Page 40 of The Pleasures of Passion
Bree’s relief was obvious as she stood. “Yes, Papa, you know how it is with a new betrothal. Everyone must be visited.”
As her father pushed to a stand, Niall added, “There’s no reason for you to show us out, sir. I would not wish to tax your leg any further.”
Sir Oswald blinked. “That’s right kind of you, Margrave. Right kind, indeed. It does plague me something fierce today.”
With a nod, Niall offered his arm to Bree and they headed for the door. But they hadn’t even reached it when Sir Oswald called out, “Brilliana!”
Stiffening a fraction, she turned to look back at him. “Yes, Papa?”
“You will bring your boy to see his old grandpapa, won’t you?”
A welter of emotions briefly crossed her face before she masked them: fear, resentment, worry. “Of course. When we get the chance.”
Niall began to understand her reluctance to expose her son to her father. “Brilliana will be quite busy in the coming weeks,” he told Sir Oswald, “so it may not be that soon. There’s much to be done to prepare for the wedding, you know.”
An odd regret flashed over the older man’s face before he stiffened. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience my own daughter,” he grumbled.
She stared at him with a certain wistfulness. “I’ll see what I can do about bringing him by soon, Papa.”
Before Sir Oswald could make some retort to her noncommittal remark, Niall said, “Now, we really must be going, sir. All those calls, you know.”
And without waiting for an answer from the old bastard, he led her out into the hall. As they headed down the stairs, she murmured, “Are we really paying other calls after this?”
He lowered his voice. “Not unless you have someone in particular whom you wish to visit. Before I go to the Star and Garter, I need to stop by the club and find out more about your father’s compatriots.” Particularly Whiting. And Niall wanted to ask Fulkham about the uncle, as well.
When relief crossed her face, he couldn’t resist raking her with a slow, heated look. “Besides, we’re not finished with our discussion. And I mean to continue it on our way back to your aunt’s.” Because if she thought he was going to drop their argument from earlier, she’d lost her mind.
Their kisses and caresses had ignited him, and no matter how he warned himself not to fall into the trap of desiring her again, he couldn’t help himself. He had to find out why she did this to him.
“There’s nothing more to discuss,” she said dismissively.
The hell there wasn’t. They hadn’t quite reached the landing and were blocked from sight both from below and above, so he took advantage of that to halt her for a kiss, a long, deep one that roused his blood, especially when she instantly responded. With his arm about her slender waist, he pressed her into him and took his time enjoying her mouth, his heart hammering all the while.
She tasted like mint leaves and tea, as refreshing as a crisp spring day. He could stand here kissing her forever. He slid his hand down her back to smooth over her bottom and she jerked away, her eyes alight with temper.
But a pretty pink blush spread from her cheeks all the way down her neck. He wondered if it went lower. He meant to find out, and soon. He wanted to learn why a widow who’d borne a child, a woman he’d been sure was calculating and grasping, could blush so believably.
So enticingly. “Nothing to discuss, eh? I can think of a few things.”
“Like why your mind is always in the gutter, sir?” she snapped.
“And why you don’t seem to mind it much.” When she blinked and drew a breath to give him a set-down, he drawled, “Careful, now, sweeting. You don’t want your father or the servants speculating about why you’re so cross with your new fiancé.”
“Then don’t give them anything to speculate about.” With a sniff, she hurried down the stairs ahead of him. “Or you will become myformerfiancé in short order.”
He laughed. He liked this new version of Bree, the impudent one with a spine. It aroused him. Especially when her hand glided along the banister ahead of him with such delicacy that he couldn’t help imagining it on his chest, his belly . . . his cock.
Deuce take it. He’d better get control of himself or that cursed cock would give him away to the servants downstairs.
So he hurried down to take her by the arm and slow her descent. “Relax, sweeting,” he murmured. “It’s not a race.”
They had another whole flight to traverse, during which he could attempt to get his raging urges under command. By the time they reached the foyer, it was as if they’d never kissed at all.
Outwardly, anyway.
They approached the door, and Jenkins, who was apparently one of Sir Oswald’s few remaining servants, appeared from the shadows to open it. He smiled at Bree. “I understand that congratulations are in order, miss . . . I mean, madam.”
She smiled warmly at Jenkins. “Listening at doors again, are you?”
