Page 69 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“You won’t tell Georgiana, will you, Cordelia?”

“No, sweet one, I won’t,” Cordelia said. “You might want to tidy your hair, though. Shall I do it?”

“No, I can do it when I get back. I can plait it by myself, you know.” Margaret gestured toward the lake. “Do you want to see the moorhens? I can show them to you before we get back.”

“Margaret, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one—” James began.

“Let her,” Cordelia whispered. “It’ll take her mind off the fall. She’s trying not to cry, and it helps to distract oneself with other things.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

Her eyes darkened once more and she turned her head away, casting her gaze over the lake.

“You can trust me,” James said, lifting her hand to his lips. “And you’ll always be safe with me.”

She blinked, her gaze fixed on the lake while, in the distance, the distinct call of the moorhens echoed across the water.

“Cordelia.”

He lifted his hand and caught her chin, then guided her head around until she faced him. The longing that had swelled in his body last night, and nearly caused him to spend that morning, now settled in his heart. Unable to conquer it, he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. She parted her lips and her warm breath caressed his skin. Then he slipped his tongue inside, relishing the sweet taste of her—warm honey with the tang of sorrow.

How he longed to ease her pain! Though the notion of her crying broke his heart, he wanted nothing more than to be someone she could trust, someone to make her world safe so she could open her heart to him. Her injuries ran far deeper than a mere scrape on the skin. They were scars formed in a life devoid of love, a life of being used for the gratification of others. Some scars hardened the skin such that all hope of feeling, of sensation, was lost forever. But perhaps he might strip away her hard shell to reach the soft heart within.

“James…”

The moment she softened in his arms, his heart soared with hope and he deepened the kiss, devouring her with hungry strokes. A groan of desire reverberated in her bones and he pulled her close, his body hardening with readiness. He thrust his hips forward, his member bulging against his breeches, and she caught her breath, then curled her tongue around his, drawing it deeper in. His cupped a breast and drew in a sharp breath, almost bursting at the feel of the hardened bud pressing insistently against his palm. To think: She was his—his to kiss, his to touch and caress, his to bury himself into while he poured his life into her, shouting her name into the heavens…

“Urgh—yuck!”

Cordelia withdrew, her cheeks flaming. But a primal desire flared in her eyes, flashes of silver like tiny stars pulsing in their depths.

“You’re supposed to kiss her indoors, brother,” Margaret said, wrinkling her nose.

“Nobody’s looking, Meg.”

“I am.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be. Go and look at the moorhens instead.”

“I want Cordelia to see them.”

“And she will. Just give us a moment.”

Margaret let out a huff, then continued toward the water’s edge.

“I do apologize,” James said as they followed Margaret at a leisurely pace.

“There’s no need,” Cordelia replied. “Your sister is a lovely child. I quite adore her. It’s heartening to see a child with such joy in life. And she isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. I envy her in that.”

“But she must be tempered as she grows older.”

“She can enjoy a few more years of childhood, can’t she?”

“Two or three, perhaps. But when she enters Society, she’ll be expected to behave as a viscount’s sister. As I’m expected to behave as a viscount.” He squeezed her hand. “I’d rather behave as a lover. But Margaret’s right. I must temper my behavior while outside.”

She glanced up, disappointment in her eyes. “Must you?”

“And in company.” He let out a sigh. “We must entertain soon.”