Something warm expanded in his chest, and dropped to settle between his legs. She was not his type of female at all. Mousy. A bluestocking. Certainly he found her discourse refreshing in its frankness, but why he wished to toss up her skirts was a matter he could not reconcile. She was too slender for his tastes, and lacked the full womanly curves he appreciated. Still, he could not deny that he wanted her, and he wanted to know her secrets. “Why are you out here?”
“Because I prefer here to there.”
“Walk with me, then,” he murmured, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow and leading her away.
“Will you flirt shamelessly with me?” she asked as she fell into step beside him. They found a winding garden path and strolled. The way was unlit so they progressed slowly.
“Of course. I will also discover your name before we part.”
“You sound so certain of that.”
He smiled down into her moonlit eyes. “I have my ways.”
She harrumphed skeptically. “You shall have fun matching wits with me.”
“I’ve no doubt your brain is formidable, but that is not the part of you I would use my wiles on.”
She gave a chastising push to his shoulder with her free hand. “You are wicked to speak thusly to a woman of my inexperience. You are making me light-headed.”
Rhys winced, slightly chagrined. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Her hand brushed across where she had touched him a moment before and his blood heated, his step faltered. How could the brush of a gloved hand over the material of his coat and sleeve arouse him?
“Is this sort of bantering the way men speak to women they feel an intimacy with? Lady Grayson laughs often at things that are said to her by men I find to be quite dull.”
Coming to an abrupt halt, Rhys glared down at her.
“I meant no offense!” she said quickly. “In fact, Lady Grayson is a woman I find to be multifaceted in only the most flattering sense.”
Studying her carefully, he concluded she was sincere and began walking again. “Yes, once you become friends with a member of the opposite sex and you are comfortable with them, your conversation can become intimate.”
“Sexually intimate?”
“Oftentimes, yes.”
“Even though the end goal is not sexual, merely for temporary amusement?”
“You are a curious kitten.” His smile was indulgent. To think that such a mundane act as flirtation could become exciting when seen through her eyes. He wished he could sit for hours with her and answer all of her questions.
“I’m afraid I lack the knowledge required to banter in the manner to which you are accustomed. So I hope you forgive me when I just ask you outright to kiss me.”
He stumbled, scattering the gravel on the path. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, my lord.” Her chin lifted. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever will.”
“Why not? You underestimate yourself.”
Her smile was impish and filled him with delight. “I estimate myself just fine.”
“Then certainly you know that another man will kiss you.” Even as he said it, Rhys realized how deeply the thought disturbed him. Her lips were soft as rose petals and sweetly plump. They had cushioned his when he kissed her, and he found them to be the prettiest lips he’d ever seen. The image in his mind of another man sampling them made his fists clench.
“Another man may like to, but he won’t.” She stepped forward, and rose to her tiptoes, offering her mouth to him. “Because I will not allow him to.”
Against his will, Rhys caught her to him. She was slender as a reed, her curves slight, but she fit to him. He held still for a moment, absorbing that fact.
“We fit,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “Is that usual?”
He swallowed hard and shook his head, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. “I’ve no notion what to do with you,” he admitted.
“Just kiss me.”
Rhys bent his head, hovering only a hair’s breadth away. “Tell me your name.”
“Abby.”
He licked her lower lip. “I want to see you again, Abby.”
“So we can hide in gardens and be scandalous?”
What could he say? He knew nothing about her, but her attire, her age, and the fact that she ran about unescorted told him of her lack of consequence. It was time to marry, and she was not a woman he could court.
Her smile was knowing. “Just kiss me and say good-bye, Lord Trenton. Be content that you have given me the fantasy of a handsome, dashing suitor.”
Words failed him, so he kissed her, deeply and with feeling. She melted into him, became breathless, gave a soft whimper that stole his wits. He wanted to take liberties with her. Strip her bare, share with her all the things he knew, see the sexual act as she would, with wonder.
So when she left him in the garden, the farewell he should have spoken would not come. And later, when he returned to the manse with a sham exterior of normalcy, he realized she had not said it either.
Chapter 12
“How interesting that she should arrive without Grayson,” Barbara murmured, her hand tucked lightly over Hargreaves’ arm. Turning her head, she perused the throng again.
“Perhaps he intends to join her later,” the earl replied, with far more nonchalance than she would like. Should he suddenly decide he no longer wanted Isabel Grayson, she would be alone in her attempts to lure Grayson back to her bed.
She released him and stepped back. “Trenton has left her side. Now would be the time to approach her.”
“No.” He shot her an arch look. “Now is
“Gossip is our aim,” she argued.
“Grayson is not a man to be toyed with.”
“I agree, but neither are you.”
Hargreaves stared across the ballroom, his narrowed gaze arrested by his former love.
“Look how morose she is,” Barbara goaded. “Perhaps her decision is one she already regrets. But you will never know if you don’t speak with her.”
It was this last thought that garnered the results she wanted. With a muttered oath, Hargreaves moved away, his broad shoulders squared in determination.
She smiled and turned in the opposite direction, seeking and then finding the young Lord Spencer. Feigning an attempt to move past him, Barbara brushed her breasts along his forearm and when he turned to her with wide eyes, she blushed.
“I do apologize, my lord.” She looked up at him through her lashes.
He offered an indulgent smile. “No apologies necessary,” he said smoothly, catching up her proffered hand. He moved to step out of her way, but she held tight. He arched a brow. “My lady?”
“I would like to reach the drink tables, but the crush is rather daunting. And I am so very parched.”
His half smile was knowing. “I would be honored to offer my services.”
“How gallant of you to come to my aid,” she said, falling into step beside him. She studied him furtively. He was quite handsome, though in not the same way as his older sibling. Grayson had a dangerous edge that could not be ignored, despite his outward appearance of insouciance. Lord Spencer’s nonchalance, however, was not a
