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Intellectually, she’d known that at some point on their wedding day, they’d probably be goaded into sharing a kiss, but it had seemed safer not to think about it. Friends didn’t kiss. Especially not married ones.

“Reverend Macdonough can’t object here on the steps,” said Ina’s aunt.

“Aunt Jacqueline,” Ina said, a little taken aback.

Gavin shook his head. “There’s the wedding breakfast—”

“Go on,” Christine teased, a wicked glint in her eye.

Oh Lord, this was swiftly becoming a much larger thing than it needed to be. It was, after all, just a kiss. What harm could there be in that?

She glanced around before daring to meet Gavin’s gaze. “I don’t know if they’re going to let us get away without a kiss,” she ventured.

A half smile tipped Gavin’s mouth when Moray shouted out, “What are you waiting for, Barrett?”

She was about to hush the newspaperman when Gavin’s lips were on hers. Surprised, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her. The kiss was soft but fierce, and warmth flooded her chest like a drop of dye in water.

He pulled back slightly, but then, almost as though he couldn’t help himself, fitted his lips to hers again. Her mouth opened with a slight gasp, and he gently caught up her lower lip between his teeth.

This. I want this. The thought roared up in her with a force she’d never known. Suddenly he wasn’t just Gavin, her friend. He was Gavin, her husband, whom she liked kissing.

But then, just as quickly as it had happened, the kiss was over. He pulled back, and she would’ve stumbled if his hand hadn’t been on her waist to keep her upright.

Still dumbfounded, she let herself be hustled into a carriage by her friends. Christine made sure to loop her train in so the door wouldn’t close on it, winking at her before stepping back to allow Gavin to climb in.

A cheer went up as the carriage lurched forward. Ina’s eyes darted to Gavin, who was studying her.

“It’s done,” he said.

She nodded. “We’re married.”

A silence full of unspoken things stretched between them.

“I’m sorry about the kiss,” he said, mussing his hair as he passed a hand over it. “Moray would’ve had all of High Street chanting for it if I hadn’t given them what they wanted.”

“Aunt Jacqueline too.”

“That was a surprise, but I suppose everyone loves a wedding.”

Silence again. Hesitatingly she asked, “Are you truly sorry about it?”

The muscles of his jaw worked in that way they always did when she asked him a question he didn’t want to answer.

“I don’t regret it, if that helps ease your mind,” she offered.

He sighed and leaned back against the quilted seat. “You don’t regret it.”

“It wasn’t disappointing. I imagine first kisses can be for some young ladies,” she said, toying with the ribbon that wrapped around the stems of her bouquet.

His head jerked up. “First kiss?”

She blinked at him. “Well, yes.”

“That was your first kiss?”

She frowned. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve spent quite a good number of years trying to avoid kissing anyone.”

“But—but surely there was someone before . . .”