She gifted him with a tentative smile. “No, I mean I truly enjoyed myself. I can see why Rand is happy to count you as a friend. You’re the best—like a brother, but better.”
Kit didn’t want to be Rose’s brother. Her mother had given him hope, but she’d warned that the decision was Rose’s—evidently for good reason.
Like a brother.
He had to respect that, didn’t he? Respect her. His heart heavy, he released her hand, then leaned to give her an innocent, brotherly thank-you kiss, a brush of lips against cheek.
She smelled of roses, pure and heady. And he felt something—an involuntary sway of her body toward his, an indefinable spark—that made all his resolve simply melt away.
His mouth slid across her satin skin, past one of the hidden dimples he’d wanted to kiss earlier, and met her lips in a sudden rush of heat. A consuming heat. His arms wound around her to draw her close. Locked against him, she was everything he’d dreamed of and more.
And Rose’s world turned over.
She didn’t like kisses, hadn’t wanted one, but Kit’s mouth seemed made to fit hers. Tender and urgent all at once, his kiss was a delicious sensation. Wantonly, she pressed herself closer, reveling in the feel of his hard body against her softness. An odd ripple shuddered through her, and her knees weakened.
This dreamy intimacy felt nothing like the other kisses she’d experienced.
She inhaled his woodsy scent, drawing his essence inside her. He nipped at her lips then traced the line between them, inciting shivers, making heat pool in her middle. Then his tongue delved inside to touch hers, but it didn’t feel intrusive. Her senses skidded and whirled. She returned the caress, and it turned into an exciting, tangled dance.
All too soon, he drew away, leaving her shaking. And stunned. A sigh eased out between her still-parted lips.
Kit’s kiss had been every bit as wondrous as those her sisters had described. A thing of beauty, she thought dizzily. But she didn’t say it aloud, because she feared he would take it the wrong way. Not to mention she felt incapable of saying anything at the moment.
His eyes glittered green in the torchlight, his gaze piercing into her as though he could divine her scrambled thoughts.
As she watched, his mouth curved into a faint smile that might have been smug.
“Good night,” he said and walked away.
SEVENTEEN
ROSE CLOSED the lodging’s door and leaned back against it, then released a long, long sigh. A sigh of relief.
She didn’t dislike kissing after all!
Kit, of course, had no business kissing her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry he’d done so. She’d watched him walk away, knowing she should call after him, berate him for having the nerve to take such a liberty, inform him that he was never to do so again.
But she hadn’t found the strength to do that. She’d felt weak, boneless. And happy—so happy to find that nothing was wrong with her.
She enjoyed kissing!
And somehow, after experiencing Kit’s kiss, she knew that she would enjoy the other things that happened between a man and a woman. All the things that the marriage manual Aristotle’s Master-piece had described…those things she’d been so eager to try until she’d tried kissing and decided it wasn’t to her taste.
Now she knew differently. How silly she’d been to jump to such a conclusion. Obviously a woman’s enjoyment of kissing depended on the skill of the man. How unlucky she’d been to kiss so many men and never find a talented one until now.
“Dear? Are you out there?”
“Yes, Mum.” Rose took a deep, calming breath and crossed the small sitting room toward the even smaller bedchamber she and her mother were sharing.
Chrystabel was seated at the heavy carved wood dressing table. While her maid Anne twisted the back section of her hair up into a bun, she tore a small sheet of red Spanish paper from a tiny booklet and rubbed it lightly on her cheeks. “Did you have a nice time, dear?”
Feeling heat flare in her face, Rose was glad her mother was busy looking in the mirror. “It was a fine day,” she said carefully, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic.
She certainly didn’t want her mother finding out she’d allowed Kit—a commoner!—to kiss her.
Mum set down the Spanish paper and lifted a kohl pencil. “What did you do?” she asked, carefully rimming an eye.
“Oh, we had dinner and then I translated part of the book.” The sound of an ungraceful snore drew Rose’s gaze to Harriet, dead to the world on a pallet laid out on the floor. Shaking her head, she crossed to her trunk and rummaged through it herself. “I met Kit’s sister, Ellen.”
“Was she nice?”
Rose held up a frosty pink gown and then rejected it; she was feeling much bolder than that. “I liked her. But she’s eighteen and fancies herself in love. With a pawnbroker.”
“Perhaps she is in love. And in a bustling town like this, a pawnshop is likely to be a thriving business.”
“Surely she can do much better than to live life above a pawnshop. Look at the house she’s living in now!”
Chrystabel turned to her, raising one kohl-darkened brow. “You liked it, then.”
“Kit’s house?” Rose shook out a bright red gown. Perfect. She laid it on the old canopied bed. “It was very impressive. It must be lovely to live right on the river like that and yet in a bustling town, too. And the house is beautifully designed.”
Another thing of beauty, she thought, standing over her sleeping maid. “Harriet!” she called softly.
The girl bolted upright. “Yes, milady.” She scrambled to her feet. “Forgive me, milady. I was tired.”
Rose waved a dismissive hand, thinking she was a mite tired herself.
“You like the house’s designer, too,” her mother said.
“Kit? He’s a pleasant man.” Memories flashed: his smile, his laughter, his eyes…his kiss. Rose shivered, then made a show of rubbing her arms,
