Page 4 of The Miracle of Love
What was he going to do about her?
They were probably caught anyway. Miranda and his mother would know he had been therodentin Grace’s bedchamber the moment they found him asleep in the library.
He ran his thumb across the line of her jaw. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Fine, don’t close them.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her full on the lips, sinking his mouth deeper on hers than intended. But who could resist the soft give of her luscious mouth? “Sweet dreams, Grace. I’ll see you in the morning.”
What was it about this girl?
The only thing wild about her was her glorious tumble of golden curls. Otherwise, she was shy and modest, standing there looking utterly beautiful in her nightgown primly buttoned to her throat and the most confused look he had ever seen on anyone’s face.
A knot formed in his stomach.
Had she never been kissed before?
And now he’d gone and done it, stolen a first kiss without the slightest care, a kiss that ought to have been something special and treasured for her.
Perhaps this is why he was still feeling the lightning-bolt impact of it.
How was it possible?
He had hardened himself to all feeling years ago.
For this reason, he was the Crown’s most lethal agent.
“Mr. Quinton, why are you staring at me so oddly?”
Indeed, icy calculation was necessary in his line of work, and he was effective because he was impervious to all sensation.
Or so he thought.
Apparently, he had no defense against Grace.
How had this innocent managed it?
Heaven help him, she shot fire through his blood.
He did not even know her family name.
What was so awful about it she would not tell him?
Chapter Two
Grace Montford heldher breath as Deklan Quinton, easily the handsomest man she had ever beheld, unlatched her door and silently slipped into the hall. She followed, her only intention to stand in the hallway and watch him disappear downstairs. But he stopped suddenly, and she slammed into his broad back with anoof.
“I might have known,” he grumbled.
At first, Grace thought he was muttering to her and was irritated she had followed him out.
Then she saw his mother and aunt standing there with their arms folded and gloating expressions on their faces.
“We thought you might have been the big rat Grace was shrieking about,” his aunt said, her smile quite smug. “Glad you made it home in time for Christmas, dear boy. Why is your shirt undone?”
Grace’s heart sank into her toes. “Lady Grayfell. Mrs. Quinton. It is not at all what it appears.” She could not blame them for imagining the worst. Deklan had not bothered to properly button his shirt, and his finely rippled torso was still on dazzling display.
Blessed Mother.
