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“That’s what the local squire’s son said,” Livie told him. “A sultry mouth.”

His body went still.

She rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t kiss him. His name is Silas, and I’ve never liked that name.”

“What do you think of ‘Joshua?’ ”

It must have been an attack of madness in the aftermath of Conquering Clod. Livie wanted nothing more than to lean forward and brush his lips with hers—to kiss Joshua, the way that couple against the wall had been kissing.

Joshua was a trifle somber, but otherwise … perfect. She wanted to run her fingers along his jaw and ruffle that short hair. She wanted to make him laugh. If holding hands was improper, tilting her face up for a kiss was positively dissolute. Nevertheless, a sweet tide of joy was racing through her veins, making her feel reckless.

It was just one secret evening, after all. He didn’t know who she was. He would never know.

She raised her chin and looked at him through her lashes.

Joshua had experienced this feeling before.

Once, before the Battle of the Pyrenees, while morning mist still drifted among the mountain trees through which he would soon send his brigade charging. Another day, after a flash of light seen from the corner of his eye, which turned out to be a musket ball taking him to his death.

Almost to his death, as it turned out.

The time when his colonel appeared at his bedside and told him that once he had convalesced, he would return to the military at the rank of major.

Moments when his life changed.

The lady was looking at him with an unmistakable invitation. Her eyes were wide, fringed with dark lashes, but the interest in them was clear. When he froze, the rules of gentlemanly behavior speeding through his mind, she bit her lush bottom lip.

No soldier survives without learning how to make split-second decisions. Joshua’s hands closed around her shoulders, and he captured her mouth.

CHAPTER TWELVE

KISSING LADY MACBETH

If this was his mystery lady’s first kiss, she had a natural gift. Sensation burned down Joshua’s body. The months of painful convalescence were forgotten; passion roared in his blood the way it used to before his injury.

She pressed closer with a purr. A tide of desire broke free inside Joshua, and he pulled her to him, plundering her mouth.

A long moment later, he remembered where he was. In public.

Kissing a lady, in public. If this were a normal gathering, all inconsequential conversation would have halted, and they would be kissing in a pool of disapproving silence. At this particular masquerade, likely no one even noticed. Still …

“Hell,” he gasped, drawing away.

She swayed and murmured something. Somehow her mask was still in place, but under it, her eyes looked intoxicated.

“Have you been drinking champagne?” he barked with a sudden bolt of guilt.

She shook her head. Her gloved hand went to her lips, as if they were tingling as much as his. “My goodness,” she whispered.

Relieved, Joshua took a deep breath. Luckily, if he was bewitched, so was she. Behind her hand, his lady’s mouth was smiling.

Her domino had eased open when they kissed, revealing a modest neckline. Candlelight from the chandeliers overhead cast patterns on her creamy skin, deepening the cleft between her breasts. A light fragrance of apple blossoms in spring combatted the sultry perfumes worn by ladies bouncing around the dancefloor.

Joshua swallowed hard; he was a gentleman. His mother would be horrified by his behavior this evening. He reached out and pulled tight the strings that held her cloak closed, tying them in a bow.

She raised a delicate eyebrow.

“The men around us are not behaving like gentlemen, and I don’t wish anyone to ogle you.” He hesitated and added, “I apologize for that kiss. I lost my head.”