow. “Should I have asked your permission? Am I allowed to be friendly with only one Rockford at a time? I fear your brother may have a long while to wait—”
“Three times?” Victoria had taken a few moments to process his words, but the shock of them set in rather quickly after that.
“Why, yes. Did he not tell you?”
She shook her head. No, he certainly had not. Of course, she didn’t expect her father to run his entire social calendar by her for approval, but he hadn’t allowed anyone to accompany him on his rides since they’d arrived in England. Those early morning outings were normally his most contemplative, and he didn’t care to be interrupted. The fact that he’d invited Lord Blackwood—and on several occasions, no less!—was astonishing to her.
“I rose early yesterday and heard him return from his ride. I now know it was you I saw riding away from the mews.”
The soft, warm smile Blackwood offered her melted her insides, and he took her hand in his. It was warm even through the layers of their gloves. “Does it displease you that I was riding with your father?” he inquired gently.
“No—that is, I do not suppose I have feelings about it one way or the other. My father is a grown man.”
“Then are you jealous that I have not accompanied you on a ride yet? I am more than happy to remedy that.”
Victoria’s bark of laughter was unladylike, but she couldn’t help it with how off-guard his comment had caught her. “That is not it at all!”
“Then are you curious about what he and I discussed on these long rides at ungodly hours?”
Victoria pulled her lips between her teeth rather than answer. That maddening brow of his rose a little higher before he leaned in as if imparting a delicious secret.
“I should like very much to call upon you formally at your home, Miss Rockford, if that is agreeable to you.”
Her breath hitched. She did not know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been that. Was she that blinded by her desire for a sense of belonging in London that she hadn’t noticed his less-than-platonic interest in her? Had it been there all along, or had it developed over time?
Blackwood continued, saying, “Your father has given his blessing for us to begin meeting in such a capacity. All that is left is your approval.” He straightened to his full height, and she was shocked to realize they’d moved together so now barely a breath of air separated them. She could feel the heat of his body; she could do nothing but breathe the air scented with pine and sweet tobacco.
“If you do…then you will become like every other man I’ve met in London,” she replied, the tragedy of the fact leaking into her words. Is that what their friendship would be reduced to? Would he fade into the crowd of uninspired fortune-hunting suitors? Victoria thought with a sense of loss how she would miss the easy, amiable time spent in his company; how keenly she would feel the absence of his intoxicating laughter.
Rather than sober him, her statement seemed only to thrill him. The viscount’s smile split into a full grin.
“Sweeting,” he purred, “I am nothing like those men.” And he closed the last little gap between them to cover her mouth with his, shaking Victoria’s normally solid reserve to her core.
She had experienced a few chaste kisses in her life from the bolder of her suitors back home in America, but those had been nothing like the toe-curling, sensational onslaught unleashed upon her by Lord Blackwood. He pulled her in with a strong arm around her waist, pressing their bodies together in an unyielding embrace that left her breathless. This man, who’d spent the last several weeks making her laugh, earning her trust, and becoming her friend, wanted her…and she was helpless to resist the pull.
Blackwood’s lips met hers with practiced expertise, drawing a sigh of rapture from her breast as he licked at the seam of her mouth. He tasted of something intoxicatingly sweet and smoky—whiskey and brown sugar, warm and inviting, drugging in its sensual leisure. Helpless in the face of his skill, she tilted her head with only the slightest provocation from his thumb at her jaw and granted him access to more of her. And take, he did. He devoured her. His tongue swept deeply, claiming her until she clung to his lapels lest her legs give out. She could feel the heavy thud of his heart against her knuckles, and she was certain it beat as the perfect counterpart to her own hammering pulse.
They took turns tasting one another, giving and taking in equal measure. The tightening of his arms around her emboldened Victoria. His slight groan when she gave his lower lip a teasing nip spurred her on, but he met her challenge and demonstrated just how little she truly knew of physical passion and pleasure. His hands danced down her back, sending ripples of gooseflesh across every inch of her skin. She arched into him and accepted everything he gave her until, quite suddenly, he released her.
She’d been kissed so soundly that her mind was still lost in the clouds, leaving her to teeter precariously. Lord Blackwood steadied her with a maddeningly pleased look on his handsome face, his eyes dark pools of carnal knowledge the likes of which she could not fathom. It didn’t seem fair that a man could be so beautiful…surely, he’d always been forgiven anything in return for a smile and a wink.
“I will call upon you tomorrow,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was his voice slightly huskier than usual? “I know your directions.”
Victoria’s cheeks flared with heat as if she’d stared into the hearth for too long—sought its warmth and been scorched so slowly that she hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
Her sluggish mind had no opportunity to comment before she was ushered back into the buzzing parlor, the rest of the guests none the wiser for what had taken place in the dim hallway. She barely resisted the urge to press her gloved fingertips to her lips. Surely, they were pink and swollen from Blackwood’s thorough kissing; would they not give away what had transpired?
But no.
Everyone was quite enthralled by the poetry reading that was still somehow taking place despite her recent transcendent experience. She supposed it was a good thing this was surely the world’s longest poem, or else her absence might have been noticed.
Or Blackwood’s.
Her eyes scanned the crowd and, sure enough, his dark, handsome frame had reentered through another doorway on the opposite side of the room with all the forethought of a man used to such scenarios.
And his coal-fire gaze was trained right at her.
