And that suited Miss Rosemary Stanhope just fine.
Sir Reginald may not have had a title, or wealth, or even opposable thumbs, but he made for an excellent companion. The little red squirrel that she’d rescued as a baby when he’d fallen from his nest had never pestered her to dance, did not judge her when she snuck a second piece of cake (as long as she shared it with him), and never made her feel foolish or awkward. Which was why, during the past six weeks she’d spent as a guest at Hawkridge Manor, she had missed his presence terribly.
The decision to leave him behind at the London townhouse that she shared with her grandmother, Lady Dorothea Ellinwood, had been a difficult, but necessary one. Sir Reginald did not care for long carriage trips and, besides, Rosemary was only going to be away for a short while.
But then her grandmother’s gout had flared up, and what was meant to be a brief house party had turned into something much longer. Long enough for the party to end, the guests to depart, and Rosemary and her grandmother to become semi-permanent residents. At least, that was what it felt like.
With the Earl of Hawkridge and his sister, Lady Brynne, in London, the massive country estate–ten thousand acres in all–was nearly vacant. It was just them, the staff…and the deplorable Duke of Hanover, whom she’d have gladly traded for Sir Reginald if the opportunity ever happened to present itself.
It continued to baffle Rosemary that in a residence of this size, the duke would continue to cross her path with alarming regularity. The first few times they found themselves in the same room, she’d chalked it up to sheer coincidence. Maybe he reallyhadwanted to eat an early dinner, and the rear terracewasa lovely place to sit as the sun was setting.
But that had all changed yesterday, when he’d found her in the library reading…and what had begun as a more or less pleasant exchange of words between two people trapped in the same house together had ended–quite unexpectedly–with a kiss.
Sterling Nottingham, Duke of Hanover, had kissedher.
Miss Rosemary Stanhope, Squirrel Keeper Extraordinaire.
It went without saying that it had been her very first kiss. While her peers had escaped their chaperones and flitted out to the gardens to indulge in moonlight trysts with handsome suitors, Rosemary had remained behind in her corner of the ballroom, Sir Reginald peeking out of her reticule and a book firmly placed upon her lap.
Other matrons envied Lady Ellinwood her obedient charge, but the truth was that Rosemary wasn’t so much a rule follower as she was a reader. And how was one supposed to read if they were being kissed in the moonlight?
Or in the library.
Her cheeks burned as she recalled the weight of Sterling’s mouth on hers. The hot, damp slide of his tongue between her lips which had parted not so much in passion as surprise. The tingling in her belly…and down lower, between her thighs, where she’d never dared explore.
His fingers gliding through her hair before anchoring at the nape of her neck, thumbs resting just beneath her earlobes, and who knew such a tiny, inconspicuous piece of her body was capable of such sensation?
He’d yanked her against him, causing her breasts to press against his hard chest. It was not, she’d noted with a spark of curiosity, the only part of his body that was hard.
The kiss had deepened.
The hand at her nape had tightened.
One of them–she was fairly certain it was her–had moaned.
Another–definitely him–had cursed.
Then he’d drawn back, his gray eyes as dark as a brooding storm cloud, and swiped a hand across his mouth, as if to erase the taste of her lips.
Which had, Rosemary could admit now, hurt her feelings.
But not quite as much as what he’d said next.
“That was a bloody mistake.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Obviously, a duke had no business kissing a wallflower.
But did he have to say it out loud?
“Youkissedme,” she reminded him, lest he’d forgotten that this certainly wasn’t her idea. She had been happy reading her book in peace and quiet, thank you very much. He was the one who had walked in on her. And he was the one who had put his tonguein her mouth. Heaven knew she hadn’t even known such a thing was possible!
Although now that she did, she rather liked it.
She rather liked it quite a bit.
“A mistake,” he’d repeated before he raked a hand through his glossy mane of black, gave her one last, searing glare, and then quit the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
