When had he begun thinking of her as his?
“How much did you hear?” she asked.
“I’m a beast, which we both knew already. They have grossly inaccurate opinions about your beautiful figure. And every one of them deserves tae be courted by that rat Montague.”
“All of it, then. Or most of it. I doubt they knew I was in the room. Not that my presence matters, I suppose.”
“It’s rubbish. Every bit of it.”
“How are you certain it isn’t true? Montague is saying I—” She gulped. Tears shone in her eyes in the low light. “He’s saying I—”
Ethan brushed a finger down the side of her face, as he had that evening at the inn forever ago. Still impossibly soft. “We both know you didn’ drop Montague for my fortune or because you’re fickle in your affections. You barely tolerate me on the best of days.” That got a watery smile. “I don’ care how far things went between yourself and Montague. He’s a bastard and a rogue tae say such things about you, no matter the circumstances.” The siren song of her luminous skin called to him in the dim light, drawing him a half step closer.
“For what it’s worth, they’re lies. He kissed me. I didn’t care for it. I tried to push him away. But he refused to take me home without another kiss. I think he likes to hurt women. I had bruises, but by the end of it, so did he. Since then I’ve refused to see him.”
Bracing an arm above her head, he closed his eyes and pulled her close with a hand around her waist. The move wasn’t meant to be an embrace for anything but comfort. “Oh, lass, I’m sorry. If I could take away that memory, I would.”
The hug changed when she raised her face toward his and rested her hands on his waist. Air grew scarce, but that might be because he held his breath. The expression on her face looked an awful lot like welcome.
“Maybe we can’t take it away. But you could replace it. Can you kiss me, please?”
He hung his head, then grazed his lips along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, because by all that was holy, he’d just been asked to kiss Lady Charlotte Wentworth, and those were the closest body parts to his lips. Lottie’s nearness, the dramatic dip of her waist, her unique scent cueing his body to the intimacy of the moment—all of it would be forever lost to him if he made a mess of this.
As she’d told him of Montague’s assault, every bit of him had wanted to rage, to pound a fist through something, to hunt the slimy toad down and ensure he never touched another woman. But he had an excellent reason to not do any of that—Lottie in his arms, warm and willing, asking for a kiss. With one hand pressed so firmly into the wall, it was a wonder he didn’t leave a handprint behind in the plaster. Ethan tried not to pounce on her like a man offered his fantasy, although that was exactly what was happening.
Their breathing dominated the narrow passage, muffling music from distant rooms filled with guests. Opening his lips slightly, Ethan allowed himself a small taste of her skin at the shoulder—salty, complex with rich flavors he’d crave after tonight. As he placed slow, openmouthed kisses along the arch of her neck, her body softened against his. When he kissed her jaw below her ear, Lottie’s breathing grew shaky. She liked that.
He finally reached the corner of her mouth, and she turned her head and met him halfway.
* * *
She would think about the consequences later. Plans for the future, the list of qualities she needed in a husband—she set all that aside. Right now this mattered more. The heat coming from his body set off an unsettling buzzing under her skin she realized was need. Desire. That lust he’d mentioned on the balcony, then inspired as she’d watched him from her bedroom window. She knew how he looked under these well-tailored evening clothes.
This decision would throw them off course, away from the familiar. The danger of that, the unknown, made something within her come alive.
He finally kissed her lips. Usually, her brain assessed every moment, searched for ways to handle situations, prepared for any outcome—from the worst-case scenario to the best. All that went silent. There was simply her and him. And they fit.
His mouth moved over hers, and that part she’d only just discovered—the desire for more, for him, flared brighter. The gentle scrape of his teeth on her sensitized bottom lip drew a noise from her somewhere between a moan and a whimper. This was nothing like the bruising mashing of faces she’d experienced with Montague. Where Montague had roughly taken, Ethan was asking, gently coaxing as he gave pleasure.
Kissing him was like learning a new language. There was a call and answer between them made of breath and sounds that weren’t words but somehow still created a conversation—the most erotic conversation of her life.
If his hands caressed her, she’d probably purr. But he kept his palm firmly against her lower back, straying neither north nor south. The contact was both too much and not enough. She arched her body into him, chasing that need for more.
When the kiss ended, her small groan joined his heavy sigh. He rested his forehead against hers, exchanging air for a few more seconds. Their mouths were so achingly close. It took all her remaining self-control not to lick that dip at the top of his lip.
“You taste like heather honey, lass.”
“Is that a good thing?” Her world shook a bit, so it made sense that her voice would shake too.
“Aye.” Ethan eased his body away
