Page 6 of A Private Wager
“You are rather alarmingly direct, Viscount Harcourt.” There was a slight tremor in her voice and a breathlessness that made him want to push her further.
“Then it will come as no surprise when I tell you, Miss Dawes, that I mean to kiss you…and if you do not wish for that to happen, you must say so now.”
***
She should tell him no. Lucy knew that. It was at the forefront of her mind. And yet, try as she might to utter that word, she could not bring herself to do so. Curiosity had warred with caution and won. In all her interactions with other gentlemen, she had never actually desired their attentions.
When he pulled her around a corner of the hedge, concealing them from view, she didn’t protest. And when he leaned in, his lips brushing softly over hers, the most natural thing in the world was to close her eyes and fall into him. That gentle brush, juxtaposed against the slight rasp of his evening beard, was unlike anything she could have imagined. Soft, gentle, with incredible tenderness and yet with a hint of danger and a wealth of heat, it rocked her to her toes.
But nothing could have prepared her for the sensual onslaught when that gentle brush gave way to the full, firm pressure of his mouth settling fully over hers, of the soft nip of his teeth at her lower lip, or the sweep of his tongue over that tender flesh. When she gasped in shock, his tongue slipped past her lips, entering her mouth to slide languorously against hers in a way that left her trembling and breathless.
It wasn’t until she felt the bark of the tree against her back that she realized he’d backed her away from the hedge and into the small grotto—one of the many such spaces dottedthroughout the garden for trysts. She could have protested. Indeed, she should have. But she did not. It was no longer curiosity that prompted her actions, though. It was desire. She wanted his kiss, she wanted the strength of his arms around her, the firmness of his body against hers, and the sweet, perfect heat of that kiss.
It might have been minutes or it could have been hours. Time had no meaning for her. She only knew that she had no desire to end that kiss or to let him go. Then, abruptly, he stepped back from her.
Blinking in confusion, Lucy looked up at him, noting the taut line of his jaw, the tension that seemed to emanate from him. And then she heard it. The call of her aunt’s voice uttering her name in what sounded like panic. Abruptly, he reached out and snagged her shawl, tugging it from shoulder and dropping it so that it tangled on the lower branches of the hedge. She knew, of course, what he was about. There had to be a justifiable reason for them to have deviated from the well lit path. A snagged shawl would suffice.
“I’m here, Aunt,” Lucy called. “I’m afraid I have ruined my shawl.”
Her aunt appeared around the corner of the hedge even as the viscount stooped in an attempt to free the delicate fabric from the thorny vegetation. “It isn’t as bad as all that, Miss Dawes. Nothing is beyond repair.”
Those words were an assurance about much more than just her shawl.It was only a kiss.Even uttering that assurance to herself, she felt like a fraud. It had been much more than just a kiss. In fact, she would daresay that it had altered everything about her.
“Well, never mind the shawl,” her aunt insisted. “Leave it to the viscount and come with me. This is terribly improper.”
“Of course,” Lucy agreed, and immediately slipped the shawl from her shoulder and stepped away from it.
“I will see it returned to you after it has been mended,” the viscount stated.
It was another excuse to see him—to be close to him. And she was unwisely eager for it. “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”
“Come along,” her aunt insisted in a disapproving tone.
Lucy did as she had been bade, following her aunt back toward the house. But, as she neared the terrace steps, she couldn’t resist a look back. He stood there still, next to the neatly manicured hedge, watching her, with her shawl clutched in his hands. A shiver raced through her that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the man. She’d agreed to his terms, and she recognized that she had made a terrible mistake in doing so. He tempted her where no one else ever had, and that made him dangerous.
CHAPTER FIVE
It had been a long and sleepless night. Recalling the kiss, something that should have been innocent but had quickly spiraled into something else altogether, War had been plagued by his own desires throughout the night. He’d wanted far more than a kiss. Had they not been interrupted, he wasn’t entirely certain what liberties he would have taken. The uncomfortable truth was that he would likely have taken any she would have permitted. For a man of the world, a man who understood precisely how innocent Miss Lucy Dawes was, it was a lowering admission—a stain upon his honor to go along with all the others he was amassing during the accursed house party. He almost wished he had stayed home. But then he wouldn’t know the taste of her lips, the sweetness of having her soft body pressed against his.
Tossing back the covers, and sporting an unfortunately stubborn erection, he made his way to the wash stand to seeto his morning ablutions. Washed and shaved, with his hair restored to some degree of order, he dressed quickly. When he was ready to brave the other guests, he retrieved the damaged shawl from the dressing table. Unable to resist, he raised it to his face, burying his nose in the paisley-print cloth. It smelled of lemons and of something far sweeter. It smelled of her, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms again and to not stop with a mere kiss.
Clutching the shawl in his hand, he left his chambers and made his way down toward the kitchens. There he found one of the maids and made inquiries about having the snags repaired. From there, he made his way to the breakfast room, hoping that Miss Dawes—Lucy—would be there.
He was destined for more than simply disappointment, it seemed. No only was she not present, but Barton was there, gleefully waiting for him.
“Good morning, cousin,” Barton crowed. “You were certainly very cozy with Miss Dawes last evening.”
“Do not bandy her name about, Barton. At the very least, you should pretend to be a gentleman,” War admonished. They were alone in the breakfast room, at least, but there was still the risk of being overheard.
Barton continued to grin, but War noted something about his cousin that he’d not really considered before. There was malice in what should have been a friendly expression. Barton was enjoying all of it—the risk, the potential catastrophe that loomed over them, possibly even the threat to Miss Dawes’s reputation. Barton had always been one to skate around the edges of propriety, but this was something altogether different. “You planned all of this, didn’t you? From the absinthe-laced brandy to the wager… All of it was carefully orchestrated, wasn’t it?”
“Wild accusations will not release you from the wager, cousin,” Barton replied coldly. “Also, does it matter? You have just over one week to win her hand. You might be off to a good start, but Miss Dawes is no one’s fool. She’ll see through you before it’s over with. And then Stonecrest will be mine.”
War watched his cousin walk angrily away. But he was not concerned about Barton’s hurt feelings. He was more concerned about the fact that he’d been manipulated into an untenable situation where the risks were so great. And despite the rather glorious kiss he’d shared with Miss Dawes the night before, there was still no guarantee that he was any closer to obtaining her agreement to his courtship than before.
Taking a deep breath, War attempted to exhale his frustration, but there was too much of it be dealt with in such a weak fashion. Had he been in London, he would have taken himself to Gentleman Jackson’s. Or, if he’d had a mistress, he might have availed himself of her charms. But he’d not had such an arrangement in quite some time, and there was no way to alleviate such urges in his present situation.
As if the fates themselves were laughing at him, the breakfast room door opened, and Miss Dawes entered. When she saw him, her chin came up and her shoulders stiffened. She was clearly feeling discomfited by the events of the night before.
