real kiss could be.
“Breathe.” God, she smelled so good. He could press his face against her neck and remain there simply breathing her. But he feared that if he enjoyed much more of Diantha Lucas he would be in a very bad way when it came to giving her over to her stepfather and subsequently her intended. A very bad way indeed. And she didn’t deserve it. Rule #9: A gentleman must always place a lady’s welfare before his own.
She slipped her tongue alongside his, gasped a little whimper of pleasure, and he coaxed her lips open and showed her more than how to breathe. He showed her how he wanted her.
It was a pity for Miss Lucas’s welfare that no gentleman could be found here, after all.
She wanted it to go on and on, forever and ever.
His first kiss had not been what she expected. Having a man actually touching her face was a bit odd. It was not soft like when a woman bussed her on the cheek, but firm, and he smelled of leather and horse and a hint of elegant cologne. But after a moment she’d thought it was quite nice. Quite. It made her heart beat swiftly and her breathing cease. She’d been glad she arranged for Betsy to play lookout so Mrs. Polley would not discover it.
It did not feel odd any longer, and glad seemed an enormous understatement.
She never allowed anyone to touch her waist, not even her sisters when they embraced. Told so often by her mother and the girls at school that she was as wide as a tree trunk, she’d learned to pleat her gowns to hide her belly. When he grasped her waist she recoiled. But his hands were so large and strong and certain, and anyway his lips on hers made her forget entirely about her waist because she simply could not think. She gripped his arm, which was thrillingly hard, unlike his mouth that was a little bit open over hers and hot and made her hot too. But not just on her mouth. Rather, in other places that he was not even touching with his lips or hands, below her belly especially—deliciously warm and needy in a strange sort of way. It wasn’t what she had imagined—not in the least. She had always assumed it would be wet and distasteful, but the only place she felt wet was between her legs and he seemed to be doing the tasting.
She slipped her fingers higher on his coat sleeve to feel more. His muscles contracted beneath them, and the warmth low inside her fluttered.
“Breathe,” he murmured again, his voice a bit rough, and again she made the attempt, more of a choke than anything before his mouth covered hers anew. And while it was only lips touching, she felt like he was touching quite a bit more with each kiss. His hands slipped up over her ribs, so warm and strong and holding her firmly, halting just below her breasts.
Yes. She liked a man’s hands so close to her breasts. It made her feel very hot and not at all uncomfortable. A little wild, truth be told, with delicious swirlings in the tips of her breasts. Her fingers clutched him and she let his lips urge hers open farther.
His tongue caressed hers. She gasped.
This—this perfect touching—this could not be a typical kiss. She parted her lips, inviting him to touch her like that again. He did, then again, mating their tongues in a hot, slow dance that made her feel a little frantic. She met his advances, welcomed him inside her. It felt so good, indescribably good, like he was touching the very center of her. He was making her weak but she wanted more. More of him. All the little points of her body, her skin, wanted to be closer to him.
She curved her fingers around his shoulder and pressed herself forward. His grip tightened, holding her in place apart from him.
Abruptly he ended the kiss.
She opened her eyes. It took a moment to focus.
“Second,” she said in a remarkably thin voice. He was so handsome, his hands were tight around her where no one’s hands had ever been, and he made her dizzy. “Or rather, third.”
“Did you breathe?” His voice was very deep.
She nodded. By some miracle she had breathed while he kissed her, but frankly could not seem to now. “I regret having asked for just one.”
He released her and stepped back. His silvery eyes looked like mercury, like the soft throbbing inside her, but his brow creased. “Did you plan that?”
“Of course. I always have a plan f—”
“For everything.” He turned and moved toward his horses, and her heart did a few stuttered beats. Her lips were moist, and she still wanted his on them, and much more of his hands on her body.
She darted a glance at the door. No Betsy in sight. Mrs. Polley must still be safe in the house.
“Would you perhaps kiss me once more?”
He turned to face her, but now his silvery eyes were fierce and his jaw looked hard.
“Miss Lucas, do not ask again.”
“But, I—”
“If you ask again, I vow I will tie you up, stuff you in that traveling trunk, and haul you back to your stepfather’s home at once.”
“I would not fit in my traveling trunk. It is too full of other items.”
“I would remove those first, of course.” He turned to the brown horse and drew it forward. “Was your claim the other night that you can drive an empty boast or truth?”
“I never boast. It’s true. I learned when I was quite young.” At a ridiculously tender age she had convinced the coachman at Glenhaven Hall to teach her. Her stepfather always complained about how successfully she cozened the servants into agreeing to her wayward plans.
He tethered the brown horse to his mount. “Then you may drive. Only do not overturn the carriage. Mrs. Polley would undoubtedly find some justification for scolding me for it rather than you.” It seemed that he teased, but his eyes still glittered sharply.
“I promise not to overturn it.” She watched him move through the stable door ahead with his horses. “Thank you.”
“You needn’t thank me. Galahad prefers to be ridden rather than follow.”
She touched her fingertips to her lips to see if they felt different on the outside. They did not. But she did. He had just taught her how to breathe, and everything inside her felt different.
“I meant thank you for the kiss.”
He did not pause or acknowledge her words. But she thought she heard him mutter “Minx” as he went into the yard.
Chapter 9
Fellow Subjects,
I have frustrating news. The man I hired to follow the member of the Falcon Club that I discovered has lost the trail. I share with you this information because I have had letters from many of you excited at my discovery, and I cannot bear to hold you in suspense. It warms my heart that you are as desirous as I to know the truth of this club.
—Lady Justice
Dearest Lady,
I beg of you—mercy! You must cease this teasing prose. When you write of warmth, your heart, and desire all in the same sentence, I vow I can barely hold my seat. I would erect a tent before the office of your publisher and sleep in it nights in the hopes of capturing a glimpse of you entering the building upon the dawn. Indeed, I have attempted it! Alas, the street warden will not allow it. Thus I am forced to beg of you, my lady, consider my febrile imagination and give it rest.
Increasingly yours, &c.,
Peregrine
Secretary, The Falcon Club
Sir,
