Page 4 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
“So even in the dark, I appear old,” she mused. “How terribly unflattering.”
Payne might have found her sarcasm amusing at any other time. In their current circumstances, there was no time for amusement. “No. That is not what I meant. Quite the opposite actually. You seem remarkably levelheaded in the face of danger. My experience with young ladies fresh from the schoolroom is that they tend toward hysterics in a way that is…well, let’s call it counterproductive, shall we? Had you not remained calm, I would have been dead by now and I cannot even think of what they might have done to you.”
“They weregentlemen.” Her tone indicated precisely what she thought of that description.
“They were peers,” he corrected. “Hardly gentlemen. There is a very distinct difference.”
“I think we should go, my lord. I fear that those men will return.”
“Quite right.” Payne offered her his arm. “It is quite dark and the gravel is often treacherous for ladies in evening slippers.”
“Do you accompany many ladies on the Dark Walk then, sir?”
“No, Miss Wylde. My experience with women’s evening slippers and gravel was not obtained here at Vauxhall. My mother often entertained at my country estate… I was forever escorting young ladies on walks through the gardens. She was quite a matchmaker, my mother.”
“My apologies, my lord. I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, condolences are not needed, Miss Wylde. My mother is still very much alive. She’s simply given up on altering my bachelor status,” he explained.
Her laughter was unexpected. Husky and slightly bawdy—just bawdy enough to make him want to hear it again. And to hear it while they were doing something far more than walking down a darkened path. He was so startled by how overwhelming his desire for her was that he stopped dead in his tracks.
And in that instant, she stumbled, her slippers catching on the loose gravel. Payne pivoted and caught her before she fell. Once more they were pressed together. But they weren’t hiding in the bushes. And he was no longer just thinking of keeping her safe. They were on the path, fireworks above them and soft music playing in the distance. He wasn’t a romantic sort, but even he couldn’t deny that there was something incredibly seductive about the atmosphere—and about the woman in his arms.
“My lord,” she said breathlessly.
It wasn’t just because she was startled. No. It might have been some time since he’d held a woman in his arms, but he hadn’t forgotten everything. There was anticipation in her voice, tremulous, uncertain, but curious. And he was curious himself. So curious that he couldn’t stop himself from dipping his head, brushing his lips against hers.
“Is it all right?” He asked, his breath fanning over her lips.
“Is what all right?”
“I’d like to kiss you, Miss Wylde. I would very much like to kiss you.”
“I think, my lord, that I would very much like to be kissed,” she answered. Then she raised herself ever so slightly on her toes, just enough to eliminate the distance between them. And when their lips met that time, it wasn’t a simple brush. It was heat and sparks. It was as incendiary as the fireworks blasting overhead.
He hadn’t intended for it to be… well, what it was. Their bodies were all but fused together. His arms wrapped about her, hers about him. And then it wasn’t enough to just simply have her lips. He wanted to taste her fully. Licking at the fullness of her lower lip, she gasped in surprise. And it was all the invitation he needed. Slipping his tongue into the soft recesses of her mouth, the taste of her was as intoxicating as the most potent of brandy.
Just then, there was the sound of rushing footfalls. And appearing around the bend in the path just ahead of them, was a group of revelers.
“What is happening?” she asked.
Payne recalled the sharp scream she had emitted when the ruffian had first grabbed her. It had happened in one of those odd lulls in the sound of frivolity. The orchestra had just finished one piece and had yet to strike up the next. That had coincided with a pause in the fireworks. Thus, the gathered crowd had no reason to oooh and awww. That scream had been carried on the wind directly to the assembled guests. Some had come to offer aid, that was obvious. And a second group of half drunken gentlemen fell in behind them. The very ones who had caused her to scream. No doubt they would pretend to be heroes come to save a poor defenseless lady when nothing could be further from the truth. And, yet he stood there on the path with her wrapped in his arms, both of them quite disheveled. Her dress was torn, her hair long since freed from its pins. There was no mistaking what it looked like.
“Miss Wylde,” he said, “I believe we are on the verge of altering my bachelor status.”
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Benny frowned, trying to make sense of what he’d said. When the realization struck, she immediately shook her head. “No. That cannot happen. You must go. This was nothing! Well, it was innocent. If you—”
“Then you would still be ruined,” he replied. “You would be ruined and I would have it on my conscience forever that I left you to it. No, Miss Wylde, we shall face the crowd, and I daresay the consequences, together.”
And then the mob heading for them abruptly stopped, taking in the couple before them—looking not at all distressed.
“Ho! What is happening here?” One of the gentlemen stepped forward, taking the lead. His voice was terrifyingly familiar.The first man who had grabbed her.“We heard a scream. And not that of a lady enjoying herself.”
“Davenport is that you?” Someone else tossed out the question, casually identifying the man beside her.
“And Miss Wylde? Is that you? Why, your aunt introduced us at Wheldon’s soiree just last week,” another insisted, his tone clearly scandalized. His voice, too, was familiar.
